Hiiii tumblrā¦
Could a man ever interest you in his humble sicon fanfiction?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
He lets his gaze fall back to the corpse propped in the chair opposite him- other than the strikes across his cheeks and torso, there's an ugly mess about the centre, where his thirium pump regulator used to be, before- Simon assumes- the officers removed it and left a gaping hole behind. The door of the interrogation room hisses open once more, and his eyes track dark shoes on the ground that follow around the desk to sit, at last, opposite Simon. Level-eyed, now, Simon lifts his head, and stares down-
"The Deviant Hunter." He greets, glossing over the wobble in his voice as he focuses intently on deep brown eyes. The RK800 model quirks its lips up ever so slightly, scanning over the stiffness of Simon's figure in the chair, no doubt savouring the distress signals his injuries must send out; the gore of his burning chest as Simon grits his teeth and inclines his head at the bastard. "You know of me?"
"Legend travels quick when the legend is of a specialised killing machine that threatens our people."
//
Simon is neither killed on Stratford tower, nor is he missed by the DPD's investigation. They take him in for interrogation, instead.
