"I mean, if you prefer it... both just mean 'made in the image of...' whatever. I had to write an ethics paper on this once. I think I'm probably overthinking." He waves his hands dismissively, though his mind is still turning through the possibilities. Robot? Cyborg? Homo Robotis? No, that's probably the wrong declension...
He looks up with a smile at the idea that he can make someone look good. He's never weaponized his bad reputation before. It won't hurt anyone... except, maybe, his pride, but this seems a little bigger than that, so... he can live with it.
Can't live without food, though. Or web fluid. "Nylon compound is the base ingredient in my webbing." He pulls one of the gloves off his suit to show the web-shooter. "Everything else, I can get on my own. You wouldn't believe the stuff people throw away."
Then again, he's seen pieces of android bodies folded up in dumpsters... maybe she would.
He's really gotta stop it with these thought spirals. They don't go anywhere. She knows her business, and he trusts her to manage her life just fine without him. Generally, Peter's role is to pull people down.
"Any welcome where I don't get shot is a good one. Thanks. So..." He looks down at himself, the ripped and scuffed fabric of his suit. "No food, that's fair, d'you have any... clothes? Or sewing equipment..." He pokes his finger through a hole on the abdomen of his suit, thumbing gooseflesh. It's cold in Detroit.
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He looks up with a smile at the idea that he can make someone look good. He's never weaponized his bad reputation before. It won't hurt anyone... except, maybe, his pride, but this seems a little bigger than that, so... he can live with it.
Can't live without food, though. Or web fluid. "Nylon compound is the base ingredient in my webbing." He pulls one of the gloves off his suit to show the web-shooter. "Everything else, I can get on my own. You wouldn't believe the stuff people throw away."
Then again, he's seen pieces of android bodies folded up in dumpsters... maybe she would.
He's really gotta stop it with these thought spirals. They don't go anywhere. She knows her business, and he trusts her to manage her life just fine without him. Generally, Peter's role is to pull people down.
"Any welcome where I don't get shot is a good one. Thanks. So..." He looks down at himself, the ripped and scuffed fabric of his suit. "No food, that's fair, d'you have any... clothes? Or sewing equipment..." He pokes his finger through a hole on the abdomen of his suit, thumbing gooseflesh. It's cold in Detroit.