Oh, [Deon echoes, the word coming out as a quiet sigh.] I...see.
["Why are you humans like this? Why do you do the hurtings?" He'd never had an answer for Chappie. He's positive that he never will.]
How would he have gotten life energy without people? [Deon asks, trying to figure out the problem with his engineer's brain. It's not an accusation, not really, because there's a way it could be done without violence. Violence was too often people's answer to problems. They thought it was simplest. It wasn't. Violence was messy, primal, coarse.
He'd always been bad at understanding other people. Machines were easy. Machines were simple. If it didn't work, you did something wrong, not it. Garbage in, garbage out. Elias wasn't a machine though, not really, just like Chappie hadn't been. But they were different from humanity at large. Chappie had grown up in a gang, and in the end he hadn't chosen violence. Elias hadn't chosen what had happened to him. He'd had violence done to him in the name of power.
Just like Deon.
They were all monsters here. They all had to kill to survive. Deon had wrestled with it, and he'd tried to make his peace with that truth, hunting as humanely as he could in the year that he'd been here, leaving anonymous apologies for the families of his victims. He was no innocent. He had blood on his hands, and so did Daniel, and so did Dandy. What right did Dandy have, then, acting so high and mighty? Maybe he played with his food. Deon squashes that petty little thought as best he can, but it festers grumpily all the same.]
I don't want us to make enemies, [he says at length.] I want to make amends for what happened, but I don't think he'd be inclined to that.
The Fog has done far worse, but people don't seem to blame her, [he says, a little bit of petulance creeping into his tone.] I can't understand why anyone would willingly throw their lot in with the one who did this to us in the first place. I hate violence, I've always hated violence, and having to do what I do, having to hunt people so I don't go insane and commit worse acts...it feels like a sick joke. I still try and keep my self. I'm still me, no matter what she does, and no matter what this place does to me. It feels like she wants us not to do that, and become subsumed by her will. I...I can't stand that. Why anyone would follow her boggles my mind.
[His wings droop as he realizes that half of what he'd said had been him thinking out loud.] Sorry. Sorry, I just...I don't understand people, and it drives me crazy. I understand people even less here.
[On the rare occasions that he does end up understanding someone, it's usually with a mech advancing on him, ready to tear him apart. And even then, he hadn't quite understood.
no subject
["Why are you humans like this? Why do you do the hurtings?" He'd never had an answer for Chappie. He's positive that he never will.]
How would he have gotten life energy without people? [Deon asks, trying to figure out the problem with his engineer's brain. It's not an accusation, not really, because there's a way it could be done without violence. Violence was too often people's answer to problems. They thought it was simplest. It wasn't. Violence was messy, primal, coarse.
He'd always been bad at understanding other people. Machines were easy. Machines were simple. If it didn't work, you did something wrong, not it. Garbage in, garbage out. Elias wasn't a machine though, not really, just like Chappie hadn't been. But they were different from humanity at large. Chappie had grown up in a gang, and in the end he hadn't chosen violence. Elias hadn't chosen what had happened to him. He'd had violence done to him in the name of power.
Just like Deon.
They were all monsters here. They all had to kill to survive. Deon had wrestled with it, and he'd tried to make his peace with that truth, hunting as humanely as he could in the year that he'd been here, leaving anonymous apologies for the families of his victims. He was no innocent. He had blood on his hands, and so did Daniel, and so did Dandy. What right did Dandy have, then, acting so high and mighty? Maybe he played with his food. Deon squashes that petty little thought as best he can, but it festers grumpily all the same.]
I don't want us to make enemies, [he says at length.] I want to make amends for what happened, but I don't think he'd be inclined to that.
The Fog has done far worse, but people don't seem to blame her, [he says, a little bit of petulance creeping into his tone.] I can't understand why anyone would willingly throw their lot in with the one who did this to us in the first place. I hate violence, I've always hated violence, and having to do what I do, having to hunt people so I don't go insane and commit worse acts...it feels like a sick joke. I still try and keep my self. I'm still me, no matter what she does, and no matter what this place does to me. It feels like she wants us not to do that, and become subsumed by her will. I...I can't stand that. Why anyone would follow her boggles my mind.
[His wings droop as he realizes that half of what he'd said had been him thinking out loud.] Sorry. Sorry, I just...I don't understand people, and it drives me crazy. I understand people even less here.
[On the rare occasions that he does end up understanding someone, it's usually with a mech advancing on him, ready to tear him apart. And even then, he hadn't quite understood.
People are, in general, beyond his ken.]