Dark eyes wavering, Rhys found himself unable to move for what felt like minutes, though it only took mere seconds for Jack to stride across the office to stand in front of him.
That was the only question replaying over and over in his mind like a broken record. No, he hadn’t destroyed the ECHO eye that contained the AI, perhaps a stupid decision on his part yes, but it was only a thing. It couldn’t walk itself out of the drawer in his quarters and implement itself into a new body.
But here he was, though he looked like no android that Rhys had ever seen. He was too real and focusing in on his face, he could see the graphic scar that ruined the other’s face, this time not hidden by a mask. The AI had always worn the mask.
Something was very wrong here.
He felt a familiar feeling, like he had repeated something he said ages ago because he had, but it had been to a hologram before; a fake. This was no fake; he could feel it, the horror sitting like a hot rock in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea how, but this was Jack. Not the AI. Not a replica.
This time, he stood, the chair rolling back behind him to bump against the glass of the outer window. It seemed some semblance of a defense mechanism had finally kicked in, the realization that holy shit, he could be slaughtered in a matter of seconds and he had just been standing there like a fool. He took a step back as he assessed the threat before him, eyes narrowed.
“ and yet i’m standing right here - ! funny how things tend to work out kitten . “
there was a lyrical lilt to his voice, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. as if there were no problems, nothing to worry about, no problems! why was this daffy fuck still at h i s desk-! a short inhale. he was fine! yes, very fine. not about to lose temper. not about to rip out eyes, or anything i r r a t i o n a l . he was cool!
jack held his gaze, and his grin. a cold blue eye kept the other’s in sight. there weren’t that many options at this point, his mind only able to come up with scenarios that ended in violence, himself slaughtering this man like the dozens he had before arriving to this office like a dog. his arms returned to his chest, crossed over it. fingers danced along his elbow, waiting for the decision the other would make.
the tension in the air could be cut with a knife, with how thick it was. it was something he savored. every tick of every second. every quickening heartbeat. every twitch. it was delicious. he tapped his foot.
