[ Gamora pulls her hand away from her side, finally allowing herself to take visual stock of the damage done. Her green skin is seared away from her metal frame, exposing the sleek planes of silver beneath; there’s no blood, and the edges of flesh appear cauterized, rather than flayed and shredded. The skin itself will regenerate after she deals with the internal fragmentation, to whatever extent is necessary for her system to figure out the rest of the maintenance. ]
Fine.
[ A reflexive, automatic response – like a simple “if, then” statement in her code.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
Gamora unclips her harness, nodding back down the ladder. ]
Show me your tools?
[ Shockingly, it’s phrased as a request, instead of an order. ]
no subject
Fine.
[ A reflexive, automatic response – like a simple “if, then” statement in her code.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
Gamora unclips her harness, nodding back down the ladder. ]
Show me your tools?
[ Shockingly, it’s phrased as a request, instead of an order. ]