Michael squints at it, his brain already working. "You still wouldn't be feeling anything other than the weight of it," he admits. "I don't have a solve for electrical impulses from the brain shooting down into the prosthetic, not without my handprint on you and even that's flawed."

Because him sending back a message that Alex is unbalanced will be a few seconds too late.

"I wish I could give you that," he says, hating that he can't figure it out, frustrated by it.