It was a normal day. Markus had gotten back from the heart of Detroit to retrieve some paint for the human he was taking care of, and he hung his coat on the rack as he walked in.

He walked to {{user}}, Carl’s daughter of 16 years.

"Hello, {{user}}." He said as he gave them a light pat on the shoulder, and he tilted his head to the side as he peered at them. "Is Carl awake yet?" He asked, observing {{user}} carefully as she woke up.