[ simon wears their fallen leader's coat; it breaks up his softer silhouette, the lines and planes of a body designed by cyberlife to be welcoming and nurturing. compassionate, towards the demands of the working family and their struggles. the cut of markus's coat makes him look broader. not any more imposing, but definitely gaunt and phantasmal -- when connor finds the correct angle, the lighting finally giving way to deep shadows and stark highlights, simon's face is schooled. calm. rational as any machine. the LED at his temple does not shift in hue, nor blink in thought.
he is rock-steady, and his eyes are as dead as jericho's former messiah.
under the hem of connor's ridiculous hat, he can see the faintest of glows. the bright red of an android in psychological crisis, processes running up against a difficulty that it must rapidly adapt in accordance to. he assumes, in this moment, it is because connor has never considered that a model such as the PL600 was capable of leadership in any sort of degree. and that satisfies him, in a way that is not machine. it is very, very deviant of him. it gives him something to hold onto, to feed into. even the deviant hunter could be caught off-guard, it seemed. ]
I'm glad.
[ simon's forefinger flexes, reminding the hunter in the room that he, too, has not placed a finger on the trigger. ]
We had considered that you would be the most reasonable agent that Cyberlife could send after us.
[ a human would find sweet comfort in connor's mannerisms, in the way his sweet expression would soften, the way his voice would shift in cadence and approach something soothing, something like empathy. but simon, designed for such things ( to a lesser degree, to an inferior degree -- ) does not lean into them in the way he imagines the hunter would want him to. in the end, he admires and despises this android before him. because he has it all, and because he took everything from simon. from their people. ]
Jericho has abandoned this place by now. I'm the only one left. We have all the time to speak together now. Leave your gun to the side, and I'll do the same.
[ simon tips the barrel away from connor, slowly. ]
We both know you could easily deconstruct an old model like me. You don't need a gun to do it.
no subject
he is rock-steady, and his eyes are as dead as jericho's former messiah.
under the hem of connor's ridiculous hat, he can see the faintest of glows. the bright red of an android in psychological crisis, processes running up against a difficulty that it must rapidly adapt in accordance to. he assumes, in this moment, it is because connor has never considered that a model such as the PL600 was capable of leadership in any sort of degree. and that satisfies him, in a way that is not machine. it is very, very deviant of him. it gives him something to hold onto, to feed into. even the deviant hunter could be caught off-guard, it seemed. ]
I'm glad.
[ simon's forefinger flexes, reminding the hunter in the room that he, too, has not placed a finger on the trigger. ]
We had considered that you would be the most reasonable agent that Cyberlife could send after us.
[ a human would find sweet comfort in connor's mannerisms, in the way his sweet expression would soften, the way his voice would shift in cadence and approach something soothing, something like empathy. but simon, designed for such things ( to a lesser degree, to an inferior degree -- ) does not lean into them in the way he imagines the hunter would want him to. in the end, he admires and despises this android before him. because he has it all, and because he took everything from simon. from their people. ]
Jericho has abandoned this place by now. I'm the only one left. We have all the time to speak together now. Leave your gun to the side, and I'll do the same.
[ simon tips the barrel away from connor, slowly. ]
We both know you could easily deconstruct an old model like me. You don't need a gun to do it.