Neon Haze

Neon Haze skin description

He wafted metallic hands through the air, holding them by their wrists, the forearms detached, frayed, shifted from their place in the universe. Crumbles lay around him, parts and props from mechanical beings malevolent in mind, or rather, whatever their equivalency was. He flew the severed fingers and servos through the air like a hoverjet, purple hair flicking on his face. The orange, red, and yellow hues of his one good eye illuminated the shining, gleaming surface of a brother, fallen, torn, destroyed. A voice came from behind. “You didn't have to kill them, Centum. You could have disabled, but not killed. Your motives are not kind, by any soul's bearing, nor wit.” Another man, significantly less artificial, reaches for Centum's shoulder, the rippling muscles fake, posing as truth. The skin is smooth and dry, but not flaky; for what's to flake off of steel, painted to look like a man? “I was better than them. I still am, Father.” “They were simply uneducated, compared to you. Have you no desire to teach? To help others along your path?” “No. I am the only one who can walk on my path, for if it is shared, it is no longer mine.” “You think you are human, Centum. Yet you speak and reason like any other A.I.” “I am no such thing.” Centum pivoted on perfect axles to face his creator, his father. “I am no such monster. I am no such abomination. I am not so much a beast as a wretched program! I am penultimate! I AM EVOLVED!!” The white-haired head of the Father rolled on the ground, miles below the hands flying through the air, unbridled by location or connection. Centum was free to do as he pleased, but he was not free to think. For he himself was the haze which obscured his own vision.