The instant Adam steps foot back out onto the paved streets of Detroit, Pritchard's voice blares directly into his augmented cochlea like particularly grating nails on a chalkboard. "Jensen, while I've got you outside the LIMB clinic, there's something I need to ask."

"What is it, Francis?"

"There's an encrypted module implanted next to your infolink that LIMB use for remote medical monitoring. Transmits your vitals, system status, biomedical data, etcetera. I need your permission to access it."

Despite the lack of Pritchard's actual physical presence, behind their lenses Adam's eyes narrow. "Why? Did you qualify as a prosthetic surgeon while I was gone?"

"Sarif's asked me to keep an eye on it. If you're going to be out there getting yourself into trouble, it'll help me assist you if you're injured, or get a team to you if you're unconscious."

Adam's teeth grit. "Well, if Sarif's asked you to, I suppose you best get on and do it."

"Is that a yes, or just more of your much appreciated sarcasm?"

"What's stopping you, Pritchard? The encryption can't be a problem."

"Nothing's stopping me, Jensen. I'd just rather not commit a HIPAA violation if you're not on board with it."

There's a pause. Adam blinks, feet falling still as he lets the meaning of that sink in. "So, you're saying you won't do it without my consent?"

"Yes, that is in fact what this whole conversation has been about."

Silence again. The surprise of being asked halts Adam's response, then after a moment or two, Pritchard continues.

"Look, if you're not okay with it, just say no and I can go tell Sarif you weren't—"

"No, it's alright," Adam cuts him off. "Go ahead, Francis. You have my permission. Access the module."

"Well, thank you for finally making a decision."

The sarcasm grates on Adam's nerves a little less than he's come to expect. Another few beats of silence in which he imagines Frank's fingertips dancing across a keyboard, and then:

"You best get back here. Sarif wants to see you."

"Heading that way now."

"And Jensen? Eat a candy bar before your blood sugar gets so low I have to send a team to come pick you up off the floor."

"Yes, doc."

He's less exasperated than he sounds. Adam spends a moment picturing Pritchard's scowl of annoyance and the roll of his eyes, and is surprised to feel his mouth twitch upwards slightly before the transmission cuts out.