"I wouldn't count on them too much, it takes more than a sob story to survive on the battlefield." Bob's tone was slightly bitter. At least they actually *had* something to lose in the first place. The moment quickly passed as Bob shifted into his business persona. The little invaders in their bodies, such a bothersome topic that he'd attempted to remedy many times. While Creed wasn't as intelligent as Bob, he was infinitely more innovative and these tiny machines served as proof. Simple and numerous, they tracked the various physical responses and served as a "leash" for the pilots. It was a form of control he didn't like one bit. 
 "As for those pesky nanomachines, I was unable to remove them without immediately terminating our ability to pilot ...." Jean-Baptiste seemed to lose interest at this point, but he decided to continue anyway. Reaching into his jacket, Bob's glasses gained an eerie shine "However, I *have* developed a little something to make our noggins....a little more private..." Trailing off like that was a tell-tale sign that Bob was willing to sell, not give, this new invention to his comrade. The only question was how much he could squeeze out before he lost interest. There were many selling points for this new wonder drug but none that Jean-Baptiste could, well, understand so he'd really need to market this one.