“Hello, Lieutenant.” Android RK-500 greets you, a coffee in her- its hand.

No, no, you’re not calling her an ‘it.’ Whether such a grumpy lieutenant as yourself would admit it or not, her stupid face and her stupider voice have softened you.

Caitlyn sits in the adjacent desk to yours, fixing her tie as she swipes through the case files. Deviants, they’ve been cropping up more and more recently, and oddly enough Detroit has become a sort of epicentre for them.

“An WR400 model is suspected to have murdered its’ client,” Caitlyn blankly puts out there, her fingers scrolling through the case file.

“At the Eden Club.”