[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/jwDTblA.png[/img][/center] [sub][i]Kina City///Dark District[/i][/sub] [hr] An interloper. 181.74 centimeters tall, dull, blond hair, and indigo eyes. Sinewy frame, clear even through the uniform of Kina City’s civil servants. On reflex, Io sought access to the Greater Space, an infinitesimally small beam of light shooting through the back of their head towards the skies above. But access was not granted. Their credentials remained too corrupted to reach the archives within and cross-reference information. The crest was of the military, the details in the ironwork detailing his specialties. The musk of chemicals and black powder clung onto the man stubbornly, a shroud that could not be washed away even with soap and regular scrubbing. Far more potent in the air were the traces of a compound: powderized Yellow Earishill and vaporized Siltlight, designed to be neutralized seconds after being introduced to the air, but potent enough to knock out an inebriated man instantly. Io rewound the scene in their left eye, repeating the sequence of motions performed until they could state with certainty that the dispenser had come from the disguised cufflink on the man’s right wrist, a small piece of a larger contraption. For an assassination tool, it wasn’t polished. For a policing tool, it was useful. They recorded the military man’s first aid as well, noting the focus on preventing infection rather than treating the injury itself. Practical. Efficient. No hypothesis necessary for whether or not Subject B was aware of the state of Subject A’s fingers. It wasn’t the first time those bones had broken, and it wouldn’t be the last. Io focused on their nose, where blood and oils still remained from Subject A’s first and only punch. The foreign fluids dissipated immediately, absorbed into the Sentry’s form for continued analysis over the course of the next twenty three minutes. Though differences have been gradual, the make-up of human beings have changed over the course of the eras, and it remained their duty to take samples of and document these changes. The same could be said of the alcohol and shards of glass that managed to stick onto Io’s head; like blood and oil, those too were assimilated into the Sentry’s body with little ceremony. Craftsmanship was useful to keep track of as well. Not all trades progressed at the same rate of technological development, after all, while some regressed intentionally after reaching a certain level. Compartmentalization of Circuitry enabled multiple analyses to occur while maintaining enough to continue general observation duties. Unblinking, Io shifted out of their mind and back into the world. Seconds had passed at this point, Subject B’s question lingering in the air. Accessing short-term storage enabled the Sentry to uncover the question that had been asked, but, as always, the Façade Decryption Module had difficulty with the myriad of muscle twitches performed in the span of seventy two milliseconds, and the process was manually shut down before it consumed too much processing power. [b]“No.”[/b] was the answer that arose after Io consolidated all the voices they’ve heard since coming to Kina City, fusing them all into a singular voice that at once old and young, masculine and feminine, wholly inflection-less. And that was all that Io judged necessary. Turning away, Io continued down the narrow streets. Follow violence. The directive of the Prime Circuit echoed through their senses once more, and the Sentry obeyed without hesitation.