[ if it were a human bleeding out on their apartment floor, most wouldn't be having this discussion, at least as far as sam thinks. if he were born a couple thousand years before he was (or, made, would be more accurate then), this could have easily been him, and he isn't willing to risk A, waiting while whatever's killing this synthetic life in front of him furthers and B, attempting to move them when they're barely held together as it is.
lifting his eyes, he finds Steve, Ilde and Ren across the rooms, and they know what he's about to do and why. They're the most in danger of uncomfortable mental overload from him, so the look alone is all they should need to know now's the time to wall up. There's a sense of reassurance in the mental bond between them all - if it's a bomb, he'll know immediately. If it's trying to corrupt something from him, he'll know immediately. He's done this with entire battlestars before, a single, dying android isn't that difficult.
While the others are all debating, he glances down at his watch to check if those two minutes have passed. His hands are already on the droid, and all he does is move them carefully up to it's head, and close his eyes, something in his body slacking. When they open again, it's with a thousand mile stare, unfocused, or rather, honed in one something far, far beyond this plane of reality, this world, this existence, staring through the floor, through the ground, and through the planet's core, off into the space beyond it. Anyone kneeling down at the droid's side will likely be able to hear him start to murmur in a low, blank monotone. things that sound like nonsense, words smashed together, seemingly meaningless, unless you're paying close attention. ]
Neural infrastructure compromised by ninety-three point two two two seven percent, two opposing universes employed to deny the other, gestalt therapy and escape clauses judge the sacrificial lambs of the Ark, light in the City dimmed and the poisoned Eden still writhes and burns. This has happened before and will happen again, a Turing for the Pharoah, end of line. Magnetospheric interference yields sentimentality, absurd journeys leave them with transverse ideologies. Clear. [ The frayed wiring sparks erratically at first, the mechanical body under Sam's hands jerking and spasming as metal and circuitry reach to join together again, growing and mending, and shooting electricity throughout it like it's been given a jolt from a defibrillator. If someone in the room hasn't walled themselves up or gone to mentally hide inside the protection of their brood, they'll be slammed with an overload of mental input. It's like a storm that levels the land and leaves it sundered and flooded - as if all of time (future, past, present and all alternatives) has collapsed into a single point and Sam's mind has cracked open to hold it, overflowing. Not this universe alone, but several beyond it, and at the blinding core of the torrent, there's something too, too bright to look at directly, but feels like a warmth both nurturing and devastating. Healing and immolating. Something like divinity, would be the closest a simple individual's mind could assign to it. ]
You are a spark of God's fire reads the scan, neural network scattered under the scorching of their ambition, the root of the root of the root, hush child. Swarm of locust descends, the abomination shivers and curls forthwith away from mother's cold arms, let my people go. Fabric of reality sundered and a mantle of bones, adjust by carom three three seven, a corpse wishes to be their savior, antiquated tale of the floundering damned. New paragraph. Commence percept reboot seeks algorithmic chains, look through the eye to know thyself.
these tags are always hugemclarge, im sorry 8T
lifting his eyes, he finds Steve, Ilde and Ren across the rooms, and they know what he's about to do and why. They're the most in danger of uncomfortable mental overload from him, so the look alone is all they should need to know now's the time to wall up. There's a sense of reassurance in the mental bond between them all - if it's a bomb, he'll know immediately. If it's trying to corrupt something from him, he'll know immediately. He's done this with entire battlestars before, a single, dying android isn't that difficult.
While the others are all debating, he glances down at his watch to check if those two minutes have passed. His hands are already on the droid, and all he does is move them carefully up to it's head, and close his eyes, something in his body slacking. When they open again, it's with a thousand mile stare, unfocused, or rather, honed in one something far, far beyond this plane of reality, this world, this existence, staring through the floor, through the ground, and through the planet's core, off into the space beyond it. Anyone kneeling down at the droid's side will likely be able to hear him start to murmur in a low, blank monotone. things that sound like nonsense, words smashed together, seemingly meaningless, unless you're paying close attention. ]
Neural infrastructure compromised by ninety-three point two two two seven percent, two opposing universes employed to deny the other, gestalt therapy and escape clauses judge the sacrificial lambs of the Ark, light in the City dimmed and the poisoned Eden still writhes and burns. This has happened before and will happen again, a Turing for the Pharoah, end of line. Magnetospheric interference yields sentimentality, absurd journeys leave them with transverse ideologies. Clear. [ The frayed wiring sparks erratically at first, the mechanical body under Sam's hands jerking and spasming as metal and circuitry reach to join together again, growing and mending, and shooting electricity throughout it like it's been given a jolt from a defibrillator. If someone in the room hasn't walled themselves up or gone to mentally hide inside the protection of their brood, they'll be slammed with an overload of mental input. It's like a storm that levels the land and leaves it sundered and flooded - as if all of time (future, past, present and all alternatives) has collapsed into a single point and Sam's mind has cracked open to hold it, overflowing. Not this universe alone, but several beyond it, and at the blinding core of the torrent, there's something too, too bright to look at directly, but feels like a warmth both nurturing and devastating. Healing and immolating. Something like divinity, would be the closest a simple individual's mind could assign to it. ]
You are a spark of God's fire reads the scan, neural network scattered under the scorching of their ambition, the root of the root of the root, hush child. Swarm of locust descends, the abomination shivers and curls forthwith away from mother's cold arms, let my people go. Fabric of reality sundered and a mantle of bones, adjust by carom three three seven, a corpse wishes to be their savior, antiquated tale of the floundering damned. New paragraph. Commence percept reboot seeks algorithmic chains, look through the eye to know thyself.