MARK: Hello. It's nice to meet you. I'm a great admirer of your technobabble.

DS: You should be. You wrote it.

MARK: Er, yes.

DS: Personally, I find myself pompous and arrogant.

MARK: It's part of your charm.

DS: I don't have any. Look, I have a question for you.

MARK: Yes?

DS: Why am I such a wimp?

MARK: Excuse me?

DS: Well, just about everyone else I've met with "PC" stamped on their forehead is lethal in some form or another. And about half of them can level a city block if they put their mind to it.

MARK: True...

DS: So why am I worried that some granny with a bee-bee gun is going to cap me?

MARK: Oh. Well, I was trying to do something to take advantage of the unusual format of a PBEM game. Most of the PCs you've met would be suitable as lead characters in an anime movie. Tough, strong, and capable of making cinematic explosions. But those lead characters always have some kind of technologically inclined supporting character, someone who's not as tough, but gives them a foil for some dialogue. That's where you come in.

DS: I see.

MARK: Er, you're also intended to provide interesting observations on the ethics of practicing medicine when the line between engineering and biology has become meaningless.

DS: Oh, well as long as I'm useful for *ethical* observations...

MARK: Hey, c'mon, you can't be that upset about this, can you?

<A blindingly fast quickdraw, and the author is sporting bullet-hole in his forehead.>

DS: That was intended to provide a climax to the scene, and inspire pathos.

<Walks off.>/P>

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