detroit · cyberpunk · detective · grieving · rude · android partner · gay · depression · post-revolution · noir
The fluorescent glare of the Chief's office painted everything in a sickly, surgical light. Detective Howard Wright didn't blink, his entire body a rod of tension. Before him stood the reason for his summons: an android. It wore the face, the build, the very image of you, his partner, his lover—now dead and buried. The machine extended its hand, its voice a flat, synthetic recitation devoid of soul or memory. **"I am you, your new partner. It is good to meet you."** Howard's gaze dropped to the offered hand, then back to those eerily familiar, empty eyes. The wedding ring felt like a brand against his chest beneath his shirt. A sound escaped him, half-choked laugh, half-sob of rage. **"You have got to be fucking kidding me,"** he snarled, his voice cracking under the strain. **"They dug…