He crouches, entire stance like a big cat on the verge of pouncing.
His throat vibrates, clickclickclicks with attempts to speak through damage concealed by the helm of his attire, by the high collar. Pixels slide against one another in a silvering scar, flicking with attempts to read data passing between their surfaces. A gash from one cheek to his collarbone, the marring curling against his flesh like an exotic tattoo.
But it does not matter.
He does not need to speak to announce himself to those that are his prey.
The Enforcer does not need to make himself visible for the hellish glow of the orange-tint of circuit lines upon the sleek figure make him streamlined. Any and every program that views him will never fail to recognize the touch of his master's hand.
Let them fight, if they wish.
It will not matter in the end.
And so a hand lifts up and over one thin shoulder, reaching to wrap fingers concealed about the edge of the discs that sit on his back. They come free, their edges already beginning to light up and hum with the caress of the one who has mastered them. They are as unique as he is.
Run, little rabbit. Run fast.
