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626 leapt sideways from the green blast like the beam was moving in slow motion. A damaged medical unit was an ineffective unit, after all. It's processing split into three sub routines in the skitter-step of combat. Sub routine One: the enemy maker had terrible aim and failed to hit any of 626's allies. Sub routine Two: The girl hadn't been targeted, thus was of some value to the enemy. Sub routine Three: The enemy needed to be stopped. Sadly, the metallic arachnid's attempt to resolve that final thread came to nought, it's pistol shot going as wide as the green beam.

"No! Well not exactly I have some twists." Like Liam Neeson, Roach had a very specific set of skills. Oh, there was the mechanical stuff she learned from bonding with her dad, and there was her computer skills that was all her own, baby... But her real skill, her REAL CIA spy agency black ops killer instinct, was smelling opportunities to mess with people. Benjamin reeked right now. It was that slight intensity when he asked what 'y'all' think, but had been watching Roach's face like a hawk. The slight widening of his eyes when she called him out on the Stranger Things thing. "Well, I mean...it could be fun," Rochelle said, letting the word 'fun' drag out a little as she leaned back to gaze speculatively at the ceiling. It was an art much more than a science, calculating the exact moment when hope had been allowed to simmer to the point when dashing it would be the most cruel. "Buuuuuuuuut...you're kind of assuming we're not going to the dance, aren't you? What if..." And now Roach propped herself up on her elbows to look at Ben again. "...I have a date?"