"I'm waiting," Pritchard prodded after a while when Jensen had relaxed and closed his eyes. Maybe he had fallen asleep again, though this time he had seemed coherent. At least enough to have a conversation. Pritchard looked down at the man who once had seemed so imposing and invulnerable that he had automatically assumed a defending position, rebelling by hating him just because he'd feared otherwise he would be left in his shadow. Now Jensen was just a wreck at his mercy whom he could have destroyed easily if he wanted to. Pritchard shuddered for the thought. He didn't kill people, couldn't even imagine having the strength to pull the trigger even if he'd had to defend himself. Even Jensen didn't kill people, not if there was any way to avoid it. Pritchard remembered sneering at him about it but in some ways he had been glad, not necessary for any personal sentiment but it kept the company's name clear. Thinking it now though, Jensen had not been as bad a person as he'd made himself to believe.

Deep in his thoughts Pritchard had started to brush Jensen's hand resting on the cover. It was not like he'd feel it, at least at the moment. The whole arm was just dead metal. Apart from having had to do minor adjustments to Jensen's implants, Pritchard had never paid much attention to the details of augmentations, a small feat taking into accord the company he worked for. The occasional hardware he'd had to toy with, office computers and security gadgets, were nothing compared to this intricacy or mechanical detail. It reminded him more of the parts of his motorcycle, a pet project he never had enough time for.

Pritchard raised his hand away from the metal arm and looked at his palm while flexing his fingers, then he glanced down back at Jensen's black metal hand. The mental image of having compared those hands to an inanimate object was disturbing. How did it have to feel to have only those to look at, to work with. When Jensen had returned back to work after the incident his improved capability had been highly praised by mister Sharif. He would be quicker and stronger that he'd been before, in all ways better. Had Pritchard even been a bit jealous of all that attention? Had he ever stopped to wonder what the cost for Jensen had been? Or would he have cared? Too many hard questions and Pritchard rubbed his eyes again before reaching to his pocket for his control device for the apartment to put the news on to get something else to think.

"...this is Eliza Cassan, reporting to you, live"

The familiar chime seemed to be enough to rouse Jensen's attention. He opened his eyes and looked Pritchard while asking

"Where are my clothes?"

Pritchard jumped a bit, not as much due the question itself, but it's directness. Apparently Jensen hadn't been as asleep as he'd thought.

"Sorry for having stripped you, but you do know your combat gear is on the heavier side. I had enough trouble trying to move yourself with all the metal that's actually attached to you. It's not my fault you don't keep any clothes under that gear."

Pritchard looked away ashamed he would have hurt by reminding of the augmentations, thinking back to the subject he had been pondering on. What was wrong with him? Just few days ago this would have been standard banter between them, now he was suddenly feeling all self conscious. Jensen let out a dry laugh, probably misunderstanding his sudden shame.

"It's not a trouble. The doctors have been looking at all over me for half a year now anyway. No, there should be data drive in my vest pocket. Can you get it, and get it connected to the global network in a way that can not be traced? And keeps it also isolated from your own network."

Pritchard huffed for Jensen questioning his skills while heading to the heap where he'd left the gear. It didn't take too much looking to find the aforementioned data drive.

"You're really asking me if I can do it, while the proper question would be how long it takes. I'm curious though, mind telling me what to expect?"

"I… have to meet someone."

"Why all the secrecy? Why not use one of the anonymous chat room services? The network is full of them."

"You'll see…" Jensen just said infuriatingly while closing his eyes again. Pritchard huffed while tinkering with a pocket secretary, the data drive and couple other spare parts he found lying around. At least this was something he was good at. And it kept his thoughts away from the more annoying matters. It appeared the data drive contained a protocol for directly contacting different places in net seemingly randomly, changing it fairly rapidly. Efficient method for obfuscating the contact, given the other end was able to keep up with it.

"What is it with mister Sarif?" Pritchard asked the most pressing question while he was giving his creation finishing touches.

While he had been surprisingly ready to help Jensen for personal reasons, he was still a loyal member of the Sarif Industries. He had to know whatever Jensen was up to wouldn't be too much at odds with it. Having to have kept Jensen's stay in his place a secret had already been suspicious enough.

"It was he who shut down my systems," Jensen stated after a heavy sigh.

"He what!"

As if on cue with Pritchard's disbelieving exclamation, a familiar voice chimed up, distorted by pocket secretary's inferior sound interface.

"Hello Francis. Or should I call you Nuclearsnake."

"What the hell," was Pritchard's answer when he realized he'd just been listening that same voice in the newscast.