"I hope he gets bitten."
Ambris does not move toward the door. Instead, she turns her attention to a rusted metal shelving unit leaning against the far wall. The green light from her chest plate flares to life again. It begins its rhythmic dance across the cluttered tiers.
"Analyze."
"The shelf contains several items of historical insignificance. 1, a small porcelain figurine of a feline wearing a knitted garment. Humans frequently displayed miniature representations of predators in domesticated settings. They often dressed these replicas in scaled-down versions of their own textile coverings. This specific feline..."
"Next."
"2, a collection of wax cylinders with embedded fiber wicks. Humans used these to create localized combustion for illumination. They also infused the wax with synthetic scents to mask the odors of their own biological processes. This cylinder is labeled 'Spring Rain' though it contains no actual..."
"Neeext."
Ambris moves to a nearby desk. She ignores the urgent beeping coming from her HUD regarding Tollson's heart rate. She begins sifting through a stack of yellowed papers. "Anything useful?"
"3, a mechanical device used for perforated metal binding. A stapler. Humans used these to semi-permanently join sheets of processed wood pulp. Referred to by most as paper. This allowed them to organize their thoughts into a physical stack. It is currently empty of its metallic fasteners. 4, a plastic container of dried adhesive. Crafting glue. Humans used this substance to repair broken objects despite its low structural integrity. It was a common behavior for humans to..."
"Will you stop that?!" Ambris slams her hand onto the desk and sends a cloud of irradiated dust into the air. "I'm human! Stop saying 'humans' this and 'humans' that! You're talking about my people like we're some kind of extinct insect!"
Beep. Beep. Beeeeep. "My apologies. I was programmed using a past-tense historical database. I will adjust my linguistic parameters to reflect your current status as a living biological entity. However, your heart rate is now mirroring Tollson's. Your adrenaline levels are rising. I recommend we proceed to his location before his disregard for increased bio-stats result in permanent damage."
"Oh he's fine, you robo-windbag. He has a suit. Let him learn his lesson." She grabs a heavy metal object from the desk drawer. "What's this?"
"Your people called them paperweights. They were often used as decoration, though, their true functions..."
"My people? Really?" Ambris sets the paperweight back down and walks to the other side of the room. "How about you just tell me what things are, alright? Let's leave out the 'humans' this and 'your people' that garbage. I know everything here is human-used or made. I know 'MYYY people' used this stuff. Let's just keep to the definitions and eliminate any need for explaining who used them. We know who they belonged to."
"My apologies again. I will strictly use definitions and purposes. I will no longer use who they were..."
"Wait a minute. So I don't get too comfortable calling you windbag or robo-something, do you have a name?"
"The users of these suits referred to us as IG, Internal Guidance. My designation is IG-259-sx34z."
Ambris picks up a dusty pair of binoculars. "Uh, no. That name is awful. How about I call you BLABS?" She puckers her lips, lowers her brow and begins thinking. "Bionic, Linguistic, um, Assisting, ugh, Blabbering Synth?" She laughs at her own awful quip.
Beep. Beep. Beeeeep. "That is an inaccurate and inefficient acronym. I am not a bionic entity. I am a localized artificial intelligence integrated into your survival apparatus. Furthermore, I do not blabber. I provide essential data points to ensure your continued existence. However, I have logged the name BLABS as your preferred vocal command trigger for this unit."
"Great. Glad you like it, BLABS." She puts the binoculars to her eyes and looks toward the north. "Now, give me a definition for those things circling Tollson. Just the facts. No 'people' talk."
"The subjects are identified as Canis lupus familiaris in a state of advanced feral regression. They are quadrupedal mammals with specialized dentition for tearing flesh. Their current behavior indicates a pack-hunting strategy. They are utilizing a rotating perimeter to exhaust the target. The target is currently positioned on a rusted rectangular prism of iron and carbon. This object was designed for the collection and temporary storage of discarded materials. It is approximately two point four meters in height."
Ambris sighs as she watches the heat shimmer through the lenses. "So he's sitting on a dumpster. Of course he is."
"Affirmative. The target is sitting on a waste receptacle. He is currently extending a hand toward the alpha of the pack. My audio sensors indicate he is emitting a series of rhythmic, high-pitched vocalizations. These are intended to mimic a friendly greeting."
Ambris drops the binoculars against her chest. "He's whistling at them? He's actually whistling at the things that want to eat him? I'm going to kill him before the dogs do."