“You are the last hope. You know what to do, Connor.”
He knows what must be done. He knows what must be accomplished. There is only one mission. Following behind Lieutenant Anderson comes with added leverage. The human is conflicted towards him. Despite their terse and tense partnership there is more benefits in allowing the human to lead. It will get him closer to his next target.
Elijah Kamski’s home stood out among the snow. A picturesque abode along a wintry image of Detroit. The lake itself added a crystalline backdrop. Matching Mr. Kamski’s villa with an ambiance of sheltered, isolated and cool; the RK800′s eyes flicker along the expanse. The home is neither welcoming nor foreboding. It just is.
The matter of his existence is just that. It just is. It just becomes.
Deviancy is a thing to destroy. Destruction is beauty painted in blue. Cut down with bullets of precision and implanted through circuitry skulls without little hesitation.
Two Tracis died in an alley. He batted no eyes. He stalled no intensions. He moved as the executioner, pulling back on the barrel and unleashed his sentence. Both died from his gun. Both bled out onto soaked asphalt swirling beneath their lifeless husks.
All in all they were no longer part oft he problem. They were the end. Hank did not like that.
Connor said nothing as they approached the door. His eyes fixed solely on the front. Though a glimmer of something happened in that moment. A thought process blipped into view with the flicker of yellow. It disappeared quickly. Connor forced himself to remain emotionless. He could not determine anything until pulling the information required to find Jericho.
“Well here we are,” the lieutenant glanced over to Connor. It was brief. Maybe not brief enough because all he could see was that damn machine from the Eden Club’s alleyway. Just when he was starting to think - ah fuck it. Hank rang the bell.
@creatorofclay feat. @musescollective
