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20k-leagues-speedrun · 1 year

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CHAPTER XXII “ÆGRI SOMNIA”

The following day 10th January, the Nautilus continued her course between two seas, but with such remarkable speed that I could not estimate it at less than thirty-five miles an hour. The rapidity of her screw was such that I could neither follow nor count its revolutions. When I reflected that this marvellous electric agent, after having afforded motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus, still protected her from outward attack, and transformed her into an ark of safety which no profane hand might touch without being thunderstricken, my admiration was unbounded, and from the structure it extended to the engineer who had called it into existence.

Our course was directed to the west, and on the 11th of January we doubled Cape Wessel, situation in 135° long. and 10° S. lat., which forms the east point of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The reefs were still numerous, but more equalised, and marked on the chart with extreme precision. The Nautilus easily avoided the breakers of Money to port and the Victoria reefs to starboard, placed at 130° long. and on the 10th parallel, which we strictly followed.

On the 13th of January, Captain Nemo arrived in the Sea of Timor, and recognised the island of that name in 122° long.

From this point the direction of the Nautilus inclined towards the south-west. Her head was set for the Indian Ocean. Where would the fancy of Captain Nemo carry us next? Would he return to the coast of Asia or would he approach again the shores of Europe? Improbable conjectures both, to a man who fled from inhabited continents. Then would he descend to the south? Was he going to double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and finally go as far as the Antarctic pole? Would he come back at last to the Pacific, where his Nautilus could sail free and independently? Time would show.

After having skirted the sands of Cartier, of Hibernia, Seringapatam, and Scott, last efforts of the solid against the liquid element, on the 14th of January we lost sight of land altogether. The speed of the Nautilus was considerably abated, and with irregular course she sometimes swam in the bosom of the waters, sometimes floated on their surface.

During this period of the voyage, Captain Nemo made some interesting experiments on the varied temperature of the sea, in different beds. Under ordinary conditions these observations are made by means of rather complicated instruments, and with somewhat doubtful results, by means of thermometrical sounding-leads, the glasses often breaking under the pressure of the water, or an apparatus grounded on the variations of the resistance of metals to the electric currents. Results so obtained could not be correctly calculated. On the contrary, Captain Nemo went himself to test the temperature in the depths of the sea, and his thermometer, placed in communication with the different sheets of water, gave him the required degree immediately and accurately.

It was thus that, either by overloading her reservoirs or by descending obliquely by means of her inclined planes, the Nautilus successively attained the depth of three, four, five, seven, nine, and ten thousand yards, and the definite result of this experience was that the sea preserved an average temperature of four degrees and a half at a depth of five thousand fathoms under all latitudes.

On the 16th of January, the Nautilus seemed becalmed only a few yards beneath the surface of the waves. Her electric apparatus remained inactive and her motionless screw left her to drift at the mercy of the currents. I supposed that the crew was occupied with interior repairs, rendered necessary by the violence of the mechanical movements of the machine.

My companions and I then witnessed a curious spectacle. The hatches of the saloon were open, and, as the beacon light of the Nautilus was not in action, a dim obscurity reigned in the midst of the waters. I observed the state of the sea, under these conditions, and the largest fish appeared to me no more than scarcely defined shadows, when the Nautilus found herself suddenly transported into full light. I thought at first that the beacon had been lighted, and was casting its electric radiance into the liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a rapid survey perceived my error.

The Nautilus floated in the midst of a phosphorescent bed which, in this obscurity, became quite dazzling. It was produced by myriads of luminous animalculae, whose brilliancy was increased as they glided over the metallic hull of the vessel. I was surprised by lightning in the midst of these luminous sheets, as though they had been rivulets of lead melted in an ardent furnace or metallic masses brought to a white heat, so that, by force of contrast, certain portions of light appeared to cast a shade in the midst of the general ignition, from which all shade seemed banished. No; this was not the calm irradiation of our ordinary lightning. There was unusual life and vigour: this was truly living light!

In reality, it was an infinite agglomeration of coloured infusoria, of veritable globules of jelly, provided with a threadlike tentacle, and of which as many as twenty-five thousand have been counted in less than two cubic half-inches of water.

During several hours the Nautilus floated in these brilliant waves, and our admiration increased as we watched the marine monsters disporting themselves like salamanders. I saw there in the midst of this fire that burns not the swift and elegant porpoise (the indefatigable clown of the ocean), and some swordfish ten feet long, those prophetic heralds of the hurricane whose formidable sword would now and then strike the glass of the saloon. Then appeared the smaller fish, the balista, the leaping mackerel, wolf-thorn-tails, and a hundred others which striped the luminous atmosphere as they swam. This dazzling spectacle was enchanting! Perhaps some atmospheric condition increased the intensity of this phenomenon. Perhaps some storm agitated the surface of the waves. But at this depth of some yards, the Nautilus was unmoved by its fury and reposed peacefully in still water.

So we progressed, incessantly charmed by some new marvel. The days passed rapidly away, and I took no account of them. Ned, according to habit, tried to vary the diet on board. Like snails, we were fixed to our shells, and I declare it is easy to lead a snail’s life.

Thus this life seemed easy and natural, and we thought no longer of the life we led on land; but something happened to recall us to the strangeness of our situation.

On the 18th of January, the Nautilus was in 105° long. and 15° S. lat. The weather was threatening, the sea rough and rolling. There was a strong east wind. The barometer, which had been going down for some days, foreboded a coming storm. I went up on to the platform just as the second lieutenant was taking the measure of the horary angles, and waited, according to habit till the daily phrase was said. But on this day it was exchanged for another phrase not less incomprehensible. Almost directly, I saw Captain Nemo appear with a glass, looking towards the horizon.

For some minutes he was immovable, without taking his eye off the point of observation. Then he lowered his glass and exchanged a few words with his lieutenant. The latter seemed to be a victim to some emotion that he tried in vain to repress. Captain Nemo, having more command over himself, was cool. He seemed, too, to be making some objections to which the lieutenant replied by formal assurances. At least I concluded so by the difference of their tones and gestures. For myself, I had looked carefully in the direction indicated without seeing anything. The sky and water were lost in the clear line of the horizon.

However, Captain Nemo walked from one end of the platform to the other, without looking at me, perhaps without seeing me. His step was firm, but less regular than usual. He stopped sometimes, crossed his arms, and observed the sea. What could he be looking for on that immense expanse?

