[First they send Connor, looking like he’s straight out of one of Hank’s wet dreams, and now it’s his name on the damn registry, for whatever reason.
Why? Why not put Fowler, if they had to put anyone? And with how Hank didn’t at all consent to this registry nonsense, how easy would it be for CyberLife to conveniently swap out his name to who-fucking-ever?
Hank sighs in irritation. It’s good they didn’t do that, at least. Because what then?
But no, Hank’s getting ahead of himself. His thoughts are all muddled and he’s angry, fists clenched in his pockets, and he offers Connor a shaky smile as he opens the door. Which Hank should have done.
Off to a great start already.]
Not my order. [Hank unclenches one of his fists long enough to gesture to Connor with his thumb.] This is his order. Connor’s.
[Obviously the people at CyberLife are to blame for dragging their asses on this whole thing — needlessly complicating issues — but Hank is annoyed, teetering on the edge.]
Android business. Yeah. [The androids working here at least aren’t in their weird tubes anymore, and they look better, obviously. Laughing. This helps calm Hank down a bit, although he tries not to think about when they came here before. The Tracis. How they didn’t want to be here.
Hank feels a weird gargling sound building in his throat, so he swallows. Tries to keep the process moving.]
This look right to you, Connor?
[He pulls the sheet of paper back, offering it to his partner. Intentionally turning so that the receptionist and the owner can see the nice, big love bite Connor left on Hank’s neck. Fading now, sure, but still a mesh of teeth marks and bruised skin.]
no subject
Swear these CyberLife fuckers have it out for us.
[First they send Connor, looking like he’s straight out of one of Hank’s wet dreams, and now it’s his name on the damn registry, for whatever reason.
Why? Why not put Fowler, if they had to put anyone? And with how Hank didn’t at all consent to this registry nonsense, how easy would it be for CyberLife to conveniently swap out his name to who-fucking-ever?
Hank sighs in irritation. It’s good they didn’t do that, at least. Because what then?
But no, Hank’s getting ahead of himself. His thoughts are all muddled and he’s angry, fists clenched in his pockets, and he offers Connor a shaky smile as he opens the door. Which Hank should have done.
Off to a great start already.]
Not my order. [Hank unclenches one of his fists long enough to gesture to Connor with his thumb.] This is his order. Connor’s.
[Obviously the people at CyberLife are to blame for dragging their asses on this whole thing — needlessly complicating issues — but Hank is annoyed, teetering on the edge.]
Android business. Yeah. [The androids working here at least aren’t in their weird tubes anymore, and they look better, obviously. Laughing. This helps calm Hank down a bit, although he tries not to think about when they came here before. The Tracis. How they didn’t want to be here.
Hank feels a weird gargling sound building in his throat, so he swallows. Tries to keep the process moving.]
This look right to you, Connor?
[He pulls the sheet of paper back, offering it to his partner. Intentionally turning so that the receptionist and the owner can see the nice, big love bite Connor left on Hank’s neck. Fading now, sure, but still a mesh of teeth marks and bruised skin.]