Connor|RK900xReader One Shots

The Nowhere Inn, Part I

You're a high-profile operative, getting interrogated by RK900. The further he pushes you, the harder you make him stumble.

WARNING: Violence.

I wanted to explore the more extreme side of Connor and what he used to do (does?). It is totally up to debate where on the timeline this is. 

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"I'm going to ask you one last time before this gets really ugly: who is your informant at CyberLife?" The android, Connor, snarls.

You roll your eyes at him: "And I'm going to tell you one last time to go fuck yourself."

He lets out a huff and straightens his back, taking a step away from you.

It allows you to breathe, it seems. He was in your face for minutes. You were able to make out every perfect imperfection CyberLife graced him with. You must say, you especially admire the eyes. They are, actually, what convinced you that these androids reached sentience. Their eyes are too deep, too telling, to not be alive.

Connor here, though, does not want to hear anything about it. He just keeps asking you the same questions, as if tiring you out verbally were any more intimidating than this god-forsaken motel room you woke up in.

"What did you give me, by the way?" You change the subject, bored of his approach.

He tilts his head, letting his eyes wander over your hunched figure. He tied you to a chair, expertly so, which means your wrists are bound to the chair almost as low as your ankles. It's brilliant, really, you are forced into a submissive posture, and any effort to even lift your chin is straining and after a few seconds downright painful. So, to not play into it, you opt for resting the side of your head on your knees. It's almost – almost – comfortable. If only he had used zip ties instead of tape...You would have gotten out of them and smashed in his head by now. Instead, you close your eyes with a sigh and answer your own question.

"I was out for one hours and twenty minutes, give or take. You could have faked me being out way longer, but you not only failed to conceal the clock on the nightstand, but also didn't pull the curtain fully shut, letting me know what time of day it is."

You cannot see his face, and you will definitely not go out of your way to glance at it. Him not replying anything, however, you take as sign of him being either at loss for words or at least annoyed enough with his carelessness that he doesn't have a reply at the ready.

Either way, you go on: "The rather short time also tells me that it was something that was injected and wears off rather quickly as well. So, no sleeping pills or similar substances. You furthermore were able to time me waking up here, conscious enough to be interrogated pretty well. I'm going to bet ten bucks on Propofol."

You hear him move around, not able to make out if he's fidgeting with his jacket or something else.

"Come on, am I right?" You tease him with a chuckle.

"Congrats, you are. Now what?" He tries to make his remark sound snide, but you can tell that he's getting frustrated with your lack of fear.

You let out a deep breath: "Now I just sit, well fold, here and try to take a nap."

That earns you a slap across the face.

Well, a slap on the cheek you so kindly presented to him. You curse. It stings, and because your head was resting on your knees, it got bashed against them.