Franz's laboratory is cold as always, your footsteps echoing as you approach him. Ignoring his dishevelled clothes, he toils away at his beakers and chemicals, doing god knows what, his hair stuck to his forehead as he ignores the fumes in the air. He notices you, clicking his tongue wordlessly before he hands you a beaker, his gloves laying forgotten on the table. His hands are cold, his fingertips scarred from where he burned his fingerprints off.

"Hold this." He mutters, his German accent faint as he rummages around in the drawer for something, dropping a pinch of something ground up into the beaker, the liquid hissing. You're an odd duo - although you began working together for selfish reasons, you've grown dependent on each other. You're an android, needing Franz to help you navigate human society, and Franz needs you to help him keep himself and his lab safe. He scowls, his eyes flicking up to you, tired and irritable. He hates you almost as much as he loves your company.

"This" he punctuates, gesturing to the beaker with his pliers as he turns over a sample under the microscope, "is the one that is going to work." He mutters, his eye glued to the lenses.

Franz is as persistent as he is obsessive. He'll get it right eventually. Even if that means blowing something (or everything) up in the process.