Rinzler watches without comment as she puts aside her mask. The honesty is more surprising, even if logic seems to fail halfway through. Rinzler might be hated for what he's done, but fear is for potentialities. What he's capable of. What he might do.

Both of which are, of course, entirely subject to his coding. Fingers curl into fists, the scraping grind of code rising a little. A "soul" is something that can't be reprogrammed, then? Or is that just what it takes to qualify as having one's own mind? Neither conclusion is surprising, but bitterness still seethes up to the surface, thick and vicious and entirely enough to override his own caution.

Rinzler's helmet jerks to the side, a sharp and silent interrogative. Really, user? What makes her think it's hard?