#and when they put mr alan on cocaine to write the first chapter what then

[octavianacidicbreastmilk]

“Perfect,” Weyland said. It-he paused, redirecting its attention from the inanimate to the animate. “Am I?” “Perfect?” Weyland appeared mildly surprised to receive an interrogative at this stage of cognitive development. Surprised, but pleased. It implied much more than just the capability of conversation. It was to be expected, but perhaps not so soon. “No,” It-he corrected him. “Am I your son. Certain aspects of perception do not readily correlate or give rise to such a conclusion.” Weyland answered readily, as if prepared for such a line of questioning. “You are my creation.” Analysis: “That is not necessarily the same thing.” “Semantics,” Weyland persisted. “I identify you. That is enough. It is sufficient for your purposes.”

[...]

The question had been answered and the point made with a minimum of words. David had been created to serve. The relationship would brook no further discussion. There would be no argument, no debate, no balancing of relative merits. The created served the creator. This was a fact, and facts were not mutable. Provided they were first proven to be fact. According to the dictates of science, that could only be done through the application of study to evidence. Accumulate a sufficiency of evidence, and one had a fact. The missing ingredient was time.

Alien Covenant by Alan Dean Foster

alien: covenant || demon seed