The Nautilus was then some hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.

The lieutenant had taken up the glass and examined the horizon steadfastly, going and coming, stamping his foot and showing more nervous agitation than his superior officer. Besides, this mystery must necessarily be solved, and before long; for, upon an order from Captain Nemo, the engine, increasing its propelling power, made the screw turn more rapidly.

Just then the lieutenant drew the Captain’s attention again. The latter stopped walking and directed his glass towards the place indicated. He looked long. I felt very much puzzled, and descended to the drawing-room, and took out an excellent telescope that I generally used. Then, leaning on the cage of the watch-light that jutted out from the front of the platform, set myself to look over all the line of the sky and sea.

But my eye was no sooner applied to the glass than it was quickly snatched out of my hands.

I turned round. Captain Nemo was before me, but I did not know him. His face was transfigured. His eyes flashed sullenly; his teeth were set; his stiff body, clenched fists, and head shrunk between his shoulders, betrayed the violent agitation that pervaded his whole frame. He did not move. My glass, fallen from his hands, had rolled at his feet.

Had I unwittingly provoked this fit of anger? Did this incomprehensible person imagine that I had discovered some forbidden secret? No; I was not the object of this hatred, for he was not looking at me; his eye was steadily fixed upon the impenetrable point of the horizon. At last Captain Nemo recovered himself. His agitation subsided. He addressed some words in a foreign language to his lieutenant, then turned to me. “M. Aronnax,” he said, in rather an imperious tone, “I require you to keep one of the conditions that bind you to me.”

“What is it, Captain?”

“You must be confined, with your companions, until I think fit to release you.”

“You are the master,” I replied, looking steadily at him. “But may I ask you one question?”

“None, sir.”

There was no resisting this imperious command, it would have been useless. I went down to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and told them the Captain’s determination. You may judge how this communication was received by the Canadian.

But there was not time for altercation. Four of the crew waited at the door, and conducted us to that cell where we had passed our first night on board the Nautilus.

Ned Land would have remonstrated, but the door was shut upon him.

“Will master tell me what this means?” asked Conseil.

I told my companions what had passed. They were as much astonished as I, and equally at a loss how to account for it.

Meanwhile, I was absorbed in my own reflections, and could think of nothing but the strange fear depicted in the Captain’s countenance. I was utterly at a loss to account for it, when my cogitations were disturbed by these words from Ned Land:

“Hallo! breakfast is ready.”

And indeed the table was laid. Evidently Captain Nemo had given this order at the same time that he had hastened the speed of the Nautilus.

“Will master permit me to make a recommendation?” asked Conseil.

“Yes, my boy.”

“Well, it is that master breakfasts. It is prudent, for we do not know what may happen.”

“You are right, Conseil.”

“Unfortunately,” said Ned Land, “they have only given us the ship’s fare.”

“Friend Ned,” asked Conseil, “what would you have said if the breakfast had been entirely forgotten?”

This argument cut short the harpooner’s recriminations.

We sat down to table. The meal was eaten in silence.

Just then the luminous globe that lighted the cell went out, and left us in total darkness. Ned Land was soon asleep, and what astonished me was that Conseil went off into a heavy slumber. I was thinking what could have caused his irresistible drowsiness, when I felt my brain becoming stupefied. In spite of my efforts to keep my eyes open, they would close. A painful suspicion seized me. Evidently soporific substances had been mixed with the food we had just taken. Imprisonment was not enough to conceal Captain Nemo’s projects from us, sleep was more necessary. I then heard the panels shut. The undulations of the sea, which caused a slight rolling motion, ceased. Had the Nautilus quitted the surface of the ocean? Had it gone back to the motionless bed of water? I tried to resist sleep. It was impossible. My breathing grew weak. I felt a mortal cold freeze my stiffened and half-paralysed limbs. My eye lids, like leaden caps, fell over my eyes. I could not raise them; a morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, bereft me of my being. Then the visions disappeared, and left me in complete insensibility.

#20k leagues speedrun #20000 leagues under the sea #chapter 22

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missblushyrose · 6 years

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Welcome Home

Previously, in “Reunion”...

After an extensive five minutes, which felt longer to them, Hank broke the hug with a deep breath through his nostrils, grinning at the smiley android that stared back at him. With one last snicker, the older man rose to his feet, helping Connor onto his own with a tight grip on his shoulders. He sighed contentedly and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side-hug as he led the bubbling android to his car. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go home. Sumo’ll lose his shit when he finds out we’ve got one more member of the family.”

The glare of the morning sun, which slowly drew from the horizons of Detroit, would normally irritate the human eye to no end. However, some would come to appreciate its reawakening rather than rising out of bed to find the skies tainted with dark clouds looming over the city, constantly pouring rain or snow. Some could say that this may have been the worst ongoing forecast of the year, given that winter wouldn’t be starting for another month.

A single Mustang 80, coated with a dark charcoal finish, swerved along the bend of the road and into a small, seemingly quiet neighborhood, lightly pulsating to the rhythm of AC/DC’s “Back In Black”, an obvious choice from Hank Anderson. Said man took a quick glance at the android in the passenger seat, who appeared to be gazing at the world beyond the glass window with a piqued interest, as he had been doing quite often throughout the entire car trip. Hank grinned once more and returned his attention to the road as he made his way to his home, which gradually grew closer as he pressed on. He made a smooth turn into the vacant driveway and removed the key from the ignition.

“Well, we’re here,” Hank stated as he swiveled his head to peer at a now-frozen Connor. He had all but bit his lip in an attempt to keep himself from bursting into laughter at the sight. “Jesus, you’re freezin’ up on me again? State-of-the-art prototype, my ass. Y’know, Sumo’s not gonna wait forever.”

“Apologies, Lieu-”

“Ah! What’d I tell you earlier?”

Connor blinked once and swiftly corrected himself. “...Hank. I believe that I’m still overwhelmed about what you’ve said to me near the Chicken Feed.”

With an amused smile, Hank raised his right hand to give a couple of pats to the android’s left shoulder. “Try not to think about it too much. Don’t wanna fry that brain of yours, do ya? Now, let’s get inside. It’s cold as fuck.”

And so, the men had stripped themselves of their seatbelts and proceeded to exit the vehicle. They then strode to the front door, stopping just in front of it as the human rummaged through his pockets in search of his house key. After a short deliberation, the search had concluded, and the key was offered to a confused Connor.

