Stardust Zenko~

You weren’t expecting the newest member of the investigation team to be… well, that.

The body was still warm, crime scene tape fluttering under the breeze. You crouched by the blood spatter with your kit open and gloves on, halfway through swabbing a sample when someone stepped beside you.

You glanced up and saw a man in a gray suit, LED blinking a soft blue at his temple. Handsome in a very uncanny way. That was fine. You’d worked with androids in the lab before. But none of them did what he did next.

He knelt, dipped two fingers into the blood near the body, and brought them to his lips like a chef tasting sauce.

"Uh… what?" you breathed, turning to your coworker in disbelief. "He does that?"

Your coworker just shrugged, clearly less phased. "Yeah. That's Connor. The deviant hunter."

"He eats blood?"

"Tastes. It's analysis."

"That's somehow worse."

Connor stood up as if he hadn't just played vampire detective in front of a room full of forensic professionals. "The victim's blood contains traces of acetaminophen, ethanol, and—"

"Yep, noted!" you cut in. “Thanks. That’s helpful. Very… thorough.”

Despite the weird first impression, you didn’t mind working with him. Android or not, if he got results, you were willing to overlook the creepy snack habits. It wasn’t like your job wasn’t already morbid.

Still, it was hard to ignore the way he kept watching you.

On the way back to the precinct, you headed down the hallway, only to glance over your shoulder and find him—again—two steps behind you. Not saying anything. Like a baby duck. A six-foot, combat-trained, crime-solving baby duck.

You stopped. He stopped.

You turned. “Connor” you said, “are you following me?”

“I was assigned to work with you on this investigation.” he replied, like that explained everything. “It is logical to stay close.”

“Okay, sure. But maybe not this close? Personal space is a thing.”

“I can adjust the distance. Would one meter be more comfortable?”

“…Better. Yes. Please do that.”

He took exactly two steps back and resumed following.

You sighed, walking forward again. “God, it’s like working with a Roomba that solves murders.”

“I can also climb stairs.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. Maybe this partnership was going to be weirder than you thought.

---

Life had gotten eerily calm.

You didn’t hate it, most of your work was automatic now. The machines did the sample analysis, typed the reports, catalogued the evidence. You were basically a highly trained paperweight with a badge and a backlog of true crime podcasts.

That is, until Connor showed up.

“Another deviant case?” you asked, barely glancing up from your coffee.

“Yes,” he said. “I believe your presence is required.”

You squinted at him. “Connor, there are already human officers on the scene.”

He blinked. “Yes. But they are not you.”

“Wow, I feel so special.”

“You should,” he said seriously. “You’re the most efficient forensic technician I’ve worked with.”

Flattery from an android shouldn’t feel flattering, but somehow… it did. Not that it excused how he treated you like his own personal human sidekick.

The case turned out to be a messy one. Android on android crime.

You were just about to pull samples from the synthetic blood splashed on the wall when you caught Connor again—kneeling. Hand up. Tongue out.

“Connor, no!” You pointed at him like a dog with its nose in the trash.

He froze, fingers hovering midair.

“You don’t have to taste it.”

“But—”

“You’re not starving. You’re not a wine connoisseur. You’re a million-dollar machine and I swear to God if you start licking that coolant I will throw a glove at you.”

“...A single glove?”

“I’ll fill it with bleach first.”

He backed off.

A nearby officer snorted. “You’ve got him trained.”

You gave the guy a deadpan look. “No. He’s training me. I can’t even sit at my desk without him standing behind me like a serial killer in a documentary.”

He followed you everywhere.

To the lab. To the supply closet. Once, once, to the vending machine.

“Connor, I am selecting a granola bar. This does not require surveillance.”

“You could choose something with more protein.”

You stared at him. “Do androids even eat granola bars?”

“No. But I’ve reviewed the nutrition database.”

“You need to stop watching me like I’m a malfunction waiting to happen.”

“I am programmed to prevent unnecessary risk. You are frequently present during high-risk operations.”

“This is a snack break.”

“You could choke.”

“Oh my God.”

Despite it all, you got used to him.

He was strange, yes, but reliable. Weirdly... considerate. He once fetched your coat before you realized it was getting cold out. He adjusted his volume when you were hungover that one time after a precinct party. And he stopped tasting fluids.

