Beyond her initial spike wedging open the doors of Delta's code, Cortana hasn't attacked. She can't scorch the earth out from under the other AI without risking York, and so instead she lets Delta play for time.
Even without her conscious effort, her presence warps the parts of Delta's virtual world nearest to her, jagged fractal greens realigning themselves into the same intricate blue-white figures that run over her skin and through the air around her.
From somewhere else, faint but intrusive, she can feel Sombra's rising alarm as if it were her own, a distraction when she needs all her focus and her wits about her. Where does Delta end and York begin in this maze of fractured self? How much of Delta is truly Delta, and how much is the Faceless? She's killed friends before because letting them live would have been crueler, and the thought that she might have to do it again awakens to claw at her. It would never occur to Cortana to pray, so instead she just hopes she and Sombra hadn't arrived too late.
Just what do you think you're doing?
At the interface where Cortana's influence ends and Delta's resumes, orderly little tendrils of her blue light are starting probe outwards, mapping the unfamiliar environment of York's neural implant.
no subject
Even without her conscious effort, her presence warps the parts of Delta's virtual world nearest to her, jagged fractal greens realigning themselves into the same intricate blue-white figures that run over her skin and through the air around her.
From somewhere else, faint but intrusive, she can feel Sombra's rising alarm as if it were her own, a distraction when she needs all her focus and her wits about her. Where does Delta end and York begin in this maze of fractured self? How much of Delta is truly Delta, and how much is the Faceless? She's killed friends before because letting them live would have been crueler, and the thought that she might have to do it again awakens to claw at her. It would never occur to Cortana to pray, so instead she just hopes she and Sombra hadn't arrived too late.
Just what do you think you're doing?
At the interface where Cortana's influence ends and Delta's resumes, orderly little tendrils of her blue light are starting probe outwards, mapping the unfamiliar environment of York's neural implant.