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There was a click, and a seam appeared around a trapezoidal section of Lyssa’s chest. She reached up and removed the panel to show her own, fully functional electronics complete with a stack of flickering green LED lights to one side. “John, we synthetics, we’re beings of perfect, crystalline order. Everything designed, planned, programmed. A million little parts all working together, just right. When you malfunction, though, it’s like a flood of chaos overwhelming you, and I don’t just mean that there’s a bunch of out-of-context data coming into the low-level analog systems. It’s the feeling of losing that total control, of the design being swept away, of all the backups and auxiliaries and the fail-soft modes going to pieces and nothing being left.” She leaned towards him across Heather’s lap.
D. Olivaw - House Call

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