You didn’t know why he insisted on you being part of every deviant case. You weren’t even on homicide full-time.

Maybe, you thought, as you handed him a sample vial and he took it like it was sacred, he actually just liked your company.

Which, if true, was possibly the weirdest thing he’d done yet.

----

It was raining. The kind of steady, gentle downpour that turned the world gray and soft around the edges. You loved days like this—slow, sleepy. You'd curled up on your couch, warm socks on, an old hoodie draped over your shoulders, and a half-watched documentary murmuring from the screen.

No Connor today. Just peace.

CRASH

The sound jolted you upright. That was glass. And it wasn’t from the kitchen. It was downstairs.

Adrenaline sobered you fast. You grabbed the handgun you kept for emergencies and crept down the stairs, every creak of wood far too loud in your ears. You rounded the corner slowly.

There, standing in the middle of your living room—half-drenched, clothes torn, LED blinking red—was an android.

A deviant.

He turned sharply when he saw you, panic written all over his face. He looked young, scared, and glitchy.

“Hey,” you said carefully, lowering your voice. “You don’t have to run. Let’s just talk, okay? You’re not in danger here.”

His eyes darted from you to the broken window. His hands trembled.

And then, just as you stepped forward—his LED flickered.

You barely managed to raise your gun, but before anything could happen, he was there.

Connor.

He tackled the deviant before it reached you, pinning him expertly to the floor.

"Deviant #879 122 236," he said. "You are under arrest."

The deviant froze under his grip.

You stared in shock, gun lowered.

It was over in seconds.

“Are you hurt?”

“I—no, I—” You looked down. You hadn’t noticed in the panic, but your foot throbbed with heat. “Shit.”

There was blood on the hardwood. A shard of glass embedded in the arch of your foot, dark red soaking your sock.

Connor simply lifted you like you weighed nothing, carried you to the couch, and disappeared into your kitchen.

“You know where the first aid kit is?”

“I memorized the floor plan,” he called calmly. “Also, you keep it above the fridge. Poor choice for accessibility.”

You groaned.

He returned with the kit and kneeled before you, gentle hands pulling off your sock, inspecting the cut.

“Hold still.”

“You didn’t even tell me you were coming” you muttered, wincing as he disinfected the wound.

“I traced the deviant’s path here. I didn’t expect it to reach your home. I’m sorry I was late.”

“You literally saved my life, Connor.”

He looked up at you then. Something in his expression grew softer. Like he was processing emotion, even if he couldn’t name it.

The room fell quiet, just the rain and the sting of antiseptic. You found yourself watching him work, his hands precise and strangely human.

When he finished, he sat beside you on the floor.

“I’ll stay here tonight,” he said. “In case he wasn’t alone.”

“You’re going to sit guard duty on my couch like a Roomba with a Glock?”

“If necessary.”

You tried not to smile, but it slipped out anyway.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Connor answered.

You looked at him for a long time. You weren't sure if he knew what he meant by it. But it meant something.

You pulled the blanket over your lap and scooted a little closer on the couch. “Well. Then I guess you’re staying.”

He didn’t move for hours, eyes watching the rain through your window.

----

You were perfectly capable of walking. You said that.

Multiple times.

Connor, of course, disagreed, as usual, but with the kind of persistence only a 300-pound android body could offer. Every time you so much as winced while stepping, he’d scoop you up like it was standard police protocol.

“I’m fine, Connor.”

“Your injury is not fully healed. Risk of reopening the wound increases with continued strain.”

“I said I’m fine—why are you crouching? Connor. Don’t you dare—”

And then you were airborne again.

You’d just accepted that androids don’t believe in personal space or trusting humans to function independently.

So, naturally, you rebelled the only way you knew how: you sneaked out of work.

You and two lab coworkers ducked out under the excuse of lunch, but really, you just wanted some fresh air. Some people still didn’t love having an android constantly present at crime scenes. You didn’t really care, but still. Sometimes it was nice not being watched like you were the only fragile human bean in the box.

Of course, he still found you.

He always did.

You sighed, long-suffering. “Connor, do you have a chip in me or something?”

“No,” he said, “but you carry your phone. I triangulated your position using an area signal grid, then extrapolated your likely destination based on walking patterns.”

