It's probably not much in the way of consolation, but most of the people here seem pretty decent. I'd like to think that we're all trying to make the best of a difficult situation, and no matter what else may be going on here, it's a new and unique experience and a definite learning situation. [He grins at her a little sheepishly.] I don't imagine that helped at all, did it?
[But his easy smiles become more infrequent the more disturbed he becomes. Sometimes he wishes he still had the cool, unruffled demeanor of the Deviant Hunter to fall back on- but then his gaze finds the mirrors again, and he squeezes his eyes shut, internally berating himself for even thinking such a thing. The Deviant Hunter was a killer. It was dangerous, made worse without emotions to temper its logic. He doesn't ever want to be like that again. His voice is shaky and he hates it, because he was trying for some humor.]
No, but they can make it feel like forever.
[He was programmed to be a detective apart from the Deviant Hunter, so why can't he seem to focus on the details that will help them escape? Why is he so paralyzed by his own reflection that he can barely think straight?]
Are you a therapist? You sort of sound like a therapist. That's not a bad thing, I'm not trying to be off-putting. If you're not one already, you'd make a good therapist.
[He's trying, he's really trying hard to kick his programming in the ass and get his processor functioning properly again. It's hard when the spectre of his worst possible self stares back at him coldly from every surface.]
I take it back. You'd make a good detective.
[He stares at the sign, but also notices for the first time the words written in black sharpie above one of his images- Who are you really? It's reminiscent of the question the Lieutenant asked him on a cold night near the Ambassador Bridge, and his mind flashes back to his answer all those months ago:
I'm whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant. Your partner... Your buddy to drink with... Or just a machine... Designed to accomplish a task.
For some reason, that gives him the mental fortitude to do what needs to be done. He draws himself up, staring his reflection in the eyes. Yes, this is what he could have been, had he made different choices. But it's not who he is, because he made better choices. Who is he really? He's Connor. A machine. An RK800 prototype android, who threw off the fetters of Cyberlife's control and became a person, twice. The Deviant Hunter is in his past, but it's not Connor's present and certainly not his future. With renewed determination, he sets to figuring out how to get them the hell out of there.
If he saw the same movement that gave Olivia pause, he doesn't say anything.]
no subject
[But his easy smiles become more infrequent the more disturbed he becomes. Sometimes he wishes he still had the cool, unruffled demeanor of the Deviant Hunter to fall back on- but then his gaze finds the mirrors again, and he squeezes his eyes shut, internally berating himself for even thinking such a thing. The Deviant Hunter was a killer. It was dangerous, made worse without emotions to temper its logic. He doesn't ever want to be like that again. His voice is shaky and he hates it, because he was trying for some humor.]
No, but they can make it feel like forever.
[He was programmed to be a detective apart from the Deviant Hunter, so why can't he seem to focus on the details that will help them escape? Why is he so paralyzed by his own reflection that he can barely think straight?]
Are you a therapist? You sort of sound like a therapist. That's not a bad thing, I'm not trying to be off-putting. If you're not one already, you'd make a good therapist.
[He's trying, he's really trying hard to kick his programming in the ass and get his processor functioning properly again. It's hard when the spectre of his worst possible self stares back at him coldly from every surface.]
I take it back. You'd make a good detective.
[He stares at the sign, but also notices for the first time the words written in black sharpie above one of his images- Who are you really? It's reminiscent of the question the Lieutenant asked him on a cold night near the Ambassador Bridge, and his mind flashes back to his answer all those months ago:
I'm whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant. Your partner... Your buddy to drink with... Or just a machine... Designed to accomplish a task.
For some reason, that gives him the mental fortitude to do what needs to be done. He draws himself up, staring his reflection in the eyes. Yes, this is what he could have been, had he made different choices. But it's not who he is, because he made better choices. Who is he really? He's Connor. A machine. An RK800 prototype android, who threw off the fetters of Cyberlife's control and became a person, twice. The Deviant Hunter is in his past, but it's not Connor's present and certainly not his future. With renewed determination, he sets to figuring out how to get them the hell out of there.
If he saw the same movement that gave Olivia pause, he doesn't say anything.]