SEQUENTIAL ━ Connor // RK800 ✔️

post-credit ━ every version of you

There was no 'welcome' written on the front door rug, because so far into the forest people scarcely had business travelling anyway. Instead, the brown abrasive surface, a stepping stone to entering the home, was marked by the outlines of boots stomped clean of snow and paws, too excited to stand still before the door opened. In their own way, those marks were their own greeting sign, continuing its marked poetry to the puddles one would find underneath the boots left to the side of the door as soon as one would step in. Right beside them, a shovel was still shedding away over a towel the remnants of snow.

It was a little early for Christmas decorations to find their way up their walls, but that did not stop the boxes from the shed in the back from being brought inside, warming up in the far corner to the door's right. There, they waited quietly for the end of the month and for the whole cabin to start smelling like pine tree again.

Though there was fire cackling in the corner of the living room right ahead of the entrance door, the radio Connor kept on the coffee table before the couch took the prize as the loudest inhabitant of the cabin, at least for now. Signal was sparse, but over the past couple of months, the news he was overhearing have drawn him to go that extra mile of holding his hand firmly wrapped around the antenna just so he could hear it all.

With his eyes narrowing down in focus and his LED, still on his temple, flashing blue, Connor adjusted the antenna one last time, hoping to make out the end of the news segment that had placed him on the edge of his seat for most of the day.

"... celebrations postponed." Connor froze his entire limb in place the second he could clearly recognize the voice of one of the hosts. 

"They brought us back to replace those God awful androids on our show only for President Warren to announce a national curfew. Can you believe it?" Timmy sighed out, his voice still distorted every few words by a break of static interference, one albeit manageable enough for Connor not to want to readjust the antenna again.

"It's a grim day indeed," Patrick agreed breathlessly with his co-host. "Tonight, Americans all around the country are kissing goodbye their rights to assembly and every single means of electronic communication. And all because CyberLife's product took to the streets following their abhorrent demands."

"Fact is, this might as well be our last broadcast for a while, here at Classic Rock," Timmy took over. "I don't expect this conflict to be done before Christmas. Stay strong out there, folks. I am Timmy."

"And this is Patrick."

"And we're leaving you with a timeless-"

The sound of steps had Connor flinch his hand off the antenna and thus succumb the connection back to a continuous buzz of interference. His eyes raised just in time to see Mia hurry down the corridor to the right, a metal box in hand. It took her only one glance at him and the coffee table to roll her eyes, "You can listen to it while I am here too, you know." 

"I know," Connor reassured her smiling at the sight of their dog, tapping along behind her, tail waggling as if the box she was holding was his treat. With a sight like this, the news from a home he no longer knew didn't seem to matter all that much any more. He leant back on the couch and made room for his new life to sit down beside him. "But I already heard all I needed to hear."

"And?" Mia questioned, taking her seat next to him and placing her metal box on the coffee table, right next to his radio. Once her hands were free, their silver furred dog had managed to sneak himself into laying across both their laps as some sort blanket, something his fluff did not make it all that impossible. Nonetheless, such a position wordlessly demanded of Mia to spare at least her right hand with giving pets of acknowledgement, even while her left sought to hold Connor's somewhere beneath the warmth of their companion. "How is it going over there?"