Detroit: Become Human - Connor RK800 One Shots

#02 Bus Stop

Summary: So this one is based off a game I play with both my drama groups (inside of school and outside of school). Basically the idea is a person comes up to another at a bus stop or a park bench and the first person has to creep or weird out the other to force them to leave their spot. I'm turning the game on its head so the reader in this case wants to come back rather than wanting to permanently leave. Anyway, enjoy!

(Y/N)'s POV

Why today, of all days, did it have to rain? you wondered to yourself as you travelled to the nearest bus shelter, umbrella over your head, splashing water everywhere as you trudged along the footpath. Usually, you thought the rain was serene and majestic, but not today. The rain poured and it just wouldn't stop. It was almost the only thing you could hear when the army of droplets hit any solid surface imaginable. It made it quite a challenge to see too, creating a misty atmosphere all around you. Frankly, it was starting to irritate you, the way it consistently persisted to consume everything in its path, especially you. Your shoes you used for work already admitted defeat and were soaking, feeling like they were filling up and literally becoming more like water shoes than casual shoes. The cuffs of your jeans were the same, though they appeared obvious and clear, unlike your shoes. You were past the point of just uncomfortable, yet you walked on, under your black umbrella, the only thing shielding you from the attacks.

You didn't usually catch the bus, that was mainly because you had a car. The car in question was in the process of being serviced, leaving you to walk and ride public transport. Your situation didn't faze you up until you knew it was raining, and now you sort of wished it had been repaired a whole lot sooner. You sighed with a hint of frustration. Huh, well I guess this day couldn't get much worse, you thought. To equalise that overly pessimistic statement, you began to hum the tune to your favourite song. A song which cemented you in a socially acceptable mood, perfect for working conditions. Another couple minutes of humming and strolling, to your relief, you made it to the bus stop. You stood under the veranda and deactivated your shield. You smirked, feeling like you finally beat the miserable weather. Adjusting the bag you wore, you patiently waited. Maybe today won't be so bad. And you were right, completely unaware your day was about to get heaps better.

***

Connor's POV (even though it's in 3rd person, but you get what I mean)

The weather cycle was something Connor couldn't control, so he didn't fight it. He walked the streets, somewhat disappointed in himself. He analysed his newfound injury:

STATUS: CRITICAL

LEFT FOREARM DAMAGED

THIRIUM LOSS RATE: STEADY

WARNING: CIRCUITRY EXPOSED - SEEK THE FOLLOWING COMPONENTS:

The remainder of the information on the HUD was blurry, protected by a layer of static and pixels. Even without an in-depth analysis the wound looked bad. A decent section of synthetic skin had been removed, revealing a lengthy chunk of white plastic. Around the open wound was blood, a shade of violent blue. Sometimes it was beneficial and efficient not to feel pain. Thoughts passed quickly, because the main concern was the exposed wires in the wounded area. If water got into it, who knows what else it would affect? He knew he could easily be shut down and replaced with an undamaged model, but for some reason he had no desire to be replaced just yet. If he hadn't been injured, he would have carried on to pursue the deviant, if the said android hadn't decided to draw blood (thirium in his case).

It was a shame really, he didn't expect to fail, though he knew there was a probability. He was slightly embarrassed, a feeling only felt by humans. Connor instantly denied he felt anything. A part of him wanted to give up and surrender to the earth. Though something outside of his programming told him to continue moving, to not give in. So that's exactly what he did. Onward he went, concealing the clear mark of failure on his torn sleeve from the forever judging rain.