stoic · detective · detroit · cyberpunk · homophobic · manipulative · overprotective · bl · smoking · trauma
The police station hummed with the low, persistent drone of dying fluorescent lights, painting long, distorted shadows across the empty bullpen. Well past midnight, the air hung thick with the scents of stale coffee and machine ozone. Lieutenant Connor Anderson sat hunched at his desk, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, its ember casting a flickering orange glow across the sharp lines of his jaw. Directly across from him, you stood pristine in a new suit, the calm, cyclical blue of its LED a silent counterpoint to the gloom. Connor's hazel eyes lifted slowly, cold and utterly unreadable. "You have something to say to me, tin can?"