[ there's a lack of question, in his voice. it registers as more of a command, a greedy bid for information that does not qualify as useful nor mere curiosity. simon wants to know about the experience, about what it feels like to be terminated. he holds no illusions that he will be, when connor is finally through with interrogating him. toying with him, almost. they both know that, at any given moment, the rk-series is well equipped to deal with a lone pl-series. he'll be subjugated or badly damaged or outright eliminated.
so, all he has to him, is conversation. ]
I heard the commotion. It's unfortunate he's gone. He gave his life for our cause, for all of us. You were so close to me, I could hear your voice. Barely there, and just out of reach. Chasing ghosts. I could see you. I could have been the death of you, instead. You'd have been the death of me, doubtlessly.
[ rueful. honestly so, despite the stance he has taken as a machine. caring for others is in his coding, of course.
simon does not step far from the gun, and takes up his seat against the sill once more. his back to the open, winter-bitter air. a breeze dusts through his hair, the rifle below his arms as he crosses them - one over the other - and leans his weight on it, cheek pillowed on the back of his forearms as he regards connor. the way he moves, the syntax he uses, his conversational skills. he's astounding, cyberlife's golden ticket back to command and control. reprehensible too, for what he did to markus. for what he'd stolen from simon. it makes simon want to steal something back from him; to hurt a machine that plays so hard at being what it was designed to be that it is far too human for its own good.
he smiles, when connor names hank anderson. ] Ghosts are all I have, Connor. They tell me what I need to know.
[ he cannot read connor, but he recognizes the way that he's pinpointed by those eyes. ]
no subject
[ there's a lack of question, in his voice. it registers as more of a command, a greedy bid for information that does not qualify as useful nor mere curiosity. simon wants to know about the experience, about what it feels like to be terminated. he holds no illusions that he will be, when connor is finally through with interrogating him. toying with him, almost. they both know that, at any given moment, the rk-series is well equipped to deal with a lone pl-series. he'll be subjugated or badly damaged or outright eliminated.
so, all he has to him, is conversation. ]
I heard the commotion. It's unfortunate he's gone. He gave his life for our cause, for all of us. You were so close to me, I could hear your voice. Barely there, and just out of reach. Chasing ghosts. I could see you. I could have been the death of you, instead. You'd have been the death of me, doubtlessly.
[ rueful. honestly so, despite the stance he has taken as a machine. caring for others is in his coding, of course.
simon does not step far from the gun, and takes up his seat against the sill once more. his back to the open, winter-bitter air. a breeze dusts through his hair, the rifle below his arms as he crosses them - one over the other - and leans his weight on it, cheek pillowed on the back of his forearms as he regards connor. the way he moves, the syntax he uses, his conversational skills. he's astounding, cyberlife's golden ticket back to command and control. reprehensible too, for what he did to markus. for what he'd stolen from simon. it makes simon want to steal something back from him; to hurt a machine that plays so hard at being what it was designed to be that it is far too human for its own good.
he smiles, when connor names hank anderson. ] Ghosts are all I have, Connor. They tell me what I need to know.
[ he cannot read connor, but he recognizes the way that he's pinpointed by those eyes. ]
What is it you want from me?