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Humans do the “make it a question so it doesn’t sound so bad” thing and it still sounds bad.
They don’t want me. (Hey, I don’t want me, either, but I’m stuck with me.)
(No, I didn’t kill the dead human. If I had, I wouldn’t dump the body in the station mall, for fuck’s sake.)
“Yes, I’ve had experience with investigating suspicious fatalities in controlled circumstances.” Indah’s gaze wasn’t exactly skeptical. “What controlled circumstances?” I said, “Isolated work installations.” Her expression turned even more grim. “Corporate slave labor camps.” I said, “Yes, but if we call them that, Marketing and Branding gets angry and we get a power surge through our brains that fries little pieces of our neural tissue.”
Being the top Preservation expert in dealing with contract law in the Corporation Rim apparently made Pin-Lee like the CombatUnit version of a lawyer.
Pin-Lee had promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll preserve your right to wander off like an asshole anytime you like.”)
the humans on the Station wouldn’t have to think about what I was, a construct made of cloned human tissue, augments, anxiety, depression, and unfocused rage, a killing machine for whichever humans rented me, until I made a mistake and got my brain destroyed by my governor module.
I just realized I don’t like the phrase “as far as I knew” because it implies how much you actually don’t know. I’m not going to stop using it, but. I don’t like it as much anymore.
(Yeah, good luck with that. Trying to get humans not to touch dangerous things was a full-time job.)
Transports don’t communicate in words (most transports don’t; ART did, but ART was ART)
Oh, Murderbot, I think you just made a mistake.

