METAL GUARD DOG ⊳ connor x reader

Ch. XV

Connor quickly came to know hope. It was a deceivable little feeling, sweet, but not sickeningly so, just enough to make you want more. A thin thread you could strengthen with nothing but your own imagination and beautiful lies.

A very breakable, fragile thread, still.

He found himself walking down the street Hank's house had been on not more than 30 years ago. It was fairly recognizable, like a word written down on a piece of paper, over which someone had scribbled with a different colored pen. If you squinted just enough, it was there. Hardly, but still.

He came to a halt in front of Hank's old house. However quickly concluded that in this case, squinting did most certainly not help.

The once immaculate walls were coated in graffiti, different, dirtily colorful discarded food packages scattered all around the front yard, a broken sign that Connor easily guessed should've been saying "for sale" yet only spelled "r sale".

It wasn't abandoned, but not exactly in good shape either.

The last bit of hope he still had was the faint rap music coming from, what Connor guessed, was the inside of Hank's old home.

A certain reluctance and disdain was visible in his moves, yet Connor kept his posture straight, brushed the invisible dirt off the black coat, which he sorrowfully remembered belonged to Zlatko, and stepped up to the front door.

He knocked against it, subtly, with his knuckles at first, then with his fist, creating numb, skull-rattling sounds. Old habits die hard, he realized upon remembering the way he had acted when visiting Hank back in the day.

Persistence remained in his Thirium, even as a full-fledged deviant (he hoped he was, at least).

Slurred steps could be heard and suddenly the door opened, revealing a young man, with a quick, restless gaze that scanned over him, his brilliant amber eyes concealed by the neon purple of glasses similar to (y/n)'s. His hair was short, almost to the point of him looking bald, with a five o'clock shadow over his scalp and jaw. An undying smirk was plastered on his lips. The deviant approximated him to be roughly 18.

"Is it a cop?" Connor heard another voice—male, obviously— shout from inside the house, yet failed to identify a source.

"Dunno." The young man in front of him shouted back, then turned his full attention back to Connor. "Are you?"

"I am n-"

"Yeah, I know." He finally added and pulled up his glasses so that they rested on the top of his head. Upon realizing that Connor was trying to figure out what exactly had brought the man to this conclusion, he rushed to add. "It's the shoes. Undercover cops always wear good shoes, keep that in mind."

Connor couldn't help but let a small smirk slip as well. This boy, he seemed trustworthy. Quick, smart, cheeky. Connor couldn't deny his presence felt refreshing, yet somehow reminded him of (y/n) in a way he couldn't pinpoint.

"What's your name?"

"Connor." The deviant said firmly, and initiated a handshake. The young man smiled, balled his hand into a fist and bumped his knuckles against the Android's.

"Mikolaj. Or just Miko." He stepped backwards a few centimeters, leaning his forearm against the doorframe. "Why are you here?"

"An old friend used to live here, and I wanted to...see the house." Connor explained, and was surprised at how much true information he had divulged to a man he'd just met.

The boy huffed in amusement, then gestured towards the inside of the house.

"Well then, are you going to come in or do you need an invitation?"

"Seeing as I am already here, I believe a letter demanding my presence would be rather unnecessary." Connor answered, then stopped himself, realizing his response may have been a tad off. "Wait, you were being sarcastic, correct?"

Mikolaj only grinned, shook his head dismissively and returned inside the building, inviting Connor with a quick hand gesture. The deviant reluctantly followed.

An asphyxiating, sweet smell, combined with that of burnt plastic clawed down Connor's throat as soon as he had stepped inside the house.

"What was your friend's name, again?" He asked, guiding the deviant into what had once been the living room. It was unrecognizable, except for the old coffee table Hank used to have, as well as the bookshelf.

The nostalgia, that bittersweet feeling failed to appear and settle in his chest. He had expected it, prepared himself for it, but it was all for nothing. Too much had changed. Every trace of Hank had been erased, wether that was the work of Mikolaj, just time itself, someone else, or maybe all three, Connor didn't and couldn't know.

On the floor, he saw two other boys, one human, about the same age as Mikolaj, and one of them mechanical. They had pulled up an old table and crowded around it, a small device set on top of it, connected to the Android man's index fingers. What was that?

"Well?" Mikolaj stopped in the middle of his tracks, and Connor almost bumped against his smaller form. The deviant was quick to gather his thoughts and replay the young man's question in his head, figuring out what exactly he had meant.

"His name is Hank Anderson. Do you happen to know anything about his whereabouts or current state?"

"Hank...Hank Anderson...hmmm, let me see..." He traced his thumb over his lower lip as he thought. "Yeah, he lived here until '38 or '39, or so I've heard."

A spark of hope swelled in Connor's chest, and he immediately rushed in front of Mikolaj.

"What else?"

"How adorable." The young man looked at him over his purple neon glasses as they slowly slid down the bridge of his nose. "Information is not for free."

Connor suppressed a sigh of frustration. Was that really what 2064 was like? Deceiving, brooding, spiteful, materialistic. Not even one person he had stumbled across had showed him kindness and expected nothing for it. Except for (y/n), in a way.

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

"Well, Connor, are you familiar with truck raiding?"

[Quick note: Mikolaj's name is pronounced "Me-kol-eye"]