DRIP. The glass door sprang open.
At the same time, an emotionless female voice announced from inside, "Welcome home, Little Mike. It is now January 24th, 2001, 11:27:35 AM."
Simultaneously, a small mechanical wheelchair appeared in the doorway.
"This is my mother's voice, which I synthesized from memory. I hoped that the sound would stimulate my body to secrete some unknown substances related to emotions. Unfortunately, this method was useless."
Little Mike's expression remained indifferent, showing neither disappointment nor dissatisfaction, merely explaining the matter calmly.
Dean glanced at him and placed him in the electric wheelchair.
This device was well-crafted and seemed newly purchased, unlike what Dean had imagined.
What came into view was a cozy little room with a bed, chairs, and a fireplace. It looked like a habitable toolroom and had a large table against one wall.
