A wife and son... Chikusa grinds his fingers against his pen, looking out to the rest of his room. One part of him, the part he's always until this point thought was his entire self, marvels that he's in the same sort of situation as someone who's apparently an adult. Another part of him is quietly but intensely jealous.

The people he's concerned about don't even exist, as far as he's been able to tell.

49: Yes.
49: There's not a single memory that there isn't least the threat of something violent happening to me or mine.