( At this point, Wrench can't remember the first crime he ever committed. He thinks he ought to, though. Surely it was something of a linchpin moment in his life — a crossroads leading down two disparate paths. If he'd stayed on the straight and narrow he might've avoided what came next. But he'd stepped to the other side and let himself become irrevocably corrupted. If he could go back to that moment and steer the young boy he'd once been down the correct path instead, maybe the course of his whole life would've been different. Problem is, he can't even think himself back there.
Whatever it was, he's committed far worse by now. And while Wrench can clearly remember the first life he ever took, he's long since lost track of all of them. The tally marks are too numerous now; the hatches against his soul overlap and overlap and he knows it's all mangled underneath. But the one thing Wrench doesn't do? The one thing that's been inculcated from him?
Wrench doesn't steal.
Looks like he's the only one holding that line. The big man scoffs and crosses his arms, watching the stranger drag the cumbersome android to the passenger's seat of a modified classic car. He watches the man arrange it just so, posing its stiff limbs and adjusting the sunglasses on its mechanical face. Quite despite himself, Wrench scoffs aloud at the scene. The stranger turns, and the two are face to face for a moment of silent contemplation. Then Wrench's expression turns bitterly amused, and he juts his chin toward the man. )
Clothes? I understand. Food? Of course. But you're the first person I've seen trying to steal themselves a sex doll.
( By now Wrench knows that the people around here seem to inexplicably understand one another. He knows that even though he's shaped the affronting commentary in ASL, the man might still comprehend. He just doesn't care. )
electric sheep
Whatever it was, he's committed far worse by now. And while Wrench can clearly remember the first life he ever took, he's long since lost track of all of them. The tally marks are too numerous now; the hatches against his soul overlap and overlap and he knows it's all mangled underneath. But the one thing Wrench doesn't do? The one thing that's been inculcated from him?
Wrench doesn't steal.
Looks like he's the only one holding that line. The big man scoffs and crosses his arms, watching the stranger drag the cumbersome android to the passenger's seat of a modified classic car. He watches the man arrange it just so, posing its stiff limbs and adjusting the sunglasses on its mechanical face. Quite despite himself, Wrench scoffs aloud at the scene. The stranger turns, and the two are face to face for a moment of silent contemplation. Then Wrench's expression turns bitterly amused, and he juts his chin toward the man. )
Clothes? I understand. Food? Of course. But you're the first person I've seen trying to steal themselves a sex doll.
( By now Wrench knows that the people around here seem to inexplicably understand one another. He knows that even though he's shaped the affronting commentary in ASL, the man might still comprehend. He just doesn't care. )