If you don't want people to keep reading you so easily, dear Rinzler, you might want to stop staring so intently at them. I can practically hear you asking over the constant error running in your background processes.
Reploids in my era are practically on par with humans. All the little errors and glitches, right down to allegedly being harder to re-program than your average program.
[Prometheus shifts forward into a crouch]
Well... It takes longer in my time, but with the right stimulus? Hacking and re-purposing people and Reploids is surprisingly easy.
[his gaze shifts to the damaged painting, expression neutral but probably not visible to Rinzler]
Not everyone is given a directive; just an expiration date. You have to find your own purpose... Or that's what the average citizen gets told anyway. Sounds nice doesn't it? But you're right; everyone has a function, an inescapable fate. In our case...
[there's a glint of light as Prometheus flips the knife over into a reverse grip. In one motion, he's drawn his arm back - to the left, just over his shoulder - and sends the knife into the canvas repeatedly. Despite the speed, the palette knife - created to be blunt and flexible, to mix paint - bends but doesn't puncture the canvas though it tears off a chunk of paint and starts denting it not long after]
[he raises the knife up and plunges downwards. The painting canvas and the palette knife seem to have had enough of the punishment though and both give way, the metal snapping as Prometheus forces it through the canvas. With his free hand, he holds the frame steady as he drags the ruined tool through the painting, ignoring the fact that the metal had cut through his hand. He doesn't even seem to notice the blood]
no subject
If you don't want people to keep reading you so easily, dear Rinzler, you might want to stop staring so intently at them. I can practically hear you asking over the constant error running in your background processes.
Reploids in my era are practically on par with humans. All the little errors and glitches, right down to allegedly being harder to re-program than your average program.
[Prometheus shifts forward into a crouch]
Well... It takes longer in my time, but with the right stimulus? Hacking and re-purposing people and Reploids is surprisingly easy.
[his gaze shifts to the damaged painting, expression neutral but probably not visible to Rinzler]
Not everyone is given a directive; just an expiration date. You have to find your own purpose... Or that's what the average citizen gets told anyway. Sounds nice doesn't it? But you're right; everyone has a function, an inescapable fate. In our case...
[there's a glint of light as Prometheus flips the knife over into a reverse grip. In one motion, he's drawn his arm back - to the left, just over his shoulder - and sends the knife into the canvas repeatedly. Despite the speed, the palette knife - created to be blunt and flexible, to mix paint - bends but doesn't puncture the canvas though it tears off a chunk of paint and starts denting it not long after]
Recruit... [thwack] Judge... [thwack] Seek... [thud] Fight...
[he raises the knife up and plunges downwards. The painting canvas and the palette knife seem to have had enough of the punishment though and both give way, the metal snapping as Prometheus forces it through the canvas. With his free hand, he holds the frame steady as he drags the ruined tool through the painting, ignoring the fact that the metal had cut through his hand. He doesn't even seem to notice the blood]
Feed it.