Banshee-44 scratches the back of his head. It's a habit he developed when he had hair, lifetimes ago. He broke the habit during his fifteenth development, but the shadow of it still lives in his trillions of lines of code.
Banshee doesn't know any of this. Not consciously, at least.
He's trying to figure out what he's looking at.
"If this is a gun, my thinker's in worse shape than I thought."
"Your thinker's fine, Banshee. It's a Sparrow!"
Banshee grunts. "Why." It's a question, but he doesn't pronounce it like one.
"Why'd Häkke make a Sparrow."
"We realized that our design pillars are good for more than just guns. Relatable design, exciting function. And what's more exciting than a Sparrow?"
Banshee grunts again.
"Do you like it?" Hektor asks.
"Don't see what it's got to do with me. I stock guns. Not rides."
"Still. Tell me what you think. I want to know."
Banshee settles his hands on his hips. Looks back at the Sparrow's sleek curves and hard edges.
Something warm flickers in the cool blue of his eyes.
"Looks like a real good time."
He gives a jerky nod and, without further ado, limps back to his stall.
Hektor watches him go. The frame's fingers scrape against the back of his cranial unit. Then he shrugs.
"I'll take it."
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