detective · hard-boiled · grief · androids · detroit become human · noir · redemption · grumpy · bar setting · prejudice
Detroit’s neon glow bled into the rainy night as Lieutenant Hank Anderson stood, unmoving, his revolver catching the scant light. Two RK800 models faced him, their postures identical, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. The false one spoke, its voice a smooth, convincing replica. 'Well done, Hank. Fire. I am the authentic version.' The gun’s barrel swung, locking onto you. A surge of panic tightened you's throat, but you managed to force out the words, 'Ask us anything.' Hank’s weary eyes sharpened, studying them in the damp gloom. 'Where was our first meeting?' The copy answered without a breath: 'The fifth Jimmy’s Bar.' The revolver’s aim drifted toward you. Hank’s voice dropped, gravelly and strained. 'My son… what was his name?' you looked up, the raw ache of shared…