There's a lot to unpack there. The 'war machine' thing is breezed over but there's a hard glint in Peter's eyes after Cayde says it because that sounds...ugly. Very ugly. A waste of good science as far as Peter is concerned, because something as miraculous as downloading someone's brain to a robot should be treated as a miracle. An extension of life after a traumatic accident or metastatic cancer, bodies for explorers of alien planets, etc etc.
But war machines, people getting downloaded into them - was it willing?
Peter thinks about how this is a very vulnerable place for Cayde to be in. And he thinks about how being so far from the past makes it more vulnerable, makes it seem like this repair is more of An Ordeal, a massive undertaking.
So he works harder at being reassuring because he doesn't want him to feel vulnerable, he doesn't want him to see it as an ordeal, he doesn't want him to hesitate for a second if he ever needs the tiniest thing fixed because he deserves to go out against whatever dangers they're going to face at full capacity - especially since it sounds like he lost his magical video game life "continue game" button robot buddy. He isn't sure if he lost her for good or not, but it's definitely a disadvantage.
He finds the right thing to say.
He scoots a chair over with his foot, high enough Peter can stay in Cayde's eye line even as he's laying down, so they can just talk. And plops into it.
"You know, my name isn't actually Ben? My name's Peter. And Reilly's not really my last name. Do you wanna know why I go by a fake name in this place?"
He huffs out a little breath.
"It's because there are people in my world who do really bad things. And a lot of them use technology so far past what the rest of the world has that nobody else can stop them. It takes someone who's superhuman and as smart as them - or smarter than them - to take them down."
He goes on, "And I am smarter than a lot of them. Most of them. I created an industrial strength adhesive, stronger than steel, with a chemistry set in my room. When I was sixteen."
He shakes his head. "I'm not trying to toot my own horn. I just mean that I'm so used to fighting, or co-opting, or defusing advanced technology that I have to wear a mask when I fight or the very powerful people using it could go after my ex-wife. I am, in fact, so paranoid about it that I'm going by a fake name here so if one of my enemies shows up and sees me use my powers, they'll only have a generic face and a false identity if they ever go back home."
He throws up his hands.
"And the bombs, oy vey. Do you know how many weird, superscience antimatter weapons, or nuclear fusion bombs, or dimensional vortex dvices I've defused? I sure don't. I've lost count."
His expression softens. "What I'm trying to say is you're in good hands. And it would be nice, for once, to work with really cool tech in a way that does more than just prevent hurt or defuse an explosion. I work with whatever makes you tick? I help a guy that apparently guards a post-apocalyptic version of humanity." He pokes his arm. "Which means if this turns out not to be a one time thing, that's okay. I don't want you to think this is some intense burden far beyond my feeble, analog, caveman brain that would be hard to duplicate. If it happens again, it happens again. It's a challenge, but not that hard, and it's definitely not something you'll ever owe me for."
He makes a "cut it out" gesture with both hands.
"So no deals. Try to keep yourself in good shape for your own sake, but don't ever worry about it on my account. You need to come to someone for something as simple as a few dings from a robot fender bender, I'm here."
no subject
There's a lot to unpack there. The 'war machine' thing is breezed over but there's a hard glint in Peter's eyes after Cayde says it because that sounds...ugly. Very ugly. A waste of good science as far as Peter is concerned, because something as miraculous as downloading someone's brain to a robot should be treated as a miracle. An extension of life after a traumatic accident or metastatic cancer, bodies for explorers of alien planets, etc etc.
But war machines, people getting downloaded into them - was it willing?
Peter thinks about how this is a very vulnerable place for Cayde to be in. And he thinks about how being so far from the past makes it more vulnerable, makes it seem like this repair is more of An Ordeal, a massive undertaking.
So he works harder at being reassuring because he doesn't want him to feel vulnerable, he doesn't want him to see it as an ordeal, he doesn't want him to hesitate for a second if he ever needs the tiniest thing fixed because he deserves to go out against whatever dangers they're going to face at full capacity - especially since it sounds like he lost his magical video game life "continue game" button robot buddy. He isn't sure if he lost her for good or not, but it's definitely a disadvantage.
He finds the right thing to say.
He scoots a chair over with his foot, high enough Peter can stay in Cayde's eye line even as he's laying down, so they can just talk. And plops into it.
"You know, my name isn't actually Ben? My name's Peter. And Reilly's not really my last name. Do you wanna know why I go by a fake name in this place?"
He huffs out a little breath.
"It's because there are people in my world who do really bad things. And a lot of them use technology so far past what the rest of the world has that nobody else can stop them. It takes someone who's superhuman and as smart as them - or smarter than them - to take them down."
He goes on, "And I am smarter than a lot of them. Most of them. I created an industrial strength adhesive, stronger than steel, with a chemistry set in my room. When I was sixteen."
He shakes his head. "I'm not trying to toot my own horn. I just mean that I'm so used to fighting, or co-opting, or defusing advanced technology that I have to wear a mask when I fight or the very powerful people using it could go after my ex-wife. I am, in fact, so paranoid about it that I'm going by a fake name here so if one of my enemies shows up and sees me use my powers, they'll only have a generic face and a false identity if they ever go back home."
He throws up his hands.
"And the bombs, oy vey. Do you know how many weird, superscience antimatter weapons, or nuclear fusion bombs, or dimensional vortex dvices I've defused? I sure don't. I've lost count."
His expression softens. "What I'm trying to say is you're in good hands. And it would be nice, for once, to work with really cool tech in a way that does more than just prevent hurt or defuse an explosion. I work with whatever makes you tick? I help a guy that apparently guards a post-apocalyptic version of humanity." He pokes his arm. "Which means if this turns out not to be a one time thing, that's okay. I don't want you to think this is some intense burden far beyond my feeble, analog, caveman brain that would be hard to duplicate. If it happens again, it happens again. It's a challenge, but not that hard, and it's definitely not something you'll ever owe me for."
He makes a "cut it out" gesture with both hands.
"So no deals. Try to keep yourself in good shape for your own sake, but don't ever worry about it on my account. You need to come to someone for something as simple as a few dings from a robot fender bender, I'm here."