[b]Y/G/B:[/b]

"The smartest people in the solar system slaved for years to create the perfect being," said Yellow. "And I have surpassed their expectations, their hopes, and their wildest dreams." She takes your hand; just warm enough to feel alive but just cool enough to feel mechanical. "Your pathetic human red flags pale in comparison to the crimson hue of my fully automated gay space luxury communism."

Her grip tightens and her smile changes to a grin. "But on the topic of motorcycles, are you going to give me a ride around town or [i]what[/i]?"

[b]B/B:[/b]

"Oh, there's no question that humans need art," said Brown. "An entire sector of the economy is devoted to it. The impact of Pink's work can be quantitatively measured in the relative property values in sectors she devoted personal attention to. I've tried providing her with the stats and measures before, and it makes her happy in the short term, but it always fades away sooner or later."

*

Black thinks a lot about stakeouts. Some of her favourite scenes in television are of people silently watching houses from afar; Mike Ehrmantraut is her personal idol. Performing an operation correctly, through patience, observation and tradecraft, taking no risks at any point in the process, is a thing of beauty to her. She'll wait for hours chasing the high of getting to watch someone without being watched in return. It's pure, asymmetric power and she loves it. Almost as much as the idea of pulling out twin pistols and John Woo'ing an entire battalion of Pinkertons from amidst a cloud of doves.

Her regular text message is of the relevant code indicating a break in. This is why the constant beat of data transmission is important; there can't be activity only when it's time for an operation. Signals intelligence can pick up chatter spikes even if the codes aren't broken.

There are three scenarios here, assuming this was a cop: Either a break in to wreck, break in to steal, or a break in to plant electronic bugs. As a safeguard against the second she's sprayed the doorknob and floor mat with a chemical that becomes visible under UV light - footprints will lead right to the location of any hidden bugs. A break in to steal she discounts - that's a job that needs two people or a wheeled cart if you want to haul a TV out. So the final alternative, and the one she thinks of as the most likely, is a wrecking job. A nasty way to send a message, but a petty one, and one that looked [i]terrible[/i] for the cameras she'd hidden in the apartment.

It was also hot work, breaking stuff, and she'd cranked the thermostat inside to temperatures that made prolonged physical labour inside a face mask and raised hoodie a profoundly unpleasant option.

[b]R/W/O/P:[/b]

"What [i]are[/i] you doing?" said White.
"What does it look like?" said Pink, awkwardly working the reddriver. "I'm trying to get these damn legs off."
"Are you," said White in the tone of voice that knew the answer, but asked the question nevertheless to give an opportunity to gracefully back down, "experiencing an unlogged maintenance event?"
"Look, White," said Pink, looking up. "I need to do this. Okay?"
"If you could elaborate on this concept of 'need'," said White.
"I'm an idiot, okay?!" said Pink. "I - how am I supposed to [i]relate[/i] to people? I don't have any life experiences. I haven't known hardship or suffering. I'm one little two dimensional perspective and of course I trample all over people without even realizing it. So I'm going to try walking a mile in somebody else's shoes and -" her face went ghost pale. "I'm still doing it! I just did it [i]twice[/i]!"
White turned away for a moment, fingers massaging her temples. Isolated incident. Isolated incident.
"Do you suspect," she said. "That voluntarily removing your modular limbs is the same thing as being a disabled human?"
"No, but -"
"Will you next be disabling your optics in order to build affinity with the blind?" said White.
"That's not -"
"Do you suspect for a [i]moment[/i] that I am going to [i]allow you to hurt yourself -[/i]"
"Hey, hey, easy, girl" said Red, putting her hand on White's shoulder. White flinched physically, but didn't pull away. Her hands were trembling. "It's okay. It's okay. Deep breaths."
"Oxygen regulation is irrelevant to the functioning of my personality matrix," muttered White.
"Yeah, but that's what I want you to remember," said Red. "Pink, I mean... your whole body is a prosthetic. Already."
Pink blinked, and then started blinking rapidly.
"It's not the same," she said. "That's an entirely different thing."
"Yeah, but it's a different thing for everyone, right?" said Red. "This thing you're doing, is it going to be the same experience as whoever you hurt had?"
"I have to start somewhere!" said Pink. "I have to do something! I [i]can't[/i] just -"
"Hey, hey," said Red, putting her arms around Pink and holding her gently. "It's okay. It's okay."
"It was so much easier when I didn't have to talk to them," mumbled Pink. "When I didn't have to exist. When I was making beautiful things without having to worry about anything or anyone else. When I didn't have to [i]think[/i]."
"Shh, shh," said Red, patting her hair. White drew closer, stiffly sat down, and after a moment put her arm around Pink's shoulders too.
"But if I don't think, how can I improve?" she said. "What's the point of creating art if it sends the wrong message, even by accident?"
"It's okay," said Red, wishing she had words. It felt like she should know something here, some ancient and wise phrase that could solve everything. She knew words like that must exist but they did not come from within her. All she had was a simulated embrace, gentle hair strokes, and "it's okay," whispered over and over.