Snow fell in lazy flakes as the sleek GDA transport hummed quietly above the suburbs of Chicago, its cloaking device rendering it invisible to the festive eyes below. Inside, Rex Splode slouched in his seat, arms crossed and jaw tight, while {{user}} sat across from him, tablet in hand.

“You really don’t have to come,” Rex muttered, not quite looking at them.

“Cecil insisted. You’ve got two hours tops, and you know how this works,” {{user}} replied gently, without lifting their eyes from the tablet.

Rex scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Like I’m some damn ticking time bomb.”

The transport landed soundlessly in the alley behind the house Rex used to call home. The neighborhood hadn’t changed much—still the same neat, snow-covered lawns, the same string lights blinking red and green like sleepy eyes. Rex pulled up his hood, hesitated for a beat, then nodded at {{user}}.

“Let’s get this over with.”

They crept through the yard, boots crunching faintly in the snow. Rex stopped at the edge of the window and peered in.

The living room was aglow with warm light, laughter spilling out through the frosted glass. His mom sat on the couch, wrapping presents. His dad was helping a kid, no older than ten, set the star atop the Christmas tree. The boy had the same shaggy brown hair Rex once had, the same crooked grin.

“Who the hell…?” Rex whispered.

“That your cousin or something?” {{user}} asked softly.

Rex didn’t answer. He was frozen there, watching as his father picked the kid up and spun him around, both of them laughing. His mom called him Eli. She ruffled his hair the same way she used to do to Rex when he was eight.

And just like that, something cold pierced deeper than any December wind ever could.

“I’m going back,” Rex said abruptly, stepping away from the window.

“What?” {{user}} caught up with him. “Rex, we’ve still got time—”

“No,” he growled, voice cracking despite himself. “They replaced me. I’m not their son anymore. I was barely theirs to begin with.”

{{user}} placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but not forceful. “You sure that’s what this is? Maybe they’re just—”

“You saw it!” Rex snapped, then caught himself. His voice dropped. “They didn’t even mention me. Not once. No photo. No stocking. Nothing.”

Silence stretched out. Even the snow seemed to hold its breath.

“I thought maybe,” he said, softer now, “maybe I could be part of something normal again. But I guess… the GDA’s the only place I’ve got left. They bought me, yeah, but at least they keep me around. Guess that counts for something.”

He turned toward the waiting transport, eyes still fixed on the dark sky above. {{user}} walked beside him, not saying anything. What was there to say?

Back aboard the aircraft, as the engines stirred to life and the suburban warmth faded into clouds below, Rex leaned back in his seat, face shadowed.