With her arms resting on the seat of the sofa and her chin resting on her knuckles, Hilda waited for baited breath as Ingo continued to lie on the sofa with nary a movement. Not a single limb or muscle twitched, and Hilda would have thought him to be dead were it not for the fact that this—the sudden bouts of unconsciousness, the way he never twitched—was starting to become normal.
Finally, Ingo’s eyelids smoothly opened. Hilda thought she could almost hear the gears rotate and the circuits roar to life with electricity as the man slowly turned his head to lock eyes with her.
“How long?” Ingo asked with a hoarse voice as the plates of metal inside his throat rasped against one another.
“Three hours,” Hilda replied blankly in contrast with the turmoil inside. “You collapsed in the middle of a Super Single Line battle.”
Nodding, Ingo shifting his entire body (dislodging the multiple wires inserted in various ports on his body) and raised a hand to cradle Hilda’s cheek. The synthetic skin felt cold and harsh on her cheek. “I’m sorry,” Ingo mumbled.
Hilda wanted to sob. “It’s not your fault this is happening,” she responded. “Did you get any new news from the company?”
Ingo shook his head, closing his eyes as Hilda leaned down to bury her face into the crook of his neck and let out a muffled cry.