Predecessor (Connor x Reader)

4 - Fragile

Your first rule has always been to remain unseen. You were like a shadow, slipping through the cracks of the world, unnoticed. In the past, before the DPD, the target wouldn't even know what hit them. That's how you worked. The job didn't matter—only the outcome. Nothing left behind. No evidence. No trace. 

But that's not who you are anymore. And this? This... This feels like failure.

There was no time to brace, no thought to prepare. The world distorts in a split second. One moment, you're running, focused—chasing the target—and the next, you're launched off the ground, your body thrown with extreme force.

The car screeches to a halt. The engine is still revving, but you lie there for a moment, trying to reconnect with reality, the world still spinning in a sickening whirl. You try to will your body back into motion as pain stings through your circuits, the weight of what just happened sinking in. The pain isn't just a sensation—it's a tide that surges through your wires, drowning everything in its wake, and for a moment, you wish you weren't a deviant. Androids aren't programmed to feel pain, but whatever code overwrites deviants systems ensures that you undoubtedly, unfortunately, do. This isn't like when you got shot during the hostage situation, this is worse.

The driver's side door swings open, but he hesitates, eyes wide in panic. The ST300, now a blur in the distance, disappears into the shadows, escaping.

The fear hits you next—sharp and immediate. Fear of exposure. Fear of being discovered. You can't afford to let anyone see you like this. Your mind scrambles to recalibrate, and your breath hitches as you force yourself to sit up, your palms pressing against the ground for balance.

You don't feel any thirium spilling out like a sign of who you truly are. You glance down at yourself quickly. No blood. No blue blood. Just a bit of dirt on your clothes. The only evidence of the collision is the weight of the earth beneath you. You're not wounded. Not really. You breathe out a silent sigh of relief. But your body feels heavy, unnaturally heavy, like the shock of the hit has jarred loose something deep within your mechanical frame.

The car's driver takes a step back, unsure whether to approach. Even though you're the one caught in his headlights, he's like the deer, frozen in place, unsure whether to face the hunter or flee into the night. He stares at you, then looks up and spots Connor running toward the scene, alarmed. He calls your name. "Are you alright!?"

You steel yourself, forcing the pain out of your mind and back into the recesses where it can't be seen. You're not hurt enough to be this rattled, but the shakiness in your movements betrays you. You force yourself to appear calm, like the hit meant nothing. 

He kneels beside you, his face clouded in concern.

"I'm fine. Don't worry."

Connor reaches out to help you, his LED flickering yellow, "You've been hit by a car! You need medical attention, now. You need to be taken to the hospital."

You brush him off, "I said I'm fine."

You straighten your legs, unravelling them from their contorted position, still leaning on your hand to keep yourself upright. You try to ignore your pain.

"I'm not going to the hospital. I'm not hurt that badly." You insist firmly.

Connor looks at you in disbelief. "Not that badly?" he sighs your name, "You've just been run over. You're hurt! We need to get you checked out."

You shake your head, "No, really. I'm okay. No broken bones, no bleeding. I can walk this off."

You stand up with some effort, your legs are shaky, but you do your best to remain composed. You pause, trying to gather your thoughts to convince Connor, and also to justify your refusal. You're desperate to avoid any attention.