Inside the orange truck, Bobby was bouncing in his seat from excitement, unable to tear his eyes away from Zeno. He leaned forward, his hand pressed to his chest like a proud parent.
"How are you made so well?" he asked, awe-struck as he stared at Zeno. "Can you call your parents later and ask them what gene sequence they used? Or maybe the position during copulation? I want to use it for my next kid."
"You don't need another kid in this economy," Zeno muttered before leaning against the door and running a hand through his softly tousled hair. His suit moved with his movement—a black suit that opened ever so slightly at the chest, revealing smooth skin and a glint of a silver pendant.
"You're being dramatic again," he added.
"I'm not exaggerating. After my wife, you might be the most well-made human I've seen in my lifetime."
Except, Zeno wasn't human.
"I don't have a wife, so I can easily say that you're the most well-made!" Moby exclaimed from the driver's seat.
