I have no soul, either.

[Or Connor was led to believe such, at least. Is it because he was constructed rather than born? Is that the secret, the only difference?

Although he hasn’t heard anyone say it, Connor can imagine someone kind — perhaps too kind — saying that he has a soul, too. Who’s to say he doesn’t? He feels thing. Sadness. Joy. Some manner of pain. He wants things. Longs for them — for people.

But while Hank might be proud of him he were to sacrifice himself for another, for now, Connor must live. Because there is either this — the pain of loss, the melancholy of memories — or there is nothing.

A world with neither Hank nor Connor’s memories of him. Simply nothing.]

Can you tell me about your Heaven? I imagine it’s not exactly as depicted in religious texts.

[Hank seemed very disappointed in God, and religion overall, after what happened to Cole. But he said that he was going to see his son, there at the end.

Connor hopes they’re together: Hank and Cole. He hopes it’s a kinder place, wherever they are.]