[ Tseng isn't even really paying attention, honestly, just muttering whatever is on the top of his mind. Reno knows how he gets when it's like this, a deluge of information for the taking at his fingertips, his eyes wandering as he absorbs and processes and extrapolates. Even if this is a set up, even if they are so confident that what the two of them see here will never make it out of this room, it is so much. Within seconds, he can recite the make and model of the uniform he's wearing and Reno's too, he gets into the diagnostic checklists for the Garden itself and begins to piece together how it might work, and there's a wealth of strategum and missives to lose himself in, each and every one of them cleverly accented with digital diagrams and clearly labeled timelines and projections.
Tseng promised himself that he would leave this all behind but—this doesn't count, right? Not really. ]
I can... No, wait.
[ He strikes into a list that is advertised as five parts, but when he advances to the next screen, there's six, then seven, and it never ends. Anything that's meant to be locked away is done so on the good faith that the user will trust not to scroll too far. Now he has more access. What the fuck.
He tries that little trick on the main screen and ends up in a program that simulates the uniforms they're wearing. A digitized soldier pops up on the screen, wiggling like a snake. To be fair, the amount of movement he's clearly exhibiting is pretty amazing—just probably not for the right reasons.
This is it. This is his fucking limit. Tseng is gasping for air now, dying in his chair, tears dripping down from his visor and spattering across the keys. ]
no subject
[ Tseng isn't even really paying attention, honestly, just muttering whatever is on the top of his mind. Reno knows how he gets when it's like this, a deluge of information for the taking at his fingertips, his eyes wandering as he absorbs and processes and extrapolates. Even if this is a set up, even if they are so confident that what the two of them see here will never make it out of this room, it is so much. Within seconds, he can recite the make and model of the uniform he's wearing and Reno's too, he gets into the diagnostic checklists for the Garden itself and begins to piece together how it might work, and there's a wealth of strategum and missives to lose himself in, each and every one of them cleverly accented with digital diagrams and clearly labeled timelines and projections.
Tseng promised himself that he would leave this all behind but—this doesn't count, right? Not really. ]
I can... No, wait.
[ He strikes into a list that is advertised as five parts, but when he advances to the next screen, there's six, then seven, and it never ends. Anything that's meant to be locked away is done so on the good faith that the user will trust not to scroll too far. Now he has more access. What the fuck.
He tries that little trick on the main screen and ends up in a program that simulates the uniforms they're wearing. A digitized soldier pops up on the screen, wiggling like a snake. To be fair, the amount of movement he's clearly exhibiting is pretty amazing—just probably not for the right reasons.
This is it. This is his fucking limit. Tseng is gasping for air now, dying in his chair, tears dripping down from his visor and spattering across the keys. ]