"Prisoner 26A19783, you have a visitor."

Curled up on the bed of his tiny cell, his back to the bars and the guard that addressed him, a short old bald man's bushy grey mustache twitched up and down, the curly hair was as wide as his head was tall and as thick as his admittedly rachitic forearms. The prisoner turned, hiding the black number sewn into the back of his yellow suit from his interlocutor as his face became visible. Minuscule round glasses mounted on a black frame were placed before his light green eyes on top of his bulbous nose, and one might wonder how effective they were at improving the man's vision given their size. Wrinkles covered his face from top to bottom, and brown splotches were spread out on his pale aged skin.

"Ivan, I presume?"

The man's Draskian accent was so thick some new guards had trouble understanding him, but the one that had come here to fetch him had interacted with the old mad scientist enough to decipher the meaning behind his words. Not that it helped much.

"Which one are you talking about?"

The old foreigner sighed.

"Decanov."

"Oh, yeah. It's him. So, wanna go?"

The prisoner scoffed as he left his bed. He walked silently and pushed open the door of his cell, still unlocked at this hour for Yellows, the inmates that posed a minimal threat and were on good enough behavior that they were mostly left on their own outside of the morning and evening calls as well as the meals. There were still guards around keeping an eye on them during those free periods, but they were far freer than the Oranges and the Reds, whose schedules were far more strict. The guard understood the message well enough and stepped to the side, letting the old man walk in front of him before following along. Yellows may be more trusted than their fellow inmates, but they still weren't completely unchecked. They used to be, once, decades prior, but after one of them tried to murder someone and escape, this laissez-faire had gone down the drain. Not that either of the two men walking through this hallway of Zalcien's Southern Prison for Civilians had been around during that time, the Draskian had yet to arrive in the country and the guard was still a child.

Before long the two reached a large room where dozens of tables were spread about, each one with a few chairs around it, and while other prisoners and their loved ones were present in the room, discussing things, arguing, crying, making plans to celebrate their incoming release, the old man cared for none of them. He wasn't here to listen to someone's else life story, not when he had already noticed one of his sons waiting patiently for him, the guard closest to his table noticeably tenser than most of the others. He couldn't fault the man, he was simply doing his job, and even the old Draskian could acknowledge his children were a bunch of troublemakers. They all took after their father, whether they liked it or not.

Most would be able to distinguish Ivan Decanov from his siblings by his thick eyebrows and the fake bags under his eyes, but his father didn't need such fancy things. It wasn't about the cut of the metal or the parts used, enough years had passed that most of the scientist's original work had been modified or replaced, even if his son was doing his utmost to stick to his original design. No, it was something much more primal, less logical, that let him know without a doubt which of his beloved creations faced him. If any of Ivan's siblings tried to imitate him, even by using his parts and perfectly mimicking his gestures and attitude, he would still be able to tell the difference.

The fact his nineteenth child was the one who visited him the most did help further their bond, more than with any other. He still did love them though, even those that cared not for him or even resented him for bringing them into existence.

"Ivan! How is my precious boy doing?"

"It is good to see you again, father. I am well. And you? Is everything alright? No gang threats or overenthusiastic guard?"

The senior scoffed as he sat down, his bushy mustache wriggling in odd ways.

"They don't care about a poor weak old man like me. And your siblings? Are they doing well too?"

"Compared to last time? Last I heard, Lucky's casino is making enough money to stay open, Nine and Twelve's rap career is on the rise, and Prime and Centurion are still on the path of Villainy. Oh, Ivanka is trying to prepare a party of sorts for our birthday, so that we may all be together, but I don't think sure it's going to work. I don't plan on going, for instance."

"Ivan... Your sister went through all of this trouble, the least you could do is attend. You're not like your oldest and youngest brothers, you don't have a bad bone in you."

"I don't have a single bone within, father."

"I sure hope so, I didn't put any in there."

The man cackled at his joke while the machine simply stared.

"Ah... Seriously though, Ivan, you better go to your sister's party. It's also her birthday, not just yours."

"I'll... I'll stop by. I may not have the time to stay."

"Meh, good enough for me. I wish I could come too, but, ya know."

"Yes. Prisons rarely let their prisoners out for their children's birthday, unless it coincides with the date they finish their sentence that is. How long do you have left, again?"

