Douglas did not like simulations, holograms or, especially, Humanoid Relation Androids - robots to the layman. It wasn't like he was a luddite or anything, he just didn't trust them.
H.E.R.C was one of said HRA. He was polite and helpful and programed in that smug drawl that Douglas had spent the better part of his teen years perfecting so he could pass as an adult and get into pubs and bars. He just didn't like the idea of machines being in the co-pilot seat of an aeroplane; what if it were to malfunction?
Worst of all, it seemed like H.E.R.C had no idea of his HRA status...
"Word game, Douglas?" H.E.R.C asked, silver (literal silver) hair gleaming in the sunset.
Douglas had to win the cheese tray off him because he'd got it into his little tin head that he needed food to function, and that clogged valuable parts.
"Books that sound more interesting with the last letter knocked off."
It didn't hurt that he always won against his foe.
"Why don't you like him?" Martin asked, sincerity written all over his face.
"Why do you? He's an HRA!"
"So?" Martin narrowed his eyes, "You know how advanced they've gotten; I bet you wouldn't know one if they hit you it the face!"
"Of course I would!"
Without warning, slap! Martin hit him with an open hand, a very hard hand, and stormed off... Copper hair glinting like silver...