[Zam’s eyes scan over the readout that scrolls down the screen, looking for anything that could shed light on exactly what she’s dealing with here. She doesn’t get much: just the relevance of the word Domesticon (already obvious from the voice’s introduction) and that the machine isn’t where it should be (also already obvious from the fact that it’s here).
And then it's talking again, in that tone that certainly doesn’t sound like it should be coming from a computer. Zam hesitates, momentarily torn between the instinctive desire to respond in kind and the plain observation that the terminal seems programmed to respond to more rudimentary commands. She ends up settling somewhere in between. It wants to know who she is, right?
no subject
And then it's talking again, in that tone that certainly doesn’t sound like it should be coming from a computer. Zam hesitates, momentarily torn between the instinctive desire to respond in kind and the plain observation that the terminal seems programmed to respond to more rudimentary commands. She ends up settling somewhere in between. It wants to know who she is, right?
login.]