Connor RK800 x Suicidal!Reader - Survivor's Guilt

(A/N) Suicide is not a laughing matter. If you or a loved one suffers from suicidal thoughts or tendencies, do not hesitate to ask for help. Call your local suicide hotline, call the police, or talk to a close friend or family member. Suicide is never the answer, and remember that you aren't alone.

Policing is one of the hardest jobs one can undertake, especially in a large city, such as Detroit. In the span of mere months, your mental state was going down the toilet. Your downward spiral of depression only worsened as the days marched on. This all started seven months ago, when your partner initiated a traffic stop on a vehicle that was speeding. As soon as your partner walked up to the driver-side window, he was dead; a volley of bullets went right into his chest, easily passing through his Kevlar vest, killing him.

You called for backup, reporting an officer down and shots fired, and several other officers showed up to the scene. A simple traffic stop turned into a massive gunfight right in front of your very eyes. Another officer was killed. And another. And another. Until there were the bodies of six total police officers lying dead on the ground. The fight only came to an end when SWAT was able to get a sniper set up, and when the perpetrator's head was turned into a red mist. It turned out that the perp was a red ice dealer, wanted on a federal warrant for smuggling red ice out of Michigan into Canada, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesota.

Soon, while you slept, you started seeing the faces of the officers who were killed. They were people you considered allies and friends; allies and friends that YOU got killed. These nightmares plagued you, and sleep became something few and far between. Due to constant sleep deprivation, hallucinations became close to commonplace. You tried reaching out to some of your "friends" about this, and they were less than helpful. In fact, the most common responses you got were along the lines of, "Suck it up" or "You knew this sort of thing was bound to happen when you signed up to be a cop".

At the time, there was only one person who cared about your plight, Hank Anderson. He recently lost his son, Cole, so he knew the horrors your mind will pull on you. He was also your field training officer when you were a rookie on the force a few years ago. Soon thereafter, you also had his android partner, Connor, to talk to as well. Those two were some of the only people who were nice to you, out of the DPD, hell, even the entire city of Detroit for that matter. However, you were separate from them most of the time; you were a patrol officer, while they were detectives, so they were constantly on cases, while you were out on patrol.

Truth be told, you liked Connor; he was a great listener, very helpful, and not that bad looking either. But even with him, you painted a painting of half-truths. You didn't want to tell him about the incident, or about the horrendous amount of survivor's guilt, hallucinations, nightmares, and severe depression; you didn't want him to think about you differently, nor did you want to burden him with your guilt, regrets, and failure.

Soon, suicidal thoughts and tendencies began to spring up. Whenever there was a violent altercation you had to respond to, you actively tried to get yourself killed. Reports of shots fired? You would aimlessly walk around the area, not even with your gun unholstered, hoping to get shot. Armed robbery? You would rush into the situation without thinking, knowing full well that you could die from such a careless decision. Domestic disturbance? You would just waltz into the house, not even trying to get the situation under control, and would sometimes try to instigate one of the parties into violence.

As nothing happened as a result of your careless decisions in the line of duty, you decided that you needed to take matters into your own hands. You stopped showing up to work one day without a phone call, text message, email, nothing. You didn't want to talk to anyone anymore, so you threw your phone into the Detroit River. Unbeknownst to you, a few days after throwing the phone into the river, Hank and Connor started calling you non-stop trying to figure out why you just stopped showing up to work.