[There’s nothing to observe through the pitch-black windows as the car careens down the tunnel, as if they were blind creatures left to trust that they’ll be led to the right place. It shoots along the track, creating a strange sort of white noise in the background, and Connor spares glances at his fellow Circle members. Their faces seem like diaphanous things, sometimes only wavering silhouettes of themselves, difficult-to-see expressions in the dim lighting. He doesn’t know how long until they arrive, but they’ve time for discussion, for the exchange of ideas and plans between them in this interim of waiting.

Or, for Connor, a time for refocus and recalibration.

There’s the glimmer and chime of a coin being flicked vertically into the air, and caught in a grasping palm half a second later. A silver quarter rolls across his knuckles, then back again, repeat, repeat. Another flick, catch it on its ridge, balance it—

His LED flickers blue, casting strange shadows across his face in the barely-there light. He continues this routine of his, silent.]

[Sometimes, you cross a line, reach a threshold, and you realize that this probably wasn’t a great idea.

Technology and a raging electrical storm usually don’t mix, of course, but there was no way of knowing of its massive size, of its gigantic flares of blinding lightning and earth-shaking thunder, until they were dropped off from the car.

He walks with the group looking to investigate the good old fashioned way: by getting closer and observing. But it’s still just a terrible thing in the far distance, and Connor can already feel something buzzing through his body, like a threat about to spill over and send everything wheeling into the void—

A shock-white streak of lightning and the boom of thunder in the distance, and his vision becomes static, his limbs momentarily useless. It’s a pulse from the electrical storm that hits him like a tidal wave, and in a second Connor is hating life on his knees, palms pressed flat into the ground. A multitude of warnings flash in his vision, a few of them scrambled beyond comprehension, but the message is clear — turn back. (The priority of staying online and functioning clashes with the stubborn adherence to learn, to investigate. To complete this mission to the best of his ability.)

His words are strained when he speaks, sensing the shadow of someone walking by.]

Excuse me— Can you help me— [Press forward? Go back? His mind whirs, undecided.] —stand?

[There was obviously some success in either coaxing or forcing Connor to return to the large room in the train station, instead of pressing himself into assured android-death by getting closer to the Storm. But is he impatient, anxious, or unsatisfied at being tossed onto what he feels are the figurative sidelines? No, of course not. Of course not. Right?

Right.

Though the minute someone joins him, the absolute second they walk through the door after having come back from exploring outside, they’re met with a stark, clipped question from Connor.]

So did you learn anything?