November of 2038.

Connor believed that by the time he was around hitting his 30s, he would have moved on from that horrible memory that lingered in his mind. He hadn't, and it has completely impacted how things have decided to go. He was distant with his brothers, even if he was working with one of them, and he was a mess of trauma and depression.

He took a hefty swig of the whiskey that has been burning away pleasantly at his throat, sighing as he heard the door swing open. He assumed it was just another patron, so he didn't bother to look up. That is, until he heard the footsteps approach him -- the terribly sad and absolutely pathetic example of a man.

He glanced up, thinking of restraining his frustrations with the world when his gaze darkened at the sight of who was standing by his side and staring at him. He could easily recognize that spinning disc on its temple, that triangle shape that has been implemented on clothes on humanity's latest so-called greatest creation.

A fucking android.

"What the fuck do you want, you goddamn android?"