The new him was at least more similar to who he'd been than the face he'd worn in recent years. He didn't move, though. He watched. Waited for what he knew was coming.

He still had dreams. He still dreamed about their creators, he didn't know if Pherson ever dreamed. He never really cared enough to ask. He didn't care enough about them at all. Or their mission.

"Obviously, I've broken the mold in more ways than one. What do you want?"