You click the mic button.

"Hey, Dad, it's me. I'm using this weird app they apparently have for you, where I can kind of, like, check in?"

He freezes, and looks around. Eventually, his eyes settle on the ceiling, but at the wrong spot. You're talking to the back of his head now.

"Are you spying on me?"

"No, no, I mean, I just checked in to see how it was going. The stove is still on, so I just wanted to let you know. Goodnight!"

You close out of the window before you can hear his response.

The next morning you decide to Drop-In again to apologize, and to talk about the feature to see how he feels about it.

"Hi dad."

He chuckles softly. "Ah, back to spying on me I see."

You try to explain that you didn't mean to. That you weren't even totally sure what the Drop In button did when you first clicked it. That it felt unsafe to not say something about the stove being on.

"Right. Sure. Well… I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This whole place is full of cameras. I found one in a book on the shelf the other day, when I was perusing."

He's facing you now, probably by accident since he still doesn't seem to know where your camera is. He's got that thinking look on his face, the one that means he will say something else eventually, if you're patient enough. You're not patient enough on most days, but today you try to be.

"My, how the tables have turned, huh?"

You're not sure what that means, exactly.

"Not that we put cameras in your room or anything. But we used to, you know, keep tabs on you kids in other ways. And now you're watching me, like some kind of reverse parent. Which I guess is… how this goes, huh?"

You don't want to be his parent. You aren't sure if you want to be anybody's parent. The thought makes you realize that your dad probably won't ever meet your kids, if you have any. You've lost the chance at a certain kind of relationship with him. You always thought you'd have more time.

Your dad shrugs. "I don't mind it, I guess. If that's what you were going to ask. This whole drop in situation. I'll just pretend you came around and knocked on the door to say hi. Like we're neighbors. I can tell you about my day, we can pretend to drink coffee together."

When he puts it that way, it doesn't sound so bad. So you do. You drop in here and there, and you hear about his days and the surprisingly high levels of drama at the facility.

A few weeks later he breaks into a wide, mischevious smile. "Oh, I meant to tell you the latest scandal."

It's evening, so you're both drinking beers. He's technically not supposed to, but you've compromised that he gets one a week, when you call.

"There's a chlamydia outbreak here."

You think you must have misheard him.

"It's gotten so bad they've officially banned sex among residents! I'm not exactly sure how they're enforcing that one, it's not like people here are putting a sock on their door when they're doing it. I guess technically you could still have sex with someone from outside the facility, so it's not like a true nunnery in here or anything…"

You quickly change the subject. You're not really keen on thinking about your father's sex life. In fact, in this moment, you choose to believe it doesn't exist. It's childish of you, you know that, and yet, you can't help it.

The next week you drop in on your father for a quick chat. You're excited to tell him about your recent promotion and vaguely more impressive job title. But before you can announce yourself, you see something you were not prepared to witness. Your father, in action, on the couch. The woman beneath him is enjoying herself. Loudly. You slam your laptop shut as quickly as you can and stare off into space for a while, trying to process what you just saw.

Then you remember the sex ban. The chlamydia outbreak. Your father could be getting chlamydia right this very moment. Should you go back and stop them? Clear your throat loudly, like you really are God judging them from above for their sins? No, you decide you'll spare him that indignity at least. But you know you have to bring it up. So you do, the next day, hesitant as you click Drop-In, hoping this time he's fully clothed.

When you ask him about it, as awkwardly as possible, he blinks.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He denies it up and down. He accuses you of being on drugs. Bad ones, if that's what they're making you imagine. But you know what you saw!

Somehow, the robots are unaware of what happened that night. There's no record of this particular "social interaction" on any of his charts or tabs. And you're pretty sure it would be there. They log every single snippet of his day, down to who he says hello to in the hallways.

Scanning through his interaction logs, you realize that you have a choice. You can let this go and hope for the best. Or you can inform the facility that your father broke the no sex rule, and should probably be tested for STI's.

So, what do you do?