"How can you say that?" Rico asks as he tilts his head to the side curiously. "You were made for something, surely? Made for a purpose? You were constructed, bolt by bolt, into the creation of somebody else's vision. You didn't have any kind of say in it. And I'm sure it's stamped into every part of you, somewhere." He waves a dismissive daystick towards Zenyatta's chassis. "In your construction, your vestigial programming, your history, whatever form it takes. You're property. A resource. And you say you belong to yourself?"

Rico laughs out loud, with real amusement, even as there's a thunderous crack of anger that rings out at the end of that statement. He halts in his tracks, seeming to collect his composure before turning his attention towards Zenyatta again.

"I'm the highest authority in Mega City One," he replies, tilting his chin up. "When I'm told to jump, I don't have to say how high. Neither Goodman or the Council have any say in how I live. What I do. What I am. I write the rules."

Rico exhales, eyes closed, content.

"That's what feels right."