Vile. Utterly vile. Avicebron recoils at first when he realizes what he's seeing.
Sexbots were bad enough. It had taken a long time for Avicebron to come to terms with the fact that the code he'd so carefully crafted -- code he'd devoted years of his life to, meant to emulate the depth and complexity of the human mind -- had ultimately been boiled down and used to create servants and sex toys for the rich.
But the androids were not the ones at fault. That much, he'd always known. The androids were not the ones to be rued for these circumstances. The ones who had to be blamed for these circumstances was irresponsible engineers like himself ... and disgusting, wretched brutes like these men.
His first instinct is to leave. He knows he's outnumbered, and each of these men could easily overpower him. But at the same time, the android pinned to the ground is damaged -- he can see the trickle of thirium and the scatter of minute parts. Left in this situation, that android might not last much longer. Avicebron knows that, if he leaves now, the guilt will eat away at him.
And there's already enough guilt weighing on his shoulders.
Avicebron abandons his purchases, setting them aside so he can move more quietly. Thankfully, it only takes him a moment to find the external fusebox to the warehouse. The sharp points to his prosthetic fingers are certainly useful in pulling open the fusebox's lid, and he exhales slowly as he tugs out several choice wires.
Before he can change his mind, he jams them into the battery port of his prosthetic arm.
Inside the warehouse, there's a sharp, keening noise as the lights overhead glow impossibly bright, blindingly so. And almost as suddenly, there's the shatter of glass as all of the lightbulbs explode, showering down on Nyx and the men.
No doubt the thugs are startled and mostly blinded, and Avicebron takes the chance to slip inside. Even if the human portion of his body is horribly weak, his prosthetics are powerful, custom-made deals. His metallic feet ping off the concrete as he swiftly dashes forth, then swings his cane in a wide arc -- aimed at the thug pinning Nyx down and hitting him square in the throat. He's sloppier on the backswing, managing to strike another thug across the head, then he turns his focus to Nyx.
"Get up." It's an urgent whisper as he yanks at Nyx's arm, trying to tug him to his feet. "We need to run." He doesn't stand a chance in a physical fight. He just has to hope those distractions earned enough time for them to escape.
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Sexbots were bad enough. It had taken a long time for Avicebron to come to terms with the fact that the code he'd so carefully crafted -- code he'd devoted years of his life to, meant to emulate the depth and complexity of the human mind -- had ultimately been boiled down and used to create servants and sex toys for the rich.
But the androids were not the ones at fault. That much, he'd always known. The androids were not the ones to be rued for these circumstances. The ones who had to be blamed for these circumstances was irresponsible engineers like himself ... and disgusting, wretched brutes like these men.
His first instinct is to leave. He knows he's outnumbered, and each of these men could easily overpower him. But at the same time, the android pinned to the ground is damaged -- he can see the trickle of thirium and the scatter of minute parts. Left in this situation, that android might not last much longer. Avicebron knows that, if he leaves now, the guilt will eat away at him.
And there's already enough guilt weighing on his shoulders.
Avicebron abandons his purchases, setting them aside so he can move more quietly. Thankfully, it only takes him a moment to find the external fusebox to the warehouse. The sharp points to his prosthetic fingers are certainly useful in pulling open the fusebox's lid, and he exhales slowly as he tugs out several choice wires.
Before he can change his mind, he jams them into the battery port of his prosthetic arm.
Inside the warehouse, there's a sharp, keening noise as the lights overhead glow impossibly bright, blindingly so. And almost as suddenly, there's the shatter of glass as all of the lightbulbs explode, showering down on Nyx and the men.
No doubt the thugs are startled and mostly blinded, and Avicebron takes the chance to slip inside. Even if the human portion of his body is horribly weak, his prosthetics are powerful, custom-made deals. His metallic feet ping off the concrete as he swiftly dashes forth, then swings his cane in a wide arc -- aimed at the thug pinning Nyx down and hitting him square in the throat. He's sloppier on the backswing, managing to strike another thug across the head, then he turns his focus to Nyx.
"Get up." It's an urgent whisper as he yanks at Nyx's arm, trying to tug him to his feet. "We need to run." He doesn't stand a chance in a physical fight. He just has to hope those distractions earned enough time for them to escape.