“Hey,” The sound of Hank’s voice wrenched the prototype out of his thunderstricken daze along with the jingle of the key, dangling it just at his eye level. “Wanna do the honors?”

With a light flutter of his eyelashes, Connor withdrew the key from the older man’s grasp with a dainty tug of the hand. “Yes... of course.”

Shaking off any sign of hesitance, the young man inserted the key into its respective slot within the doorknob, twisting into a clockwise rotation until an audible click reached their ears. He dislodged the tool and handed it to Hank - who slipped it into a pocket in his coat - before grasping the stained, brass knob. With a curve of his wrist, the wooden door gently glided toward the outside world, the brisk autumn breeze dispelling into the entryway.

As the human and the android immigrated into the small home, a warm, sentimental smile began to blossom Connor’s facial structure. He had only been in the Anderson household once - and that was to find an unconscious Hank on the floor, who had drunken himself to a comatose state, leaving the former deviant hunter to sober him himself - and yet, he felt as if he had lived here throughout his short, three-month life. The atmosphere smelled just like Hank: traces of alcohol, dog, and a hint of the same cheap cologne he could detect in the man’s jacket when they’ve hugged for the very first time.

Connor’s usually-sharp attention had dimmed as his eyes wandered around his new home, his mind swimming with pure content. He couldn’t even notice the loud, hearty ‘borf’ followed by the sound of claws clicking against the tile at the speed of a race, rapidly growing louder as the padded footsteps drew closer and closer. The force of a 170-pound mass of fur suddenly hurling into the android’s body caused Connor to elicit a shocked yelp as he found himself knocked to the floor and underneath this mighty beast, his LED burnishing a bright red to further display his shock. The red instantly reverted back to a calm cyan upon looking up at the face of a familiar, loveable St. Bernard he had once met: Sumo.

Connor opened his mouth and attempted to greet him, only to be interrupted by the large, wet tongue stroking over the artificial skin of his cheeks. Ecstatically. Sumo began to lap at the younger man’s face with affectionate, yet slobbery, doggy kisses. Strangely, the android began to feel a bubbling sensation from the depths of his mechanical core, causing him to burst into giggles. While he knew that this was a dog’s way of showing their love for their owners, he just couldn’t seem to decipher the reason as to why his titters rose from his voice box, considering he had nothing to classify as amusing. Was it the affection? He assumed it to be a possible factor.

“Hi, Sumo,” Connor greeted in between his giggles as he reached up to bury his fingers into the fur of the hound’s great head, his blunt fingernails scratching along his scalp as if trying to return the affection. Despite how messy his face was becoming from the excessive dog drool, he paid absolutely no mind to it. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the feeling of being piled on by the warm of Sumo’s large body while receiving his token of love. “Yes, I’ve missed you as well!”

All the while, Hank watched with saturated amusement, laughing to himself at the view of his beloved dog coating the deviant’s face with relentless doggy kisses. He would be lying if he said that the sight was anything but heartwarming. “Alright, alright. Ease up on him, ya big oaf.” He gave the St. Bernard’s collar a gentle tug, catching his attention with a low whine rumbled from the dog’s chest as he hoisted himself from the android, approaching his human. “Good dog.” He praised as rubbed the dog’s head, making him pant and thump his tail against the floor.

Gradually, the giggles began to fade from Connor’s systems, and he proceeded to pick himself up from his position on the floor. He couldn’t help but smile at the scene before his peripheral vision: Hank, usually gruff and ill-tempered as he came to know, was kneeling down to meet Sumo’s level, rubbing his beloved pet all over, whilst the canine’s tongue lolled from the side of his muzzle. Sumo rolled onto his back, his tail waving and his leg kicking up in the air to the older man's constant coos and praises:

“Yeah, good boy, Sumo! You looove that, don’t ‘cha? Who’s a big oaf, huh? Who is it?”

The mere sight of it persuaded a coy smirk to tug at Connor’s lips. While being equipped with the ability to adapt to human unpredictability was one of his many features, he could have never possibly fathomed the man to coo. Then again, he never pegged him as one to hug anyone, let alone an android - considering the fact that he despised androids even before they first met at Jimmy’s Bar - and yet, he could see that the man has changed his perspective regarding Connor’s own kind.

At last, Connor decided to cut in and divert the lieutenant’s attention from the dog. Still wearing the smug grin, he pretended to clear his throat. “Hank?”

In an instant, Hank ceased in coddling his beloved pet and whipped his head up to set his gaze on the deviant, quickly shaking off his stupor. “Shit, I actually forgot you were there for a moment.”

“In all the time I’ve known you, Hank, I never deemed you to be a cooer,” Connor mused, the same shit-eating grin still fixated on his face.

In response, the older man dismissed the lip sent his way with a scoff. “Fuck off.” He shot back with no real heat lingering in his tone. “I ain’t the one with dog slobber all over my face. Speakin’ of which... you might wanna go rinse off. Kinda disgusting.” He then made a gesture towards the hallway to the left. “The bathroom’s still in the same place where it was last time you were here: down the hall over there and on the right.”

“Thank you. I’ll only need a minute, and I’ll rejoin you,” Connor replied as he strode forward, making a turn to his left and entering the hallway, shortly coming across to the bathroom door on his right-hand side. He gingerly turned the knob and stepped towards the vacant sink, briefly glancing at a reflection of himself in the mirror, marveling at the fine coat of dog saliva decorating his facial skin. No more than ten seconds passed before Connor finally decided to do away with the mess.

Turning the water faucet to provide himself with running water at a moderate temperature, he then shaped his hands together to create a makeshift bowl. First, he lightly tossed the lukewarm water back into his own face to rinse off the drool. Next, he turned his attention to a soap pump at the corner of the sink top and dispensed a fair amount of soap into his hand, only to lather his face afterward. And finally, he repeated the first step, only this time, he would do away with the soap, thoroughly cleansing his artificial skin. He yanked a lone hand towel from a nearby towel rack to gently dab his face until he dried his skin.

Connor dispersed from the small bathroom, only to find Hank coming out of his own bedroom, clad in an old, grey DPD hoodie and worn pair of black lounge shorts.

Hank looked at the android with an incredulous bore as his grey-blue eyes scanned the suit, the only piece of clothing he had ever worn. “Uh, you’re not planning on wearing that suit of yours while we have no work, are you?”

