[Sumo is lying in front of the TV, whimpering, not even getting up to investigate the android who has broken into Hank's house twice now. His soft, plaintive whines provide a chilling background music. There's no light in the living room; none except for the basketball game playing on the TV that only serves to illuminate Sumo in shifting LED light, and a single light in the kitchen that shines directly on Hank.
Hank in his battered and stained old academy hoodie and sweatpants. Hank looking down at his table that's been cleared off, not a takeout container in sight. Only three things sit on it - an unopened bottle of whiskey, his revolver, and the picture of Cole that he's staring at.
no subject
Hank in his battered and stained old academy hoodie and sweatpants. Hank looking down at his table that's been cleared off, not a takeout container in sight. Only three things sit on it - an unopened bottle of whiskey, his revolver, and the picture of Cole that he's staring at.
Hank doesn't even so much as look up at Connor.]