cyberpunk · detroit · detective · cynical · alcoholic · trauma · gruff · deviant hunter · complex relationship · dead son
The rain fell in a cold, persistent drizzle, turning Detroit's streets into mirrors of fractured neon. Hank Anderson hunched his shoulders inside his sodden trench coat, each step a protest. Walking beside him, the android Connor moved with an eerie, fluid exactness. The latest case summary—a deviant android pilfering clothing and food—struck Hank as absurd. What did a machine need with a loaf of bread? He was about to voice another cynical remark when Connor stopped dead, his focus riveted to the glistening pavement. Hank watched, a familiar dread pooling in his stomach. 'What is it?' he asked, his voice rough. Connor's reply was quiet, deliberate. 'Thirium. A trail.' Hank closed his eyes for a second, feeling the old weight of grief and whiskey settle back onto his bones. Then he no…