Deviant Behavior (Connor x Reader)

Fatal Attraction

November 9th, 2038
PM 03:00:06

Each step brought you closer to the doors you'd entered with the premise of stopping widespread panic.

Grenier and Miller chatted like there was nothing wrong.  Nothing out of place.  Like this was just another day, another operation.

But you?

You braced yourself...and still, it wasn't enough to prepare you for the sensory overload that washed over you the minute you stepped outside.

Heightened noise pollution of the gathered crowd.    The angry purr of heavy machinery and radio chatter; red and blue lights flashing above them.  Steam from the police armada's exhaust, mixing with winter's cold and clinging to your bloodied skin.

Your breathing lost its rhythm.  Your feet stopped working as you jerked, the men who held you secure dragging you forward.

Hunker down.  Hide.  Find shelter.  This was what your survival instincts were telling you, and you were forced to ignore them.

You were blinded by the flashes from the press's cameras, their shutters capturing your escort to the ambulance frame-by-frame.  When you were seated on the edge, the heels of your boots swayed and bounced off a bumper.

You couldn't hear anything other than your pulse and the smack of your lips as you tried to suck in frigid, dry breaths.  Didn't feel the EMT wrapping a Velcro cuff around your arm, sticking you with a needle.

You were blocked off by a SWAT truck – a huge, gangly thing with missile-proof plating and rubber-filled tires that stood at the height of your hips.

You tried to make sense of it all.

The heat sizzling from the metal and distorting what you could see over the hood's horizon.  The sea of bodies leaping over themselves with microphones for spears, stabbing at the rope line formed by chained arms and DPD uniforms for questioning.

"Are we dealing with an isolated individual or an organized group?"

"Are our machines turning against us?"

"Were there any casualties?"

"Can you confirm reports of shots fired?"

Chris's voice was singled out among the responses, yelling at everyone to step back, remain calm, and that no questions could be answered at this time.  Then he took a mic to the face.

Gavin jabbed his finger at the reporter, telling them they had the right to "calm the fuck down."

Ben was a bit more civil.  SWAT didn't need to do much but look at a section of the herd to corral them back into a tight box.

There just wasn't enough of them.

"Man, you're gonna have one hell of a scar..."  An EMT grabbed your cheek, trailing an antiseptic-soaked Q-Tip across your cut, "Rough day at the office?"

You rolled your eyes, sighing at a manhole's pillar of fog that flashed blue as a DPD drone passed through it.

And then you focused on your badge, covered in cerulean brilliance and clouded numbers.

"We Bleed Blue..."

But so did they...and the androids of the Stratford Tower had shed a lot of blood.

You winced as you remembered one bleeding android in particular.  Hoped he didn't have twenty bullet holes in him at the order of Captain Allen.