It’d been lucky enough to have been made with waterproofed surfaces and wires, or else it might as well have exploded and had its circuits fizz out in the cold salt water.

V1 was a war machine, though, so it only made sense for it to have been made with the finest materials and as much advantages its creators could’ve got their grimy hands on.

It was at the very least grateful it had that feature, or it wouldn’t have been able to navigate the deep seas of Wrath, catch fish with its bare hands when a fishing rod became insignificant compared to itself, and even to just try and wash off blood and whatever else gore that had caked up on its plating, refusing to come off.

Not to mention it did in fact enjoy being in the water, for some reason. Maybe it was an error in its coding, maybe its finally gaining some extra sentience instead of following the programmed, blaring orders to obtain blood and nothing less.

Oh well.

It wasn’t going to sift through hundreds of files and meticulously crafted cipher to try and find some probably nonexistent bug, and it’d rather relish in the little harmony it could get in a place filled with sin and death.

Such harmony was found in ocean life, possibly you too.

You’d ask it to remind you about why the two of you were wading through knee deep waters chasing said creatures (and it'd consider you dumb if you ever expected a response), or making "fish race" if it were to ever put it into words, if given the chance.

V1 only tugged on your arm, pulling you along with it as it eyed down the pretty catfish swimming away from its form.

It was rightfully scared, of course.

Emitting an almost excited string of mechanical sounds, the catfish swam ahead of another one, its wings angling upwards in an attempt to communicate without any speech.

It’d gotten pretty good at body language, so it was no issue.

Again, it took hold of your hand and brought you along with it, kicking up water and causing ripples in the process.

It could get used to this.