That Old Chestnut

To my surprise, Green actually stops advancing. He seems to be considering the merits of allowing me to talk. I recalculate the odds of appealing to his reason and, to my satisfaction, find them slightly improved.

“You’re a man of science, and you’ve clearly figured some way of zeroing me out and taking up residence. I, obviously, am against the idea.”

“And in no real position to negotiate, I should say.”

A process requests, and receives permission to, bluff. “Says you. My internal processes are already recovering from your disruption of my motor functions. In thirty seconds—less than that now that we’re talking—I will have control back and the clearly mortal danger you’ve put me in will allow for self-preservation routines to kick in, ending this ridiculous farce.”

Green makes a face that shows he is not entirely convinced. “It’s been thirty seconds, bot, and you’re not moving.”

Vocal patterns are shifted to sound airy. “Well, you aren’t attacking me anymore. So let’s continue to chat instead.”

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