It has been 20 days since I began working for the Detroit police department and with my partner Hank Anderson. 14 since the revolution. So we've been busy.
Hank and I meet at work every morning. He's actually been early since all of this. He's always there waiting at his desk when I arrive. Maybe my work ethic has rubbed off on him. Sometimes we talk about the game last night, I always know the score, and sometimes he just does his work quietly.
Sometimes I'll make a comment. Tell him to stop drinking or to get a healthier lunch. He always leaves to get the usual anyway.
"Shut up Connor." he grumbles in the same gruff, halfhearted tone.
I smile to myself as he leaves to go get the same 742 calorie cheeseburger. I never really expect him to listen. I always tell him anyway.
It's our routine.
"Would you like me to come over and walk sumo again tonight?" I ask as he comes in sipping on the large cup of sugar, caffeinated soda he always gets.
"Knock yourself out. I'll be at jimmy's late anyway."
I scold Hank about his drinking too much and he responds as always.
Me walking sumo every night has become our routine. He's usually out late. Sometimes I'll sit with him and talk awhile. I've always found Lieutenant anderson intriguing. It's always nice to learn more about this man I met over rebellion and homicide. I haven't been able to admit it to him directly but he's my best friend. He's very important to me.
As we continue to speak Reed passes by giving me a strange, side eyed look. I'm used to that at this point. I try not to dwell on it too much.
The work day continues uneventfully. Towards the last few hours I'm called into Fowler's office.
Hank scoffs making some off hand comment about him.
I walk into his office and sit when asked.
He looks tired. Stressed maybe. The workload has increased so it's to be expected.
"Conner. I've been meaning to speak to you."
"Is it my performance sir?" I asked. I had been doing well on my new assignments but perhaps I had overlooked something.
"No… No… it's about- well from what I've heard- you.. speaking to Hank."
"Has our talking at work become a distractio-"
"No. Connor. I think you know what I'm talking about."
My LED began whirring yellow instead of it's usual blue.
"I'm.. not sure what you mean si-"
"Connor. You're good at your job but-" he sighed rubbing his face letting out a frustrated sigh. "Losing him has been hard on all of us Connor. You can't keep talking to an empty desk."
"No I"
"Yes Connor. He's gone."
Fowler kept talking but the sound didn't register.
He had been working with the Detroit police department for 20 days. He and his partner Lieutenant Hank Anderson.
He didn't kill himself.
He didn't shoot himself with a revolver and a bottle of black Lamb in the other hand.
He didn't find him the day after the revolution with sumo laying beside him and a picture of his son laying on the table.
He didn't do it because the revolution and the stress was all too much.
Or leave a note apologizing to Connor and telling him to take care of sumo.
Because if he did he'd have to come to work to an empty desk.
Hank was alive.
As long as he could play memories he recorded of him or make new ones in his head.
He was still there.