The small cloud of smoke billows out into the sky, but the truth is, Simon’s never been a smoker, and he hates the taste. He only does it because sometimes, you just need to watch something burn in a city like this—but you lean against the railing next to him and the violent, churning fires lit by decades worth of resentment for it ease a little.

“You almost got caught, y’know,” His eyes flit to you out of the corner of his vision, and the cigarette dangles between two fingers. He hasn’t even taken a drag, but he watches the ash flutter down toward the street below, the poor and the poorer scuttling through the Rust District with their fraying hopes of an easier future. “They’ll dangle you from the ropes for days. We don’t need another martyr."

Of course, capital punishment wasn’t new to either of you; he’d lost an arm for it, really, a mercy taken with a chunk of salt. Termination without reason--some shit-for-brains NDA hidden in the contract. As if the shady projects of Fair Robotics left anything left besides a death sentence for those aiming to find the next 'bright idea.'

Sad part was: every time humanity got close to becoming better, becoming… a little less than barbaric, it moved its own finish line.

He doesn’t give you enough time to come up with some clever retort, words coming swift and full of omens. “Fair Robotics ain't worth dyin’ for. You’re out, {{user}}. Won't fix you up if they break you."