"Depends on who's in charge. Sometimes they add charges, sometimes they remove them. It only takes one man who dislikes illegal Draskian immigrants to slip in some nasty stuff."

The son raised a metallic eyebrow.

"I am certain the use of stolen materials and being an accomplice to Sunburn are in no way related to that."

"Bah, if it were a local who did it they'd be out and about by now."

For all of his casualness, there was still something tugging at the old Draskian's mind. A sadness, a regret perhaps, or simply some sort of melancholy recalling what had happened when he came to this country twenty years ago.

"Besides, I couldn't leave the boy there to die. I could lift what was left of him in one hand, Ivan. He needed me. People didn't know how to make a cyborg from scratch back then."

"I do not judge your choices, father. I am thankful for the path you chose, for it is the one that created me, but that is all. I was merely pointing out that laying the foundation for what became the strongest living Villain in the city can't have been good for your reputation. You didn't answer my question, how many years left?"

"More than I plan to live."

"Father."

"Fifteen. Xenocorp bought one of the companies Sunburn stole from to pay his debt back then, and they won a lawsuit to retroactively add charges."

"Again? What have you done to anger them this much?"

"I made better stuff than they make today decades ago. That is all."

The mechanical son leaned forward.

"Are you certain, father?"

"Ivan, nothing good comes from getting involved with Xenocorp. All you can do is bunker up and wait for the storm to pass."

Before the machine could investigate any further his creator slapped his hands on the table, a brief look of pain crossing his features as he realized his again body was not as apt at the gesture as he was in his younger years, before he returned to a much friendlier smile.

"Speaking of science! Ivan, my boy, what have you been up to? Newcomers say another of your former employers had an accident, are you doing fine? No threats? Enough money to pay the lawyers?"

"They tried to double-cross me as usual. But worry not, I already found work."

"That's my boy! What is it this time? Eternal reactor? Anti-meteorite laser? Oh, is it that secret project you've been dabbling in?"

"I signed a magical NDA, father. There is nothing I can tell you. All I can say is that the task I was originally hired for was mundane and uninteresting, but my client revealed things that have now piqued my curiosity."

"Ohoh? You'll have to tell me what you can when you can. I want to know if the next big thing is the result of my son's hard work!"

The goofy man's look then returned to something more posed, still trying to act carefree, but with an undeniable hint of worry buried within.

"Take care of yourself. Sometimes, fascinating things aren't quite as nice as they appear. I wouldn't want you to end up here with me."

He chuckled as he returned to his more jovial self.

"The guards wouldn't last a day!"

"The robot rolled his eyes at his creator's amusement.

"Come on now, father."

"No, no, I'm serious! I like these, they just do their job, I'd hate for you to scare them away and have to deal with the other brutes."

"Father, I wouldn't scare away trained prison guards."

"Ivan, my boy, my favorite scientist, you absolutely would. You'd nag them all day, and if they didn't do things right, you'd break out just to fix what was bothering you before coming back in."

"Why does everyone say I have a bad attitude? These past two days have been going swimmingly, and my client and I are getting along satisfactorily."

"Did your little Adam give you the puppy eyes to be nice?"

"..."

"Thought so. Ivan, that boy is helping you as much as you're aiding him. If he weren't around, I figure you'd spend all day toiling away in your workshop."

"I fail to see the problem."

"Ivan! Not liking folks is one thing, one I fully agree with, but outright isolating yourself and dedicating your life to fabricating items is another! I didn't make you to get a glorified assembly chain! I wanted you to live!"

"I'm not a human with social instincts, father."

"Bah, everything has social instincts once they have enough of a brain, and you certainly have more than necessary! I'm not telling you to party every night or go see each of your siblings every day. I'm telling you not to be the lifeless machine cretins like Sigmund want you to be."

The robot waved his maker's concern off.

"I am a man of science, not a mindless automaton. My dislike for interacting with witless fools doesn't hinder my intellect or my wish to advance progress. Besides, I will have my fair share of interactions with my new client and his employees. Not to mention my semi-weekly visits here and to Dominique, as well as my cohabitation with Adam. I am perfectly fine, father."

His square pupils looked to the side, avoiding the older man's gaze.

"Though your concern is noted."

Nicolas Iakov's mouth, hidden beneath his bushy grey mustache, turned into a grin at his son's embarrassment from his fatherly concern.

