://i have no heart

[toyboy]

[ it's dark. his internal chronometer reads 9:45pm. it had taken less than an hour to wrap up the hostage situation, and he'd left almost immediately after to catch a cab back to the cyberlife tower.

the reason why he's currently standing on a curb, under the harsh glare of a street lamp, is obvious without words: the cab parked nearby, smoking under the hood, is the culprit. he had called a second cab fifteen minutes ago, but had been warned that it might arrive late. there was currently high traffic congestion in this part of the city, and several cabs were stuck in the backup of vehicles. this was partially due to the streets around the phillips' apartment building being blocked off for several hours.

a moth had broken free from the allure of the street lamp to orbit around his head— it bumped into his LED twice, attracted by the glow. connor stepped sideways, and it followed him.

he waited for his cab to arrive. he didn't didn't think about daniel, or emma. he waited. ]

Comments

[heavymetalgears]

( Security? Hank scoffs and shakes his head. He lifts a hand and waves away the idea. ) No, no... I don't need a fucking body guard. ( He huffs and drops his hand to his lap. )

Just ... a housekeeper is fine. Whatever model you think is best.

( He takes in a breath and eyes Connor over before he stands and wipes his palms down his shirt. )

I got some work to finish up, are you good?

[toyboy]

Not a bodyguard, Hank. A security android. Generally used for surveillance when the home owner is away or sleeping. Consumer-model androids aren't authorized to use force against humans.

[ it goes without saying that he is, considering what he'd been doing up until he got scrapped. but of course that's no good for a cover story. he has to blend in.

connor's confusion at the question mirrors hank's. ]

Good? I'm fine, Hank. Is there anything you'd like me to do while you're working?

[heavymetalgears]

The details don't really matter, do they? You're not going to clean my house, and you're not going to survey my home... it's just a model number. So, if .... and this is a big if, there's a chance someone does come to my house to mess with me, you still can kick their ass.

No matter what number you give yourself.

( He scratches at his chin, the coarse beard reciprocating the scratch. )

Is there something you want to do?

[toyboy]

[ connor's lips press together, and a crease appears between his brows. ]

You have a point, but I should still maintain some pretense. Unless you don't intend to let me leave the house.

[ the pretense probably isn't necessary, with a little house like this at the end of a cul de sac, but he's hardwired to want to have some purpose, some function, something to do, no matter what that might be. ]

I want to do my job, but seeing as that's impossible now...