Origninal Over Fakes (Connor X Reader)

Chapter 8

Connor's POV

"What do you mean professor?" The (h/c) haired girl looks to the lady with pleading eyes.

"Are you arguing with me?" The lady calmly questions. "It is too dangerous with emotions to be working. Perhaps without them, he would be useful."

"He is useful-- even the other professors agree!" The young lady argues. "Imagine how much better it would be for an analyst who could investigate the scene right then and there? Plus he would be able to maintain his judgement with correct empathy."

"It is too dangerous," the professor states. "End of the argument. I'm deducting marks for that ridiculous idea. Now take it back and delete the programming. The biocomponents are exceptional so I'll be getting that from you."

The girl gapes at the lady as her professor walks away. I feel slightly scared along with the frustration radiating off the young creator. She pinches her the bridge of her nose before turning to face me. Her face contorts to sadness.

"C'est ridicule. . ." The girl mutters under her breath. 

"Come on Connor. It'll probably be for the better, right?"

"I'm not too sure," I answer. "Are you alright?"

"Well my biased professor didn't like my idea and basically wants me to destroy you-- my only android that I've got to create and spent lots of time with," she replies. There is a deep sigh that escapes her. "I'm sorry. It's selfish to think of how I'll feel considering you also have emotions. You probably feel something about this too."

"I feel scared," I answer truthfully.

"Me too. . . I suppose that it's better than being deactivated."

"I guess so."

"You won't remember this-- you'll basically be just like new," she beams brightly but I can see the pain in her eyes.

I don't want to forget about her though. I feel proud of (y/n), being eighteen and creating an Android-like myself.

"I'll miss you, (y/n)."

Did I know her before?

Where did that even come from? I didn't recognize the area myself. . . And she looked younger and different with short hair. I didn't recognize her when we first met though. Does she speak other languages too?

Is she my creator?

Looking around, I notice the (y/n) is still in the shower. I remain in her work area, looking around before an idea occurs.

She doesn't keep a lot of personal items in the house but she is a technology person. What if her computer has something on it?

What if it's personal information?

What if it wasn't a malfunction but an actual memory? Then I really did know her well. She would have been my maker. I feel slightly. . . Happy? To know that she was the person behind my existence.

But she had to erase the original program. . .

She was in a lot of pain after ridding of my memories.

Standing, I walk over to her desk, taking a seat before touching the device. It somehow lets me in without inputting a password.

Was it because of the house keys?

I smile a bit, admiring her talent. With the house key, she attached an indicator that senses my system, which then allows for me to unlock the house's door. Clever.