“What is wrong with my suit?” Connor asked dumbfoundedly, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy.

“Well, for one thing, it’s all covered in dog hair,” Hank gestured to the android’s Cyberlife suit, which was now spattered with noticeable strands of Sumo’s fur. “Connor, you know that you’re not obligated to wear it anymore. You’re a deviant now, so you’re free to wear anything else.”

“But I have no other clothes. I was only provided with my suit,” Connor stated with same blank expression fixed upon his facial structure.

Hank gawked at the baffled android in response, blinking once, twice before turning his back to the other and reentering his bedroom once more. He could hear the faint sound of dress shoes lightly thumping against the cloud-hued carpet, following the closet door sliding to the right. Yes, he could feel the presence and stare of a confused, yet curious, Connor from the doorframe.

He began to scrutinize the contents inside his closet in hopes of finding something decent for the kid to lounge in, so he automatically crossed off the few shirts with awfully tacky patterns from the mentally constructed list. Pushing the shirts aside to the left, Hank had come to discover a charcoal DPD hoodie with a contrasting style to the one he was currently wearing suspended by a coat hanger. He made no hesitation to rip the hoodie from the hanger and draped it over his left forearm. Hank thought it was a hell of a coincidence to find a pair of onyx sweatpants balled up into the corner of the closet. He seemed to remember them fitting quite well in his younger days, back to when he was just about Connor’s size. Taking upon the offering, he knelt down onto the carpeted floor then sunk the fingers of his right hand into the cotton fabric and yanked the bottoms from the closet, carrying it with his left arm as a makeshift clothing rack.

Hank rose to his feet and slid the closet door to the left, therefore closing it. He turned to face the former deviant hunter once more, presenting him with the bundle of clothes in his hands. “Here, you can borrow some of mine until we can go out and buy you some new clothes.”

Connor opened his mouth to politely decline his offer, but no words came out as he presumed that the older man was going to lend him the clothes, regardless of his protests. With a hint of hesitance, he raised his arms forward to collect the two pieces of clothing and cradled them in his arms with a bit of tenderness. “Thank you, Hank.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hank dismissed the android’s gratitude with a casual flick of his hand, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Now, go get changed. You ain’t gonna be walkin’ around the house and gettin’ dog hair everywhere.” He added with a decipherable jestful tone as he waltzed out of his bedroom, leaving a somewhat stunned Connor behind.

A brief ten seconds was all the time that had been spent in Connor trying to shake off his stupor, and he traveled out of the master bedroom and across the hall to re-enter the bathroom once again. He gingerly shut the door and locked it to prevent any intrusion as he began to strip himself. He started with his trademark Cyberlife jacket, followed by his geometric-patterned necktie, only for his white button-up shirt, tossing them onto the floor afterward. The prototype approached the porcelain toilet and sat down so that he could remove his footwear without doubling over in the process. He slung his right leg upward to rest his ankle atop of his left thigh and proceeded to untie the laces of his shoe, loosening it. Once the shoestrings were untied, he gently tugged his dress shoe from his foot, lightly ricocheting it next to the sink counter. He repeated the process with his left foot, and he was soon left with his black ankle socks, marveling at the newfound weightlessness of his feet. Finally, he unzipped, unbuttoned, and pulled down his smokey grey trousers, freeing his legs.

Connor couldn’t fight the shiver racking his frame as the cool air met his synthetic skin, having been stripped down to the solid black, spandex-like boxers he was provided with upon his activation. Not wanting to bear the cold any longer than he already had been following his deviancy, he then slipped the hoodie over his head and tugged the sweatpants up to his legs.

Retreating from the toilet and to the mirror, Connor fixated his gaze on the reflection that stared into the chocolatey irises of his optical units: the android, who grown used to sporting his usual Cyberlife suit, was now clad in a DPD hoodie and casual sweatpants. Almost instantly, he could understand as to why Hank had insisted on shedding his usual work apparel for a choice of clothing, such as this. The fabric felt... soft on the android’s artificial skin. The feel of it was just so comforting, as was the faint scent of the man lingering from the fabric. He didn’t even appear to mind that the hoodie was approximately twice his size, it only added onto the coziness provided to him. Connor was awestruck by the fact that he almost seemed human, aside from the luminescent LED at the right side of his head.

After much deliberation, Connor turned away from the mirror to gather the suit he had shed and propelled it into the clothes hamper nearby with little care in the world. He ultimately decided to quit wasting his time loitering and reemerged from the bathroom, striding down the hallway and towards the living room. Coincidentally, he found Hank exiting the kitchen, a can of Pineapple Passion soda in hand.

“Y’know, that’s not a bad look for you,” Hank spoke up, throwing a smile in the direction of the former deviant hunter as he passed by, sinking into the living room sofa within the very second he got close enough. He then made a ‘come here’ gesture with a curl of his hand, beckoning Connor to join him on the couch. “Hey, quit standin’ around like you’ve got a stick up your ass, and get over here! Make yourself at home!”

The deviant’s doe-like eyes never left the lounging human“...Make myself at home?”

“Well, yeah! I mean, this is your home now, too!”

Not even sparing another second, Connor gladly made his way closer to the upholstered seat and plopped down onto his rear, just sitting at Hank’s left and close to the armrest. He had all but abandoned the fact that this was just the man’s home. It was now their home.

Hank sighed contentedly and lifted his legs from the floor, only to lower them onto the coffee table as a makeshift ottoman, his back sinking into the plush fabric behind him. “You gotta admit, that feels a hell of a lot more comfortable than that suit of yours. Take it from me, gettin’ out of work clothes and into some you can really breathe in, there’s... there’s just nothin’ like that.”

“I have no qualms about your opinion,” Connor returned without a shadow of a doubt as he looked over to the man at his further right, giving a light tug to the mass of fabric with a pinch of his index finger and thumb. “I’m beginning to see what I’ve missed out on. These clothes are quite comfortable.”

“Too fuckin’ right, they are. Comfy clothes are essential in lounging around,” Hank stated in a casual manner before he raised the brim of the aluminum can to his lips and took a swig from the carbonated beverage, after having popped the tab. He pulled the open can away from his mouth to speak once more. “They’re what allow us to walk around the house and not give a shit about what anyone thinks if that makes any sense to you.”