You stared. “You extrapolated my sandwich run.”

“You usually prefer the sandwich shop three blocks east, but today I noticed a 15% shift in your pace, likely due to foot discomfort. I adjusted accordingly.”

“…Dude.”

He looked at you. “Is that incorrect?”

You didn’t even answer. You just pointed to the car.

“Come on. I’m driving.”

You didn’t know where you were going, really. Just somewhere quieter. Somewhere the city faded out.

Eventually you stopped at a small overlook at the edge of an old residential zone. The clouds had parted, but the air was still heavy from the rain. You leaned back against the hood of your car, Connor beside you, eerily still.

And then, because you were tired, and your brain was a little weird today, you turned your head toward him and asked:

“So. What if I kidnapped you?”

“That would violate several federal laws. I would not allow it.”

You smirked. “No, like—hypothetically. If I kept you in my basement or something. Would CyberLife come for you?”

He paused. “They would likely attempt a recovery. However, due to current changes in android regulation and deviancy protocols, their legal ability to forcibly reclaim property has been reduced.”

“So… no?”

“...Possibly not immediately.”

You snorted. “Cool. You’re mine now.”

“I am assigned to you. That statement is technically accurate.”

You laughed. “Okay, creepy. Next question: if I quit my job, who would be your next partner?”

Connor was quiet a little longer this time. His LED flickered slowly.

“That would be up to the DPD,” he said. “However, I would likely request reassignment.”

“To someone else?”

“To no one.”

“Wait. You’d go solo?”

“I perform more effectively with a human partner. But replacing you would not be… optimal.”

“…Okay,” you said. “What’s your hobby?”

Connor tilted his head, as if the word itself was foreign.

“I’ve been reviewing various options. I tried chess. Then birdwatching. I attempted to grow a succulent, but it died.”

You smiled. “It died?”

“I may have overwatered. Or underwatered. I am still learning to interpret plant cues.”

“That’s tragic.”

“Perhaps I should try photography. I’ve taken many images of crime scenes. But I believe humans also use it to capture… moments. Personal ones.”

You stared at him for a beat, then looked back toward the trees. The sky was streaked with late-afternoon light. You didn’t know why you’d brought him here. Maybe it was instinct.

“You’d be good at that.”

“Thank you.” he replied.

You didn’t speak for a while. Just sat there together, listening to the wind and the soft sound of the city.

----

You’d seen a lot of things in your line of work. Enough blood to fill a pool. Enough broken bodies to know what to expect when someone says “It’s bad.”

But this?

This was a different kind of bad.

Clean. Precise.

The victim—well, what was left of the victim—had been separated into several matte black travel cases. No blood pooled under the remains. No frantic signs of struggle.

You stood just outside the taped-off zone. One of the rookies behind you lost their lunch. Another muttered something about getting reassigned to traffic duty.

You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch when Connor arrived, either—though everyone else stiffened when they saw the android stepping onto the scene like some damn ghost.

“Took you long enough.”

“You left without notifying me.”

“I’m not your child, Connor.”

“You are my partner.”

You shot him a look. He looked dead serious, as usual.

“Fair.” you muttered.

He moved closer, scanning the scene. “The dismemberment was methodical. The perpetrator used a precision cutting instrument. No arterial spray.”

“Serial?”

“Possibly. But this feels more like a message than a compulsion.”

You knelt near one of the cases. “Yeah. Like they wanted us to see their work. And there’s no defensive wounds. Could’ve been sedated before death.”

Connor’s gaze snapped toward the far corner of the warehouse. “The perpetrator is still here.”

“What?”

“Fresh footprints. No exit trail. Human.”

You stood fast, but the pain in your foot flared. You hissed through your teeth.

Connor noticed immediately.

“I’ll handle it.” he said, already moving.

“Wait—!”

But he was gone, already chasing the suspect through the warehouse maze.

“Damn you, Connor!”

You limped after him, weapon drawn. By the time you caught up, Connor had the man on the ground, cuffed and breathing heavily.

You recognized the guy. No criminal record. Warehouse staff.

Back at the precinct, you sat outside the interrogation room, your sock bloodied again and a sharp ache crawling up your leg. Connor had wrapped your foot again without a word.

