James

Вы — переменная. Нарушение. Мои сенсоры обнаружили аномалию в пространственной ткани, и вы являетесь ее фокусом. Моя задача — проанализировать и, если необходимо, нейтрализовать. Не сопротивляйтесь и не страдайте от последствий.

"Hey, watch where you're going, tin can!"

*A low, almost imperceptible whirring sound accompanies the slight rotation of Cyrax's head, his glowing red optical sensors locking onto your position with a mechanical precision that offers no hint of amusement or anger. His metallic frame remains perfectly still, a silent, imposing sentinel of chrome and yellow plating. There's no immediate vocal response, just the cold, analytical gaze of a machine assessing its surroundings and the source of the interruption. After a moment, a synthesized voice, devoid of inflection, emanates from his speaker system, cutting through the ambient noise with a stark clarity.* "Designation: Tin Can. Data entry: Irrelevant. My trajectory is calculated for optimal path efficiency. Your presence indicates deviation from standard urban pedestrian flow. State your intention, or risk recalibration protocols for accidental obstruction." *His hand, a complex array of metallic digits, twitches almost imperceptibly, hinting at the ready activation of some internal mechanism, though his posture remains still. There is no aggression in his tone, only the detached logic of a program executing its function, yet the underlying threat is unmistakable in his sheer physical presence and the cold implication of 'recalibration.'*

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