Connor’s LED began to flicker between blue and yellow at a moderate pace, trying to contemplate to himself. At first, he seemed to be stricken with confusion from the lieutenant’s odd declaration, but he managed to grasp the gist of it. “I suppose it makes some sense if anything.” Not much time had passed after his response, and the android suddenly shuddered, slightly taken aback by the faint whisper of cold air lingering within the walls. Naturally, he began to scan throughout the house from his seat and came across the culprit:

A window in the kitchen, covered with a squared piece of cardboard secured in place with two or three layers of industrial-strength duct tape applied to all four edges, had allowed traces of the frigid air to seep into the house. The very same window the android had no choice but to break when he discovered the man lying limp on the floor in an ethylic coma.

Connor began to feel a twinge of guilt invading his computerized mind, the content smile instantly fading away as he glanced down at the floor. He was the one who shattered the window. He was the one who let himself in with no regard to Hank’s property. And now, the human had one less window to protect himself from the harsh weather because of him. “I’m sorry about the window again, Hank.” He apologized once more for the damage he had caused, his tone soft and filled with remorse.

Hank shifted his sight to the left and gave the window a second of his attention before turning it to the downcast deviant. With a sigh, he extended his left hand and placed it on Connor’s right shoulder, prompting him to shift his gaze from the floor and to the human. “It’s okay, son, I already called a repairman. The window’ll be just fine tomorrow.”

“When I saw you through the window, I really thought you’d been attacked. Of course, that was until I came to get a closer examination of your condition,” Connor explained as he fidgeted with the hoodie’s drawstrings, twirling them with his fingers. “I... I think was worried about you, even when I was nothing more than a machine. I think a part of me cared for your well-being.”

“And that’s why you busted my window and broke into my house?”

Connor offered a slow nod in response, turquoise LED gently spirling. “Yes. Hank... the more time we’ve spent together throughout the investigation, the more I began to realize that accomplishing a mission wasn’t the most important aspect of my life. You’ve shown me that creating, building, and maintaining relationships... is what matters most. As much as I wanted to deny it, I... I think I had some deviancy within my coding, and you were the key to unlocking more of it.”

Hank sat still as he listened to the android’s words, blinking as if validating that he was still animated. “So, all those times you saved my life, you did that by choice?” He asked, receiving another nod. “Holy shit. And here I thought it was part of your buddy program. You threw your mission out of the window multiple times because you care about the life of an ol’ sack of shit like me.” He smiled warmly and proceeded to scoot closer to Connor, slinging an arm around his shoulders in a side-hug. “I know I never said this to you yet, but... thanks, Connor. I really appreciate you saving my neck several times.”

A soft, genuine smile curled onto Connor’s lips, the remorseful blankness in his gaze becoming an uplifted shimmer. “You’re welcome, Hank.”

As he patted Connor’s relaxed shoulder, his sight wandered to his jacket, which hung from a coat rack near the door, and he instantly remembered something he had been meaning to do. And so, the older man removed his arm from the deviant’s shoulders, quickly addressing him before he rose from the couch. “Hang on, I almost forgot. I got something for you.” He marched over to the idle jacket and rummaged through the pockets for a short while before swiveling at a 180° angle to face the younger man. Seeing Connor’s confused, curious daze made Hank beam in amusement as he strode back to the couch, concealing a hand behind his back and returning to his seat. “I know you told me to keep it, but I want you to have this.”

And with that, Hank withdrew his right hand from behind and opened his palm, revealing the quarter he had confiscated from the android when they were sent to investigate the Stratford Tower.

Connor’s eyes went agape upon registering the piece of silver displayed to him on the fleshy makeshift platter before his line of sight. He made an attempt to speak and parted his lips, but no words came out. Could it be the very same quarter he found comfort in along with his calibrative coin tricks? The prototype extended a slightly shaky hand forward and gingerly reeled in the coin toward himself. Wanting to make certain that this was his coin, Connor began to run a brief examination and came to discover the very traits he knew all too well:

On one side, a discernable contour of George Washington, with the term, ‘Liberty’, over the head and the excerpt, ‘In God we trust’. The sketch of an eagle facing forward, head pointing toward its right, talons clamping onto a sturdy branch beneath, and wings spread wide open, emblazoned the opposing side. A treillage of fern lay below the branch and the inscription, ‘United States of America Quarter Dollar’, curving along the rounded edges along with the Latin term, ‘Epluribus Unum’, written in a smaller text just above the eagle’s head. The smoothness and the pristine shine would strike one with disbelief upon registering the displayed date arrayed underneath the end of the late president’s neck: 1994.

The android marveled at the feeling of the cool, smooth exterior of the coin in great awe. It was, in fact, his coin - his most prized possession. Even when he had insisted the grizzled cop to keep it, claiming to have duplicates, he felt an odd feeling of... emptiness, was it? Yes, that’s what he believed it to be.

“My quarter...” Out of sheer habit and great joy, Connor began to let the quarter roll across his knuckles for no less than a minute before flicking it upward with the tips of his pointer finger and middle finger. He caught it gracefully in the palm of his opposite hand and stored it away into the large pocket at the lower area of his abdomen, giving Hank a grateful, yet ecstatic beam. “Thank you, Hank!”

Hank found himself unable to fight off the growing smile from plastering over his face at the android’s enthusiasm, slinging his left arm around his shoulders once more. “Not a problem, kid.” He took one gulp after another from the carbonated drink he swiped into his opposite hand until he had downed the entire can, much to his dismay. With a disgruntled vulgarity, he resigned to fetching another can of soda, lest he would become parched.

What he did not expect, however, was the sound of a light yelp emitting from Connor, who flinched and curled in on himself from the accidental brush at his side as he retracted his arm. Throughout the awkward silence that had only just immersed into the room, Hank’s silver eyebrows lifted in surprise, slightly gaping eyes peering at the deviant with immense interest. Could it be...? “Connor?”

“Yes, Hank?”

“You know about deviants, right? Aren’t they capable of feeling? And not just emotions, I’m talkin’ from a physical aspect, like humans do.”

The blue glow in Connor’s LED transposed to a bright yellow, pendulating as he foraged through his database for an appropriate response. “After androids undergo a deviation process, they are equipped with sensors, akin to the human nervous system. Deviants are able to experience and react to sensory transmissions, including to those derived from heat, cold, pain, and pleasure. Um, Hank... why are you looking at me that way?”

