Hank exhaled as he felt the heavy raindrops falling on his head, he waited for a moment before he opened his umbrella. His eyes burned from staring into the computer screen, perhaps he should've used the eye drops Jean had brought him years ago. Either that or he should get glasses like Bob Fowler … but Bob looked like a dork with them to be honest.

Behind him uniformed police officers went in and out of the precinct. From the corner of his eye he saw two android cops standing guard in front of the entrance.

He scoffed and started to walk toward Jimmy' Bar. It felt good to see the puddles on the sidewalk, smell the earthly odour of the rain and that strange tartly taste that lingered in the city every time it poured. This is how real life smelled, not like the dry air in the precinct, with the lingering smell of cleansing agent on every surface. So clean, so immaculate.

Finally he reached the bar and entered. Hank tossed the umbrella carelessly into a corner. Of fucking course Dereck Myer was already sitting at the counter. He couldn't sit through another story of Dereck's wife – not today.

He patted Dereck on his back. "Hey buddy."

The burly man smiled. "Hey Hank!"

Hank went to the back of the bar and sat down close the TV. Not his favourite spot but in safe distance from Dereck. Jim, bless him, understood perfectly. As always. Without saying a word he put two glasses of whiskey in front of Hank.

He downed the first one in one gulp. The warm burning feeling his in throat made him relax a little. He looked at the TV, the Detroit Gears were on a losing streak again. God, he missed the times when there was a real basketball team in Detroit. When they played real defence … not this score first nonsense.

Hank watched the game for a while, slowly drinking his way through two more glasses of whiskey. Just when he started to feel dizzy and comfortable his thoughts returned to his last case. A woman had accused her android of pushing her elderly mother down the stairs. Fucking waste of time – after five minutes Hank had known that she had done it herself to inherit her mother coin collection. Fucking people.

As if he hadn't already enough cases. Hank scoffed. One day he had to ask Bob why he had put him in the android crimes division all by himself. On second thought … there was no need to ask. The city was broke, and nobody gave a damn about androids. He took another gulp. And nobody gave a damn about him either.

And if that wasn't bad enough he was basically forced to watch one bad pass after another – damn this Colliers! He was a point guard – he was supposed to distribute the damn ball! That was his job! He groaned as he noticed that the Gears were already 20 points behind.

"You cost a couple of millionssss, you jerk. The least you could do is being a … sssolid point guard," Hank muttered under his breath.

The door to the bar opened and a gust of cold wind hit Hank's back. He shuddered a little and took another gulp. He noticed from the corner of his eye that Jim crossed his arms. Dereck mumbled something Hank couldn't quite hear. Whatever.

Suddenly somebody stood right next to Hank. He felt a pleasant light-headedness and tried to ignore them.

"Lieutenant Anderson, my name is Connor," said a slightly raspy male voice.

The first thing Hank noticed when he glanced at the intruder was the blue triangular android sign on their chest. He turned his attention again to the game sighed. He had hoped Bob Fowler had changed his mind … but of course he hadn't. And now this machine is bothering him in his favourite bar.

When Hank didn't answer Connor continued: "I'm the android sent by Cyberlife. I looked for you at the station but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar."

It wasn't going away; he might as well get it over with. With a low grunt Hank turned on his stool to face Connor. The android was wearing standard android uniform with a black tie and a white shirt. Its height was quite average, so was his slender frame. Hank also registered the youthful face, why on earth had they designed this prototype like a college kid?"

Hank stared it in the face and took another sip of this whiskey. "What you want?"

"You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a Cyberlife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators."

Assistance, huh? And this stupid condescending ass thinks that it has to walk me through stuff that already has been decided by Fowler? As if he didn't already know!

"Well, I don't need any assistance. Especially not from a plastic asshole like you. So just be a good lil' robot and get the fuck outta here."

Connor's LED-light turned from blue to yellow and then again blue. Hank frowned. Even after all the cases he had worked he hadn't seen this one before.

