"I'm... fine."

For a moment, you gather your thoughts for a reply. "I'm... fine. All this," you gesture at your sleeve "is a bit much to take in, but I'm just... I'm just happy you got me out of prison." Suddenly, you can feel your eyes getting foggy. You never were much of a man of feelings, but either you've just hit your limit, or this sleeve is more prone to emotional outbursts. Your father is quickly up, and before your tears start welling out, he has you in his embrace. It feels safe, comforting. "Thank you, dad," you whisper.

"Anything for you," he answers back, and just holds you, for a while, until you can compose yourself. He dries your tears, and smiles down at you. "I know this is a lot. We have a lot to talk about. A lot of new rules you'll have to follow, until you're off probation. But we can come to that later. What do you say to ice cream?"

The sun is shining as your father leads you down the promenade, down to the ice cream stand. At the stand, he turns to the woman behind the counter. "Could she have a few tasters? She's in a brand new sleeve, so I doubt she knows what she likes." The woman looks at you. "Of course," she smiles. "You're a lucky girl, to get such a great sleeve," she adds, before looking over at your father with a bit of a grin. "And you're a lucky man."

It's not like that, you want to say, but it's as if your voice has left you. Your father does not correct her, either. After a few tasters, you settle on strawberry. It's never been a favorite of yours, but this sleeve apparently loves it. Your father has a scoop of Irish Cream, and you settle down on a bench.

"I can't go around calling you Zach, anymore," he says. "You need a new name, and it's probably a good idea if it's reasonably close to your old one. How about Zoe?"

You hadn't thought about that. It would take some time getting used to, but, yes, you can see yourself, in this sleeve, as a Zoe. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

"That's my girl," he says, jokingly, and puts his arm around you, pressing you closer.

"Daddy!" you reply, with mock annoyance.

"What?" He laughs, a friendly, warm laugh, and you can't help but join in. It's nice, sitting here with your father, in freedom, even if your sleeve is very different from what you're used to.

But time passes, and you're soon on your way home, to have a long and difficult conversation about rules and expectations.