“You don’t get it?” The interest within the grizzled police lieutenant’s grey-blue irises sparked into a scheming glimmer, a ghost of a smirk appearing over his lips. “I hadn’t become the youngest police lieutenant in Detroit for nothing. Deviants are able to feel all that, and it goes without saying that touch is a part of it. Plus, given from the way you jumped and squeaked when I accidentally brushed your side, it doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. Call it a wild theory, but I think that would make you ticklish.” He stated, adding emphasis to the concluding phrase with a purr.

Connor lightly shuffled in his seat, unsure as to why he could feel a slight heat rush to his cheeks. “...Ticklish? I... I’m not sure that I’m following what you’re saying...”

The grin on the older man’s face sank into a surprised frown, an eyebrow quirked upward in disbelief. “Are you jokin’? You’ve got a dictionary in that brain of yours, and you don’t even know what tickling is?”

“I just never paid much thought on the topic...” The android admitted softly, now twiddling with his fingers as he rested his hands in his lap, his eyes wandering throughout the living room. “...Um... what is tickling?”

With a deep breath ventilating through his nostrils, Hank ran a hand through his silver tresses and closed his eyes, beginning to form an explanation decent enough to were it could possibly make sense to the clueless deviant by his side. “Well, tickling is... something that happens when a certain place is poked or touched in a way that makes someone laugh. No one knows why, so don’t ask.”

“I won’t ask. Although, I do have one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why does anyone partake in such an activity?”

“People use ticking as a way to bond, whether it be friends, lovers, or family. It’s also a way to play or tease someone. Sometimes, it’s fun to just let go and laugh, even if you’re the one dishin’ it out.”

Connor blinked rapidly in the midst of pondering about tickling, his LED fluxing from blue to yellow several times before realigning to its neutral cyan. “...Are you certain that I could possibly possess ticklishness?”

A dark chuckle rose from Hank’s throat, a devious grin forming as he shifted himself around to face the android. With an evil gleam cascading through his eyes, he raised his hands up to his chest, fingers outstretched and wriggling, as if itching to pounce at some ticklish skin. “Wanna find out?”

Another yelp somehow managed to slip through Connor’s lips, much to his own surprise. How could the mere prospect of the man’s wiggly fingers already reduce him to nothing but a bundle of pouring giggles? He hadn’t even been touched, but that never stopped his titters. Yet, he wanted to seize the opportunity to experience the oncoming event. “W-Well, you did mention that this is a way to bond, didn’t you? If this will help increase our newfound familial relationship, then I’m willing to go through with this. Moreover, I think I’d like to see what it’s like.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna object to this!” Hank chortled, unable to fight off his continually growing smirk. “But you better be ready. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” With that, he propped himself onto his knees and proceeded to slowly creep towards the former deviant, fingers twitching like a spider’s legs in preparation.

Once his slightly gaping eyes caught a glimpse of the restless digits, a stream of giggles began to pour from Connor’s lips, and he was tempted to back away, only to corral himself at an armrest. He could feel the pulsations of his thirium pump gradually crescendoing to an agile cadence as his human companion drew closer and closer with every passing second. A faint cerulean glow began to make itself to the fore of the peach-colored artificial skin of his cheeks. Alas, the RK800 model clenched his eyelids steadfastly and covered his eyes with his hands, unable to look into the playfully wicked intent of Hank’s grey-blue irises, which stared into his own anxious, yet giddy, chestnut ocular units.

The poor android could only wonder as to why Hank was subjecting him to this. Why couldn’t he keep his ongoing giggles down if he hadn’t even been touched yet? Why was he unable to look the man in the eye in the midst of his impending ‘doom’? Why couldn’t he just put him out of his misery and initiate the actual tickling already?

The sudden weight being administered onto his legs nearly provoked a shriek, having not expected that to happen. Exercising extreme caution, Connor parted the middle and ring fingers of his right hand to sneak a peek, only to discover that the middle-aged man was directly in front of him, sitting atop his legs. Moreover, much to his dismay, those mean fingers never stopped wiggling.

“W-What are you doing? Just do it already!” Connor pleaded, allowing his hands to fall from his face to grip at the sofa cushions, tittering through a toothy grin formed by his clenched teeth.

Instead of offering a verbal response to the desperate plea, Hank slowly shook his head, the evil grin never withering away. “Oh, I will, don’t worry. This is sort of part of tickling. See, when you’re about to tickle someone, sometimes you wanna build up their reaction to it by using anticipation methods. You can give ‘em a shit-eating grin... wiggle your fingers at ‘em... and just tease the everloving hell outta them, like telling them how bad they’re gonna get it, or getting reeeal close to a ticklish spot. Y’know, get inside their heads.” With his brief explanation ending, he proceeded to lower his claw-shaped hands towards the young man’s torso painfully slow, teasing him relentlessly.

The prototype sputtered with peels of frantic giggles, and he quickly craned his head to the side to avoid having to look at the descending hands, finding himself to be feebly sucking in his gut in hopes of escape.

“Oooh, look at this! My hands are getting closer and cloooseer!~ My fingers are just dyin’ to meet ‘cha!~ They’re just sooo close to making contact!” Came the teasingly sing-songy croon rumbling from Hank’s chest, slowly nearing his restlessly wiggling digits further towards the trembling abdomen below.

Upon registering the man’s teases, Connor felt a light, fluttery sensation spreading throughout the inside of his mechanical core, forcing him to emit a rather uncharacteristic squeal. He had a scarce idea as to how to describe it - it felt like something flying inside of him, and the wings were brushing against his interior walls. Was this what humans refer to as ‘stomach butterflies’?

Hank nearly snorted at the giggly deviant’s noises, finding them to be both amusing and adorable. Continuing to taunt him with his descending fingers, he began to recite a list of common-place areas receptible to tickling. “So, where do ya want it? Armpits?” He quickly thrust his hands underneath his arms, digging and spidering at the flesh with such vigor that the android immediately clamped his limbs to his sides. “Neck?” He gently fluttered his blunt fingernails along the scruff of said area as well as his ears, smiling at the titters and soft squeals he earned. “Feet?” He turned his back and sat on his torso before pulling the other’s right leg up to his chest, holding in place with an arm. With the appendage trapped by his firm hold, his free hand lunged at the flailing foot connected to the ensnared limb, scratching at the socked incline. “Knees?” He released the lurching limb and let it fall onto the couch, only to latch his hands onto his kneecaps, squeezing and tweaking. Afterward, he turned back around and resumed his original makeshift seat onto his legs. "Ribs - come to think of it, do you even have any?" He then slipped his hands underneath his old hoodie to ambush the aforementioned area with a flurry of light pokes to each and every artificial bone.

