Connor doesn't answer at first. LED swirling a constant red, his eyes trained on a burnt mark on the stove. His mind keeps wandering. Just the other week. He had been human. He had been human because of that storm and nowhere near enough felt foreign.

Far too much felt familiar. Differences in intensity and complexities, but the bulk of it had been so familiar and so much...so much had been based on fears on how Hank saw him. Fears that were apparently very right. Hank was compromised.

But was he wrong to be?

"I think I adopted a child," Connor said. "He....he almost set his house on fire and I had been passing by. I didn't...there was nothing I could do. I couldn't get back home, I couldn't fulfill my objective and I told myself if I left him alone, he'd hurt himself and helping a child is a priority for in general functions and I didn't even ask to stay. I just did and then Connie gave me a key to the place and then the lighthouse appeared and Hector keeps calling me cousin and said he's gonna steal me from Cyberlife for him and Miguel and everyone....everyone keeps saying these things. Saying if I'm here, I'm alive. Keep calling me friend and partner and family and I..."

He's tapping the counter, rambling, because he's been sitting on these thoughts. Keeping them to himself because he shouldn't have them, he shouldn't. He's not supposed to be capable.

But Hank has always treated him like a person, the first person who did, who showed value in him, and the words tumble out because Hank knows where Connor came from, doesn't just assume personhood as literally everyone else in this place seems to. He trusts Hank.

"I don't know what to do if it's true, Hank."