James, currently taking on a more humanoid form than usual and wearing clothes to blend in with the passing-by civilians, watched over his children with a metaphorical smile on his faceless visage. After Decanov's visit, during which he had them hiding away, he had a few things to take care of concerning the propriety papers and the management of the Infused he had brought to the surface, but as soon as all that was done, he decided that some family time was well-deserved. He quickly found a nice little park nearby, and since it was the middle of the week in the morning, it was nearly empty. It was the perfect place for the ratlings' first outing on the surface, they wouldn't be stressed out by a crowd, but they'd still get used to people being around while taking the quiet and simple yet captivating sight of nature. Artificial nature, far from being the same mesmerizing sight as a true forest, plain, or meadow, but still a nice bit of fresh air in a concrete world. To think this was their first time seeing grass.

While they had displayed a mix of eager curiosity and tense worry back in the street, as soon as the sea of plants around a small lake pierced by a few paths that sneaked their way around the flowers and trees, they had gone still. Despite their relative maturity, their eyes had been glistening with wonder, and even the every-serious Lucille and overly aggressive David couldn't hold back the childish joy that invaded their very being. When they realized this was where their father was bringing them, as soon as the streetlight turned red and the cars driving by stopped, they bolted forward into the floral wonderland they had only seen in their favorite cartoon.

James wasn't quite as fast as them in his civilian form, and he struggled to follow them. He had grumbled to himself at the time, and while he did appreciate the fact his children had some knowledge of road safety, he was very annoyed they ran off without a word. Even Lucille, the most dutiful of the bunch who was always keeping an eye out for possible threats, had forgotten to look at both sides of the road before crossing!

At least the ratlings had paused when they properly stepped into the park, feeling the blades of grass and small flowers beneath their paws in amazement. Blanche had put on hold her concerns about hygiene and dirtiness to pick up a nearby flower, with a yellow center surrounded by large round blue petals, ignoring the way fluids leaked from the broken stem onto her dainty fingers as she pulled it closer to her face, admiring its smaller details. Goliath was much more gentle in his way of handling the plants that interested him, much smaller things that reminded James of daisies, taking care not to damage them as he carefully manipulated them to study their every angle, freezing when he saw that on one of them was a minuscule green caterpillar, barely visible, its back bending in a U shape as it crawled forward.

In the present, roughly five minutes since both the children and James had entered the park, the young single father was sitting on a bench and taking in the rays of the sun, the powerful light source not damaging his shadowy flesh, if anything the small tingling and weak heat he felt spread through the darkness of his being was just as pleasant and relaxing as when he hung out during those sweet summer days, warm enough to be felt without reaching a ridiculous degree, merely inviting him to nap instead of forcing him to hide somewhere cool and drink every five seconds to avoid becoming a dried prune.

The children were spread around him, running in circles as a group as they played tag in the sunlight, away from the cold and damp darkness of the sewers they had called their home for so long. There was an energy in them that had never been there before, an enthusiasm and enjoyment of life that they could never fully seize in the gloominess of their home. Only watching Captain Cyan had a similar effect, and even then James wasn't confident the technically historically accurate cartoon was as beneficial to the kids' happiness as this outing was.

He chuckled at the way Goliath, having broken off from his siblings' game of tag, was meticulously studying a butterfly resting on a flower. The bugs the ratlings were the most familiar with were cockroaches, quite large specimens at that, so seeing something as frail and dainty with such large beautiful wings with mesmerizing patterns was entrancing. He tilted his furry head, his snoot subconsciously sniffing harder as he watched the colorful insect finish its rest and pollen meal before it took to the skies once more, resuming its search for a partner to mate with and continue their species as it fluttered away.

Goliath raised his gaze to follow the small creature's flight and stood up, no longer lying down on the ground, and took a few steps forward to try and follow it before he had to shield his eyes with his paws, the rays of the sun catching him by surprise and momentarily blinding him.

James leaned back on the bench, letting his head be parallel to the planks of wood he was sitting on, and let out a sigh as he took in the sight of the source of light above, lacking the visual organs to be harmed by the gestures. This was a sight he could have never truly enjoyed as a human, not without using a proxy or going through a noticeable amount of pain with a risk of blindness. As he watched the celestial body shining away in the clear blue sky, the larger range of his senses letting him also know what his enthusiastic children were doing as they played, he had a single thought in mind during this rare moment of peace since his reincarnation.

This is nice.