In a friendly tone it continued: "I understand that some people are not comfortable in the presence of androids but I am-"

"I am perfectly comfortable … Now back off, before I crush you like an empty beer can!" snapped Hank. Stupid condescending asshole! Hank gulped the whiskey down and banged the glass on the counter. "Do you have any idea how long I've been working today? My shift has ended hours ago!"

Connor leaned a little closer. "Listen, I think you should stop drinking and come with me. It'll make life easier for both of us."

The stupid robot was right of course. Hank knew that he was angry and tired … and drunk. If he had any gumption he would've handed Fowler his badge and his gun the moment he had told him that he was going to get an android to help him with the cases. He might as well surrender. Just as he was about to say something, Connor spoke up:

"I'm aware that are overworked and tired. But it's essential in a homicide case to arrive at the scene of the crime as fast as possible." It paused. "You know what? I'll buy you one for the road. What do you say? Bartender, the same again, please!"

Connor put a couple of bills on the counter; they looked of course freshly printed.

Hank jerked his head around, staring at Connor in utter disbelieve. Then he turned back and nodded at Jim.

"Fucking wonders of technology," he mumbled, watching Jim pouring out another whiskey. He gulped it down and got up.

Hank walked out of the bar. Outside he inhaled the fresh air and felt like his head clear up a little bit. He heard the android stepping out behind him. "Bring me up to speed."

"The victim is a Todd Williams. According to his neighbour he was shot by his AX400 android."

Hank begun to walk towards the precinct. "Alright."

"According to his file Williams' ex-wife had a restraining order issued against him. He used to work in Detroit Steel until it shut down eight years. According to his tax records he didn't have a steady income in the last couple of years." Connor quickened its step until it walked next to Hank, straightening its tie. "He was caught in a drug raid last year, but no charges were filed."

Hank scoffed. "Probably some small-time dealer."

"What makes you say that?"

"Experience. I bet he never registered for welfare." Hank coughed and spit out.

"You're right," said Connor slowly, "there is no social services record."

Hank stopped and turned to face Connor. "Wait a moment. How did you verify this so quickly?"

Connor's lips twitched, Hank wasn't sure if that was an attempt of a smile. "I'm connected to the police servers, Lieutenant."

"Huh, wonders of technology indeed." Hank turned and continued his way.

When they finally arrived at Hanks car it had started to rain again, Hank remembered that he had forgotten his umbrella at the bar and cursed under his breath. He searched his pockets for the keys when Connor stepped close to him.

Hank took a step back. "Never heard of personal space, you asshole?"

Connor just looked at him with its stupid big brown eyes and said: "This is not a self-driving vehicle. You alcohol level is too high to operate it safely. I suggest that I drive, Lieutenant."

Hank narrowed his eyes. "Can you even drive stick?"

"I can operate a great number of vehicles – including old-timers with stick gear." There was again this strange twitch in its face.

It bothered him to hand over his keys, but unfortunately the annoying robot was right. Whatever. He was tired anyway. He threw his keys towards Connor, it caught them in mid-air. "Thank you."

It unlocked the door and sat down. Hank went to the other side of the car and had to brush empty beer cans and fast-food wrappers from the passenger seat before he could sit down. Huh, it seemed that it had been a while since there was somebody else beside him in this car.

Connor started the car and backed out of the parking space, Hank ran his hand through his hair and stared out of the window. When was the last time somebody had driven with him? It must've been Gavin … back when they were still partners. So about two years ago.

The noise of beer cans clanking against each other ended his train of thought. Hank looked into the back, the floor was also littered with junk. He could almost hear Jean's pissed off voice complaining. The memory made him uneasy. He glanced again at Connor.

It was a strange sight. This pristine looking college boy in this old tatty seat behind the wheel of an ancient Buick. There was a strange feeling in Hanks gut. He was suddenly keenly aware of the smell the old rancid fat from the fast-food wrappers, the sour-ish stale smell of beer.

Hank pressed his lips together and opened the window, cold wind and raindrops hit his face but at least he could breathe again.