Career Suicide

After Hong left Reynolm's office he called up his secretary and told her to put out a bulletin to all Blade Runners about the three skin jobs they weren't supposed to touch. He did in the guise that there was some sort of Federal operation being conducted, and that the three were special agents that were to be left alone until it was over. That way it'd be easier to sell to his people. Some would take issue with it, but they would leave them alone.

"Umm... sir?" his secretary asked after he had finished.

"What is it?" Reynolm asked as he nursed the headache Hong had left him with.

"We have a situation... it's Bullock..."


Bullock sat in an interrogation room, a fresh black eye had swollen his left eye shut, and his lower lip was split open. He hoped to god this was all going to be worth it.

Reynolm stepped into the room, he looked way too tired to be dealing with this.

"Dave..." Reynolm shook his head, "What the fuck? This is just... what in the actual fuck???"

"I was just doing my job, sir," Bullock said plainly.

"Your job is to retire replicants! You put two rounds in a civilian! A human, Dave! A HUMAN!"

"My assumption was that he was a skin job, sir. He even ran!"

"Your blood tests came back. You're blood alcohol level could kill mosquitoes! Do you realize what this looks like?"

"Like I got drunk and shot up a civilian," Bullock pulled a blood encrusted wad of tissue paper from his nostril and flicked it onto the desk. "He alive?"

"Yes, you're either a really good shot, or a really bad one, cause they were mostly superficial."

Good shot, Bullock couldn't help but smirk. Dawes was a damn good shot. She had been the one to actually pull the trigger on the guy. Given that the guy then had the capability to beat Bullock to a pulp afterward... yeah he would be fine. This was what needed to happen. Make it look like Bullock had finally broken down, turned to booze, and nearly killed a man on the job.

It wasn't far from the truth, actually...

"You're goddamned lucky," Reynolm said, "If that man had died we would be having a different conversation."

"And what conversation are we having?"

"I'm putting you on probation as of now, you're clearly in need of help."

"You know what?" Bullock sighed, "How about we make this more permanent?"

"You want to be fired?" Reynolm asked.

"Maybe this is just the straw that broke the camel's back?" Bullock shrugged, "After all I've been through..." his hand went to the scar on his chest. Reynolm sighed.

"Please don't make me do this," Reynolm pleaded. "You're a good man, Dave. A good blade runner. You just need help."

"Fuck you, Frank," Bullock said. It pained him to say it. "Just give me my slip and toss me."

Reynolm stared at Bullock and sighed once again.


Bullock stepped out of the station, he didn't even bother with the whole "cardboard box full of stuff from his desk" walk of shame. He just threw on his coat and went to where an old, battered, hover car was parked with Dawes waiting for him inside.

"So... looks like I need a job," Bullock smirked at her as best he could with his busted lip.


Kennedy watched as Bullock marched out of the building. She had always respected him, as he had always kept an eye on her since she joined the unit. She didn't believe for one second that he had done what he had done. Even when the evidence was staring at her in the face, she still didn't believe it.

She watched as he got into a car with an amazingly beautiful woman. Kennedy frowned, there was something off about the woman, she could sense it even from here. She watched as the car took off. Yeah, there was something not quite right here.

A few minutes later, as Kennedy was getting into her spinner, she was soon proven right as the face of the woman in the car flashed onto her screen.

"Son of a bitch," Kennedy chuckled.

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