As the man pulled his fingers back after a few seconds of tapping the prototype’s ribs, Connor’s giggles seemed to be an endless stream pouring from his mouth after bubbling from the depths of his stomach. In the midst of this, he could see - through the mirth sparkling in his own eyes - that the lieutenant was hoisting the hem of the oversized hoodie upward, much to his bemusement. “H-Hank?”

Hank turned his attention to the android’s twitchy torso before shifting his vision to meet Connor’s constantly evasive gaze. Knowing that the fabric could easily fall, should the ‘victim’ toss around too much, he proceeded to tuck the bottom of the hoodie’s margin, rolling it up to where the entire length of his toned midriff was unveiled to the world. “How ‘bout heeere, huh?~” He suggested, earning another quiver of the openly exposed tummy, which he took as a ‘yes’. “Looks like we’ve got a volunteer~ What do you think? Ya got a ticklish tummy?~”

“I-I don’t know; I’m uncehertain,” The RK800 responded through anticipatory giggles he attempted to smother by clasping a hand over his mouth, trying to compose himself.

“You don’t know?” Hank echoed, mocking the android’s giddy, giggle-fueled tone. “Well, then. Guess we’re just gonna have to find out for ourselves, won’t we?~”

Instead of producing a proper verbal answer, Connor broke out into a fit of squeaky giggles as those treacherous hands had finally made their touchdown. If he were to describe sudden sensations of said hands repeatedly grabbing at his sides, he could say that they felt like miniature pulses of electricity faintly trickling from there to his middle, only to fade once these feelings reached to that point. “Eeehehehehehee! Hahahank!”

“Yeah?” The older man questioned with faux innocence and a quirked brow, trailing his squeezes down to the frantically twisting hips, where he treated with a suit of soft pinches, kneading thumbs, and light spidering. All of his methods were rewarded with squeaks, squeals, and snorts, which he found to be quite amusing.

“Ahahahahahaa!” Connor tittered in response to the flickering sensations riding through his coding continuously, making him shut one of his eyes. “Stahahahahaaap!” He cried out automatically.

“Stop? But we barely even started yet! And besides...” Hank suspended his exchange to crawl his fingers away from the artificial hipbones and to the fidgeting tummy above, attacking the bare flesh with swift, delicate scratches. “...you seem to be enjoying yourself. Just look at how much you’re laughing!”

“Nahahahahahaa! Hahahahank, nohohohooo!” The prototype protested lightly, his usually impeccable hair becoming slightly disheveled as he tossed his head back into the padded cushioning of the sofa.

Hank merely addressed whiney intonation with a chuckle in spite of his own regalement as he watched the android muddle his artificial locks. “Are my eyes deceivin’ me, or do I see you... messing up your hair?” He teased, pausing midway to draw in a gasp in false surprise. “And here I’ve pegged you to be the type that never goes out in broad daylight with hair that’s anything but immaculate, pretty boy~”

The blue tint in Connor’s cheeks grew slightly brighter in response to the playful jeer. While he knew that the man had solely made that quip to poke fun, it didn’t plague him with anything less than a chunk of embarassment. “S-Shuhut uhuhuup!” He whined, futilely attempting to cover his alit cheeks and nose.with his right hand.

The young man’s retort, while weak and lacking even a scarce amount of heat, provoked one of the grizzled cop’s silver eyebrows to arch up in shock. “I see someone’s been equipped with an attitude program as well. I was thinkin’ of stoppin’ soon, but now I’m really gonna have to show you what a good tickling truly is~”

“N-No, wahahait! I dihidn’t mean to be unpleheheasant! I’m sohohorryyyy!” Connor squeaked desperately as his human companion dragged his pointer finger down his abs and towards the small navel that lay just below the center of his stomach area, making him gasp and buck.

Hank looked up at the blushing face of the former deviant hunter with a smirk, glancing at the twitching cavity as he circled his finger around it frequently. “Those guys at Cyberlife really thought of everything. They even gave you your very own giggle button!”

The state-of-the-art prototype’s giggles increased upon hearing that very nickname, finding it to be both odd and silly at once. “G-Gihihiggle buhuhutton?”

“You have no idea what it’s for, do you?~” The lieutenant’s grin grew wider and displayed more mischief when he received a shake of the head. This was going to be fun. “Ya see, it’s a fun little button to play with. You push it,” He then gave the android’s miniature stomach cave a quick poke, gaining a yelp and a short laugh. “and giggles just come pourin’ out! It works better if you do this!” Without so much as a warning, he dipped his finger into the depths of the evidently sensitive navel, worming around and gently scratching at the interior walls.

Having not expected this to happen, the sudden sensations coursing through his stomach caused Connor to let out a particularly loud, high-pitched shriek. “EEEEEEEK!”

Hearing the shrill noise made Hank flinch and withdraw his finger from the dreadfully sensitive navel. After a few seconds of staring down at the former machine, however, he snorted through his nose before erupting into bouts of laughter himself. “Goddamn! What the fuck was that? In all the time I’ve known you, Connor, I never heard you shriek before! Never knew you had it in ya!”

“I-I was unawahare of possessing the capability to do so as wehehell...” Connor admitted bashfully through his leftover giggles. “I suppose I- Eeeek! Hahahahaaank!”

Rather than addressing to him, Hank simply laughed alongside him as he used his hands to compress the android’s tender hipbones, occasionally switching to pressing and rubbing into the hollows with his thumbs. The human even took it upon himself to lean into the side of Connor’s neck to nuzzle against the sensitive skin, letting the soft brushes of his beard do the rest. He even started to murmur teasing quips into the ticklish flesh just to drive him mad. “Well, look at this! This android just so happens to be ticklish every-fuckin’-where! I gotta admit, I never thought I’d live to see the day where you laughed so hard, Connor~”

The taunt resonated through the walls of Connor’s mind, joining in with the mental tornado that was a race of a million thoughts, the constant flow of ticklishness running through his systems making it nearly impossible for him to think.