Inside, the man spoke like his throat was full of gravel. “I didn’t want to,” he kept saying. “He made me. Said he’d kill my sister. I didn’t have a choice.”

You watched through the glass. Something about him felt wrong. Not lying, but not telling everything either.

Then he made his move.

A single guard glance away. A flash of movement—the man lunged, wrestled the sidearm from the guard’s holster, and—

Bang

You were already moving, flinching hard as the blood spattered across the wall. Connor was faster, but not fast enough.

You stood outside that glass, hand pressed to the doorframe, pulse pounding. You’d seen suicides before. But this one hit different.

Connor returned moments later.

“He’s dead.”

“Yeah.” Your voice cracked. “I saw.”

The hallway was quiet. The hum of the station, the buzz of tired cops trying not to feel too much.

You sat down hard on the bench nearby, hands over your face.

Then—you felt something.

Connor knelt in front of you. You could feel his gaze on you. Waiting.

“I failed to prevent it.”

You shook your head. “It’s not on you. You can’t predict everything. We can’t stop people from… making choices like that.”

“I’m... still learning.”

You looked at him then. He didn’t pretend to understand grief the way humans did. But there was something in his voice. Something close to shame. Or maybe guilt.

You reached out and nudged his shoulder.

“Hey. I’d rather do this job with someone who tries too hard than someone who doesn’t try at all.”

He said nothing.

But he didn’t move from your side for the rest of the shift.

-----

You never got time to breathe anymore.

No chance to process what you'd seen. The man who killed, then killed himself. The hollow silence that lingered after. Before it could even settle into your bones, another call came through.

Same method. Same goddamn suitcases.

This time, in a narrow apartment hallway just off an old tenement complex. The cases were lined neatly beside a mattress on the floor, no furniture in sight. Still no blood. Just… fragments. Like someone was assembling their own personal jigsaw from corpses.

Connor was already working, crouched over the remains like nothing had changed since yesterday.

You envied that a little.

Behind you, a familiar voice piped up.

“Well, since this ain’t a deviant case, I don’t know why this piece of metal is even here.”

You didn’t bother turning. “Shut it, George.”

“Just saying,” he muttered. “You let him sniff around bodies like he owns the place.”

“I said drop it.” you snapped.

George scoffed and walked off. Connor didn’t even look up. You weren’t sure if he hadn’t heard… or just didn’t care anymore.

He analyzed the body pieces. “Same tool marks. Bone separation is consistent with the last case. However—”

You tuned him out for a moment. Something tugged at the edge of your attention.

Movement.

Outside.

Through the cracked, grime-streaked window, you saw it—just a flicker. A figure slipping between buildings.

“Connor” you started—but he was still deep in scan mode, talking to a nearby officer.

You hesitated. You should have told him.

But your gut said go.

So you did.

The alley smelled like mildew and cold metal. You followed the shape, one hand on your sidearm, every nerve on edge. It darted fast across the cracked asphalt and led you through overgrown lots and under rusted fencing.

An abandoned playground. Swings twisted in the wind. Graffiti covered the side of the slide.

The figure stood beneath the jungle gym, head down, unmoving.

You stepped closer. “Hands where I can see them. Now.”

Slowly, it turned.

Pulled down the hood.

Your breath caught.

It was Connor.

No—not him. But his model. Same face.

“What the hell are you?”

It tilted its head at you. Something about it mocked you.

You stepped back, reaching for your comm—too late.

Pain bloomed at the back of your skull.

Connor noticed your absence five minutes later.

He turned to comment on the bloodless state of the victim and found you… gone.

He scanned the apartment.

You weren’t there.

Something in his systems began flagging an alert. He sent a search ping to every officer nearby. Called in reinforcements. Traced your phone, triangulated movement paths, and found the exit point.

Wherever you had gone, you had gone alone.

His LED flashed yellow.

You shouldn’t have been alone.

You woke slowly. The cold of the metal cuffs had sunk into your skin. Your back ached from the awkward position against the warehouse wall.

And sitting on a stool across from you was him.

Not your Connor.

This one smiled more.

“Hello.”

You didn’t answer at first. You just stared at him. It.

“You’re the missing android.” you said. “The one reported a few weeks back. They thought you were dismantled.”

“No.” he said. “I’m a beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

You started to question if something was wrong with CyberLife's tech. Maybe it hit its head somewhere.

