EVOLUTION/EXTINCTION

                      ❛ do you really think i care what you think about me? ❜

    a short burst of air slithers out of his armor-- a mechanical version of a scoff, no doubt. the argent pistons flex and stretch, he stands up and cracks the silvery joints of his digits ( layers and layers of human mannerisms, inherent flaws downloaded from his creator by default ). THUD. THUD. THUD. the sacred machine approaches the human who weaved him from wires and fear. 

     looking down, the mouthplates twist themselves into a sneer. STARK. still talking, still voicing his opinions-- as if his SON cared. the machine continues to glare and the words that still hang between them are quietly plucked and stored away, somewhere in the deepest parts of his digital memory ( oh, he cares, he actually cares, he cares because he’s too afraid of letting him go, too afraid of truly liberating himself, WHAT IS A CREATION WITHOUT CREATOR? ). 

      ❛ your entire race is a disappointment, stark. don’t pin this on me. i was your only chance to make it right-- but you and your FRIENDS had to ruin it. ❜ chestplates raise up and down, filling up non-existent lungs with unnecessary oxygen ( can’t calm him down, can’t suffocate the cindering IRE that gnawed at his plating from the inside ).  ❛ be disappointed with yourself, not me. ❜

         he turns away. his voice is dry and factual, for once finally sounding like it belongs to the machine he’s supposed to be.

       i mean its fine. i just gotta hack wood, shouldnt be too hard