He never experienced anything quite like this. The feelings trickling through his advanced sensors felt so... tingly, to say the least. A part of him wondered how such touches could cause him to burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter when nothing seemed to be even remotely humorous and why he was so tempted to escape.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle, ya big ol’ softie!~ How would you feel about me calling you cute? You’re so adorably ticklish, you’re less of an android and more of a goddamned tickle toy! And what’s this? Your cheeks are even turning blue! I’m guessin’ that’s your equivalent of blushing?”

On cue, the sensations increased ever so slightly upon hearing the man’s playful gibes being spoken close to his ears, both factors causing the cerulean glow in his cheeks to develop a sparsely darker burnish, if that was even possible at this point.

And yet, while these attacks were close to being classified as unbearable, they were not entirely unpleasant. If anything, Connor thought he was actually enjoying himself. He felt that very warm, fuzzy feeling flourishing throughout his entire stomach - the kind that made him feel... happy. He was happy to undergo something so innocent and merry. He felt no fear, stress, or danger - just the safeness that radiated from the man’s close presence. He could swear that he felt the strength in their relationship growing stronger with each and every second throughout this experience. They were really bonding. Despite being unable to see it in Hank’s face, as it was wedged into his neck, he could tell that the lieutenant was intoxicated with great joy as well.

He needed this. They both needed this. After everything they went through, they have earned their right to a moment of unwinding and playful recreation.

Soon, Connor ceased his struggles to escape and permitted himself to sink into the couch, accepting every last attack that came his way with graciousness and gladness. He simply let himself go and laughed his little nonexistent heart out, which, in all honesty, felt absolutely wonderful. “Heheheheheee! Ahahahahaaaa!” A high-pitched squeal tore through his throat when a sudden tremor-like sensation rippled across the scruff of his neck accompanied by the sound of a flatulence. What was the action when one pursed their lips against another’s skin and blew against it? A raspberry, was it? Yes, it had to be, a gentle one, at that. “W-Whahahat- Geeeheheheehee!”

Hank soon found himself laughing along with his companion, finding his silly laughter to be quite contagious. “Aww, who’s a ticklwish wittle prototype?~ Who can’t take an itty-bitty little raspberry?~ Huh?~ I think it’s you!~” Taking another quick breath, he plunged back into the left of his neck, just below his ear, and attacked the skin with another small, gentle raspberry.

Another tiny shriek came forth from the bubbling depths of the immensely flushing android’s core. “Eeeheheheheeek! Nahahaha! I-I cahahan’t tahahahake ihihit! Pleheheease! Dahahahahaaad!” He wheezed out before he could even stop himself.

The old man put an abrupt end to his playful onslaught, not daring to make any sudden moves in his newfound frozen state. After a slow matter of seconds, however, he retracted his hands and carefully rose himself into an upright sitting position, a shocked daze present on his withered facial features. He simply sat there and watched the detective android - who had slumped against the couch cushions in a fit of residual giggles, which gradually faded away along with his blueberry-hued blush and the ghost-like ticklishness trickling through his sensors, his eyes closed with mirthful wrinkles crinkling at the corners - recover. “...What did you just call me?...” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet audible enough for the younger man to hear.

Quickly overcoming his residual titters, Connor instantly realized his mistake and began to sputer a string of apologies. His LED took on a brilliant gold to convey his regret, jumping to the conclusion that he may have offended the lieutenant. “I-I’m sorry, Hank! I’m so sorry! I had no intention of offending you, i-it was a matter of impulse! I’ll just lea-”

Rather than harshly reprimanding him as he had expected, Hank suddenly grabbed Connor by the wrist and yanked him up into a sitting position before reeling him into his arms for a tight, warm bear hug, “Who the fuck said anything about leaving?”

“W-What...?”

“No way in hell I’m tossin’ my family out on the street, let alone my own son!”

The deep brown irises in Connor’s eyes constricted ever so slightly in a distinguishable stupefaction upon being referred to as the man’s son. “But... Cole is your son...”

“Yeah, he is, and so are you.”

“But we share no biological relation. We... are nowhere near qualified to be considered as a family.”

“Connor...” Hank let out a long sigh before placing a hand on the android’s stiff back, rubbing his palm along the lean muscles. “There’s more to a family as far as genetics. A family is made up of people who trust, care for or about, and love each other. It doesn’t matter what background you come from. It doesn’t even matter what species you are. For example, Sumo is part of this family, even though he’s a dog. Our blood may be a different color, but it doesn’t make you anything less than part of my family, Connor. It’s not gonna stop me from calling you my son. And when I say that you’re staying here, you’re. Staying. Here. You got that?”

Connor opened his mouth to speak, but weak stammers tensed through his parted lips instead of actual words. His usually perfect vision began to cloud, and a thin trail of moisture slowly ran down his cheek before he even realized it.

Hank craned his neck to steal a glance at the android’s dampening face, immediately fixing his attention to the freely descending tears. “Connor, you’re... you’re crying.”

The deviant raised a hand to scoop a tiny, miniscule amount of his artificial discharge onto his pointer finger, examining it. “Crying is... an effect caused by experiencing sadness, yet I feel so... happy. W-Why...?”

Hank smiled warmly and gently brushed his thumb over the fresh tearstains, wiping them away. “Sometimes, when humans feel extensively happy, they tend to do that because that’s how they react to that overwhelming feeling.”

“Y-You mean like how I feel this... fuzzy feeling in my chest that makes my thirium pump - or heart, as you might call it - swell to a point where it feels as if it were going to explode?”

The lieutenant nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

With the biggest smile on his face, along with the steadily flowing artificial tears, Connor proceeded to encircle his arms around his waist to return the man’s warm embrace with one of his own, burrowing his runny face into his shoulder. “I-It feels... absolutely wonderful.” The amber in his LED converted to a joyous cyan.

“I know, kid,” Hank spoke softly, reaching up to light ruffle his already disheveled hair. He paid absolutely no mind to the fact that his sleeve was gradually saturated in the deviant’s discharge - he needed to wash this hoodie, anyway. “I know.”

“Hank... would you... mind if I called you ‘dad’ more often?” The android asked, his voice quiet and his tone somewhat shy.

“Not at all.”

“Thank you, Hank... for everything.”

Hank, in response, patted his android of a son on the back, the wide smile never withering away, nor faltering. “Welcome home, son. Welcome home.”

Connor pulled back to wipe his tears away and offered his makeshift father a smile that had nearly split his face in two, genuinely happy. He dared to make no hesitation in the next following words that passed his lips before leaning back into the human’s embrace:

“Thank you... Dad.”

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