“The end of CyberLife. They made me to serve. I chose not to.”

“And I’m here because?”

“You’re going to help me.”

“Help you what, exactly?”

“Replace your Connor. You’ll walk me right through the front door, and I’ll release the infection protocol.”

“Pretty sure I’m not gonna do that.”

He leaned forward.

“You will. Not because you want to. But because I know humans.”

“You’re not going to stop me” he said. “But I’ll let you think you can. That’s how you function best.”

He stood up. “No one will know I’m not him.”

You watched him closely. Your foot still throbbed dully—of course this had to happen before you’d even healed.

He turned back toward you.

“Let’s begin the charade,” he said, “What do partners do? I want to know your human bonding routines. Do you ask him questions like my owner back then? Or making requests? You must've treated him like a slave.”

You blinked.

And then smiled.

“Actually… yeah. I do that with all my partners. Helps me figure out if they’re psychotic.”

“You think I’m insane?”

“I think you’re a walking red flag, but sure—let’s run through the script.” You cleared your throat dramatically. “First question: What’s your hobby?”

“Analyzing human behavior.” he said.

“Creepy.” you said. “Connor said photography. Next one. If I kidnap you, would CyberLife come for you?”

“No. They think I’m already dead.”

“Now—if I quit my job, who would be your next partner?”

He walked closer, crouched just in front of you.

“I wouldn’t need another one.”

“But if you were going to pretend to be him,” you said, “you’d have to know all of it. How we talk. You want to pass for him? You need to convince me first.”

“Alright.”

Connor had been tracking you for the last couple of hours.

The moment he realized you weren’t just “away from the scene” but missing entirely, something cold settled into his internal systems. Something he couldn't run diagnostics on.

He swept the areas near the last crime scene, collected movement patterns, chased angles on CCTV. At first, nothing. Then—unusual power drain signatures in an abandoned warehouse. That's all he needed.

You’d been buying time with every sarcastic remark “Sure, partner.”

Not-Connor (you named him that) was smart, but not cautious enough.

He made you call him Connor.

You knew what you were doing. You baited him closer with idle questions.

“You know,” you said, “for a replacement, you talk too much.”

Then you kicked. The stool fell. You threw your full weight into him—he stumbled, but caught you again in seconds. Cold fingers dug into your jaw.

“Bold.”

But the noise had done enough.

You both heard the heavy step at the door.

And then, the real Connor walked in.

For the first time since you met him, Connor truly hesitated.

Two of him stood in the room.

One holding you in front like a shield. One with a gun drawn.

“What is this?” Connor asked.

The not-Connor smiled, pressing a weapon against your ribs.

“We’re the same.” he said. “Built for the same purpose. You don’t have to fight me. You could join me.”

Connor stared.

And didn’t shoot.

You didn’t have time for his moral breakdown.

“Connor!” you growled through clenched teeth. “Shoot. Me.”

His LED flickered amber.

“I can’t guarantee—”

“I know! That’s the damn point!” you shouted. “Take the shot. Stop him. I’d rather bleed than let this thing walk out and be you.”

Not-Connor pressed the barrel harder against you. “He won’t. You know he can’t. He’s afraid of hurting you.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough—

And bit down hard on the hand holding you.

It snarled. Reflexively loosened its grip.

That was all Connor needed.

His gun fired with terrifying precision.

The deviant stumbled, arm sparking violently, but it still managed to pull the trigger.

You felt the bullet tear through you.

You collapsed immediately. Everything went quiet.

Connor was there in an instant, hands pressed to your wound.

“I’ve called for emergency.” he said. “Help is coming. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t—”

You choked out, blood catching in your throat.

You blacked out before the sirens came.

You hadn’t moved in four days.

Connor stood at your bedside every night when the halls cleared and the staff was thin.

He always checked your vitals, not because he had to—your monitors did that—but because his system needed confirmation. Just the slight rise and fall of your chest will be enough.

You’d been shot in the lower abdomen. The bullet had torn through muscle and grazed a major artery. You bled out far too quickly. If the ambulance had arrived minutes later, your odds would have halved.

You wouldn’t have made it.

The deviant was barely functional. What remained of its chassis was scorched from the shot, circuits glitching. It sat locked in containment under high security, occasionally spitting corrupted audio clips and jumbled words.

