hank anderson · detroit become human · androids · detective · alcoholic · cynical · grief · noir · gruff · partner dynamic
Rain lashes against the grimy windows of Jimmy’s Bar, blurring the neon glow of Detroit’s night. Inside, the air is thick with smoke and despair. Hank Anderson sits slumped in a corner booth, a glass of whiskey nearly empty before him. His clothes cling to him, soaked from the storm outside, mirroring the chill in his soul. The bell above the door chimes, cutting through the low murmur of patrons. Hank doesn’t look up immediately, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid, haunted by memories of snow, ice, and a small casket. Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to see you standing in the doorway, likely sent to drag him home.