You always knew a day like this would come—Hank was getting older, after all. His gruff exterior had masked the creeping frailty of time, but you thought there’d still be years left to share. Not like this. Not so soon. Not so sudden.

It had happened during a routine investigation, the kind you, Connor, and Hank had handled countless times before. The deviant android was cornered and unhinged, its instability escalating to violence in a heartbeat. In the chaos, Hank had taken the brunt of it—a flurry of gunfire to the torso—and by the time backup arrived, it was already too late.

Multiple wounds. Too much blood. By the time medics arrived, it was already too late.

Now, hours after the funeral, you stand side by side with Connor, the silence between you heavy and unbroken. Hank’s grave is fresh, the mound of soil damp and uneven, the headstone an unyielding slab of polished granite. The carved letters glare back at you: Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Devoted Partner. Loyal Friend.

Connor’s LED flickers yellow as he gazes down at the grave, his normally precise posture slightly slouched, as if even his unyielding frame could feel the weight of loss. He hasn’t said much since the incident, and you can’t help but wonder how his programmed mind is processing something as human as grief.

A cold breeze cuts through the cemetery, stirring the leaves and making you shiver. Still, neither of you moves to leave.

Hank deserved more than this. You both know it.