Summary: Damianos, perhaps intelligent enough to sense danger even without his systems online, remained silent in obnoxiously faux submission. A child could see his frustration, the tension in his muscled limbs enough to make even his heavy, dead arm twitch. He kept his eyes demurely lowered. He looked, for a moment, almost human in the low light, the flicker of sweat on one arm nearly as bright as the metal on the other.
“Perhaps he’s defective,” suggested Guion. “Without the cybernetic processing, he can’t understand us.”