[Firm... or desperate. Connor tucks the dissonance away, but doesn't argue—or fight its unsubtle effort to refocus. The other machine is following its programming... if not its original design.
The island, then. Connor gives a short exhale, pushing off the wall to pace a few steps.]
The island is a containment zone for synthetics and organics from different... worlds.
[His lips press together, displeased with the conclusion. Still, to the other synthetic, "worlds" might be too small a word. Connor's eyes flick to IG-11, one hand drifting between them as he clarifies.]
Holowan Laboratories is not a recognized source of manufacture on my world. And humans have yet to make it off one planet. Either this location has access to widely varying realities, or the administrating force tampered with our memories to pretend as much.
[Which would render any conclusions he could draw suspect. Not something Connor can disprove, but not a productive avenue to pursue, either. He shakes his head, moving on.]
no subject
The island, then. Connor gives a short exhale, pushing off the wall to pace a few steps.]
The island is a containment zone for synthetics and organics from different... worlds.
[His lips press together, displeased with the conclusion. Still, to the other synthetic, "worlds" might be too small a word. Connor's eyes flick to IG-11, one hand drifting between them as he clarifies.]
Holowan Laboratories is not a recognized source of manufacture on my world. And humans have yet to make it off one planet. Either this location has access to widely varying realities, or the administrating force tampered with our memories to pretend as much.
[Which would render any conclusions he could draw suspect. Not something Connor can disprove, but not a productive avenue to pursue, either. He shakes his head, moving on.]
Most likely, the island itself is a simulation.