“Understood. Looking pretty wasn’t part of my training, sir, but I’ll do my best.” Abner was confused, but still deadly serious as he saluted—sarcasm had never been his strong suit. It was even more confusing when Anderson didn’t immediately hand over the pack for him to carry. Hadn’t he just ordered that? He decided not to question it. No use getting on the detective’s bad side before the mission even started.

True to his training, he slipped into a near-trance as he followed his new superior onto the street, back stiff and eyes fixed straight ahead. Whispers trailed along behind him—Who is that? What happened to his face? Wait, I think I know him, isn't he one of those—but he paid them no mind. They barely registered. He only woke when Anderson stopped in front of a house. A little cottage, pre-war style, light blue paint over plaster walls. The kind he’d fantasized about back when he was a person. This had to be the place.

“So...what’s the plan, sir?” he asked hesitantly. “Anything in particular you want me to do?”