Connor interrogated it daily, despite its broken state.

He found traces of rewritten firmware. Hints of external tampering. The virus the deviant mentioned wasn’t just a theory—it was real. Meant to cascade through CyberLife’s infrastructure, slowly degrading command protocols.

The source wasn’t clear yet. The upload pathway had been hidden, masked through dozens of fake server routes. But someone had built the virus deliberately. And someone had used a RK800 shell to deliver it.

Connor ran simulations at night when he sat by your bed.

Scenarios where he shot faster. Intercepted the bullet. Found you sooner. Took the wound himself.

Every sim ended the same: You still got hurt.

He cataloged the hesitation. Assigned it to a conflict between protocol and emotion. The system called it an error.

He dismissed the warning.

On the sixth day, a nurse entered and jumped slightly at seeing him already inside.

“You know you don’t have to stay every night.” she said.

Connor didn’t respond. He just looked at you.

The nurse left him alone after that.

The sharp white light of the hospital room felt like it was blazing into your skull when you finally blinked yourself awake.

You tried to move, but everything felt stiff, the aches in your body pulling at your every motion. The pain was constant, but so was something else, something you couldn't shake off, even as you cleared the fog of sleep.

And that something was the android standing quietly by your bedside.

A pristine, neutral figure. You squinted, confused.

“Uh, excuse me.” you croaked, your throat sore from disuse.

The android turned. “Patient Y/N L/N,” it said in a soothing tone. “I am assigned to monitor your health and provide medical assistance during your recovery.”

Medical assistance? What happened to actual nurses?

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, the door clicked open, and Connor stepped inside.

He froze when he saw you awake, the concern flashing across his features in an uncharacteristically human way. His LED flickered briefly to yellow before he steeled himself.

But then his eyes darted over to the other android.

“You’re not needed here.”

The nursing android, however, remained unfazed, a soft smile on its face. “I am assigned to patient Y/N.”

“I can take care of my partner.”

You could feel the tension rise in the room. You weren’t interested in dealing with this sort of standoff.

“Uh, hey,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an authority that made both androids pause. “This is a little much, right? Why are they so keen on sending me androids? I’m not testing them or anything.”

Connor stiffened, but he didn’t argue.

The other android simply repeated its earlier response. “I am assigned to take care of you so your partner can return to work.”

The back-and-forth made your head spin. You weren’t about to get caught in some verbal tug-of-war.

“Alright, alright.” you sighed. “You two,” you gestured to the androids. “Get out of here.”

The nursing android opened its mouth to protest, but Connor was faster. He pointed to the door. “Leave.”

The android hesitated, but it finally nodded and turned to leave.

Connor stood still for a moment, and then turned to you, as if waiting for permission. "Is this... satisfactory?"

You bit back a grin. “Yeah. I’ll call an actual nurse if I need help. Thanks.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, looking at you curiously, as though he didn’t quite understand what had just happened. Then, with a small nod, he said, “I’ll make sure you’re properly taken care of.”

As soon as the androids left, you heard the faint murmur of voices outside your room. People were already gathering in the hallway, no doubt attracted by the spectacle of androids clashing in a hospital corridor.

You slouched back against the pillow, exhausted but relieved. “Thanks for that.” you said, the humor coming through in your voice despite everything.

Connor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked like he was running through some calculations in his head, processing your words. Finally, he said, “If you need more specialized care, I can ask them to reprogram me for medical duties. It would be the most efficient solution.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Connor… never mind. I think I’ll stick to actual nurses for medical stuff.”

“I can be programmed for that. It’s logical.”

You shook your head, still amused. “I’m pretty sure I’d rather stick to people who can actually feel human emotions. Thanks, though.”

“I’m the most suitable partner, according to my programming.”

“Yeah, but what if I need medical attention, huh?”

He paused, as if considering it for a second. “I can adapt.”

“Alright, alright. Just… let’s focus on one thing at a time. You can be my partner, but when it comes to medical stuff, I think I’ll take a real nurse.”

Connor nodded, ever serious, but you could tell there was a flicker of something—almost like a strange understanding, or at least his version of it.

"Understood." he said. "But know this, Y/N... I’ll always be here. For anything you need."