Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

1 - The Hostage

I'd recommend checking out the playlist I made for this story! The hyperlink is at the bottom of the story on the web version, or there's a copy and paste at the end.

You knew this call was a risk. But confidence? That had never been in short supply. Fast reflexes, sharp mind, flawless instincts—you were built to win. Missions like this usually end with you walking out untouched, leaving humans blinking in your wake, wondering how you pulled it off so clean. They're easy. Slower than you. No scanners, no predictive modelling, no backup plan beyond yelling louder. But this is different. This time, your opponent is just like you—plastic, circuits, and a brain that runs at the same impossible speed. So no, you weren't expecting to end up crouched behind a potted plant on the balcony of a seventy-story penthouse.

Bright blue fluid runs from the hole in your shoulder, pooling in your hands as you press hard to slow the leak. No vital biocomponents hit—you're lucky. But luck won't help if someone sees.

No one can know what you are.

For the past two months, you've lived as a human detective. A damn good one. You've built something—a rhythm, a reputation, a place. If the truth slips, it's over. CyberLife will come for you. And they won't ask questions. Across the balcony, your partner lies bleeding out. Miles Wilson—shot in the arm, not moving. The urgency of the situation twists in your gut. You want to help. Every instinct screams at you to help, but self-preservation claws at your thoughts.

Helping means exposure.

You must redirect the blame onto the humans for these circumstances; it's their failure, not yours.

The android outside teeters on the edge of the building, a girl in one arm, a gun in the other. Inside, the SWAT team moves with grim determination, yelling over the roar of the chopper and each other. If you cross that balcony, you'll be seen—and that's all it'll take to tear everything down. Wind blasts across the scene, whipping your hair, flinging pool water against your skin. The air is thick with blood, chlorine, and the kind of fear you're not supposed to feel.

Every job you've done, you've walked away clean. No loose ends. No mess. But this? This is a mess. You don't get injuries like this. You don't let things spiral. You don't end up bleeding behind a fucking potted plant on the seventieth floor. Was this a fluke? A mistake you can't fix?

"Please," you whisper to yourself, barely audible over the chaos. "Where is the negotiator? This needs to end."

The beating of your thirium pump echoes in your ears, its relentless rhythm quickening as panic sets in. A warm trickle seeps from your shoulder, each drop a stark reminder that time is slipping away.

You've only just begun this life. It can't end here.

A shriek rips through the air, high and panicked—the girl. And then a shot. Sharp, jarring. It snaps you out of your thoughts like a slap.

You look up, scanning past the leaves for the source of the chaos.

Through the shifting shadows, you make out the android standing on the edge of the balcony, gun to the child's head.

He yells, his voice booming, slicing through the air and demanding attention: "Stay back! Don't come any closer or I'll jump!"

"No! No, please!" the girl sobs. "I'm begging you!"

Across from him, someone steps into the light. An android—tall, calm, controlled, a statue of determination in the face of peril. A strange model you've never seen before. He doesn't flinch, doesn't blink. Just walks into the storm like he's immune to it.

"Hi, Daniel."

"How...?"

"My name is Connor."

"How do you know my name?"