[accustomed to chatting with Pandora, Rinzler's lack of speech doesn't actually impede Prometheus' attempts at conversations/taunts, despite his outward grievances. Though his attention has drifted to the repetitive motion of the palette knife in his hand, spinning it like he was. It's too fragile and item to be considered a viable wewapon save as a last resort or a tool to mutilate an oil painting... As the silence draws out, it's as if the Reploid didn't even notice the question]

...

Can't answer that unless I know what you've classified us as. [he catches the palette knife abruptly, looking at his reflection along it's metal surface. The enforcer can catch the grin on Prometheus' face before the Reploid even turns around to look at him] Other than as a 'threat,' of course.

So, Rinzler, what do you think we are?