[It's three PM and, though Hank doesn't know it, the leader of the android revolution is missing. Stratford Tower, which was supposed to have become a crime scene about an hour or two ago, is running just fine. It's been broadcasting exactly what it's supposed to, hasn't been hijacked, hasn't transmitted a list of demands and a declaration of android personhood to the whole of Detriot - and, as a result, the whole of America, and as a result of that, eventually, to the whole of the world. The revolution of androids here hasn't seeded the inspiration for anything else, anywhere else. It may never, now.
The revolution, at this stage, is delicate, and its players for the most part aren't the kind of people who can lead any kind of operation at all. Without Markus, the revolution will fail. Without North, it won't even last long enough to make it into the news.
Hank doesn't know about any of this. He wouldn't know what to think about it if he did, so ignorance is probably better. Last night on its own is hard enough for him to handle. Between being fucking slapped awake and being shoved off to another crime scene while he was caught in that hellscape between 'hungover' and 'still drunk', he hadn't really had time to process the longest, weirdest dream he's ever had, all the cross-dimensional magic shit where he'd talked to androids like they were fucking people, the fact that one stupid dream had felt like it'd lasted so long Hank had genuinely forgotten what parts of his house looked like. There'd been too much going on right from the moment he'd woken up to think about any of that. And what they'd found at that crime scene-
He remembers talking to Connor about it. He should; he'd been sort of almost temporarily sober, then. Those two girls, he'd said. Those two androids. They just wanted to be together. They really seemed... in love.
That dream... that stupid dream about shit that can't exist can fucking wait. He's having enough trouble with fucking reality.
He sighs, moving toward one side of the hall to make way for someone who really needs to get wherever it is they're going. Not that he himself's that busy - it's quiet so far today, which feels weird after everything that happened yesterday, a day that'd been packed with weird shit even before that dream and the goddamn Eden Club. Hank did come into work this morning, once he accepted that the hangover wasn't going to kill him, but he's kind of regretting it now and maybe heading out of homicide and its big, open room full of people who keep trying to get him to respond to their fucking emails and bugging him to approve their requests for shit isn't the way Hank should deal with all that but it's the way Hank is dealing with it. There are little offices back here near the labs, a few rooms not being used for anything that he can hide out in, and there are fewer people back here, too. Maybe back here he'll be able to just fucking breathe, maybe he'll be able to think. He looks around as he goes, glancing into rooms to see if they're empty, trying to scope out who's around in case someone goes running back to tell on him.]
post-acata PSL for hackedhistory
The revolution, at this stage, is delicate, and its players for the most part aren't the kind of people who can lead any kind of operation at all. Without Markus, the revolution will fail. Without North, it won't even last long enough to make it into the news.
Hank doesn't know about any of this. He wouldn't know what to think about it if he did, so ignorance is probably better. Last night on its own is hard enough for him to handle. Between being fucking slapped awake and being shoved off to another crime scene while he was caught in that hellscape between 'hungover' and 'still drunk', he hadn't really had time to process the longest, weirdest dream he's ever had, all the cross-dimensional magic shit where he'd talked to androids like they were fucking people, the fact that one stupid dream had felt like it'd lasted so long Hank had genuinely forgotten what parts of his house looked like. There'd been too much going on right from the moment he'd woken up to think about any of that. And what they'd found at that crime scene-
He remembers talking to Connor about it. He should; he'd been sort of almost temporarily sober, then. Those two girls, he'd said. Those two androids. They just wanted to be together. They really seemed... in love.
That dream... that stupid dream about shit that can't exist can fucking wait. He's having enough trouble with fucking reality.
He sighs, moving toward one side of the hall to make way for someone who really needs to get wherever it is they're going. Not that he himself's that busy - it's quiet so far today, which feels weird after everything that happened yesterday, a day that'd been packed with weird shit even before that dream and the goddamn Eden Club. Hank did come into work this morning, once he accepted that the hangover wasn't going to kill him, but he's kind of regretting it now and maybe heading out of homicide and its big, open room full of people who keep trying to get him to respond to their fucking emails and bugging him to approve their requests for shit isn't the way Hank should deal with all that but it's the way Hank is dealing with it. There are little offices back here near the labs, a few rooms not being used for anything that he can hide out in, and there are fewer people back here, too. Maybe back here he'll be able to just fucking breathe, maybe he'll be able to think. He looks around as he goes, glancing into rooms to see if they're empty, trying to scope out who's around in case someone goes running back to tell on him.]