"That one almost had something new in it."
Xerollion didn't pull away.
Instead, he maintained the palm-to-palm lock, the grinding pressure between their hands creating a high-pitched whine of displaced air.
He leaned forward, his masked face inches from the construct's, studying the way the simulated light flickered in Rex's pupils.
"Tell me, little echo," Xerollion purred, his voice dripping with a sadistic fascination. "Did you improvise that variation on your own?"
"Or is that still something I taught you how to do before you were even conceived?"
For a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, something impossible happened. The construct's expression didn't just shift; it fractured.
The heroic mask slipped, revealing something raw, something dark, and something unmistakably frustrated.
It wasn't a programmed response; it was a flicker of genuine, impotent rage that burned through the data.
SHHH THWIP!
