“Hey, another bot on death row,” Flyby assumes. “Nice.”
“Yeah,” Breakswitch sardonically remarks, “I wonder if his brother got him wrapped up in some stupid scheme that resulted in him-”
“Okay, how many times do I need to say ‘I’m sorry’?” Flyby groans, interrupting his sister.
“As many times as I’d like!” Breakswitch snaps.
In the center of the room was a large pedestal on which rested the burnt and twisted fragments of some unknown machine. What it once was could not be determined, but its position in the room indicated that it was important somehow.
“Who knows?” Thrift says mystically, waving his hands.
“Like poetry, its true meaning is up to interpretation.”
As large and complex as Salvation was, whatever Pixel would be able to transform into wouldn’t be an exact miniature of her.