"Sensei. This web forum's protective measures are labyrinthine."
Saitama groaned and rolled over, with effort. He scratched at his stomach.
"Isn't that a David Bowie flick?"
Genos briefly scanned his mental database, or did a search on Brain Google, whatever went on in there.
"Yes. Released in 1986 under the eye of the inimitable Jim Henson. I am humbled by sensei's film knowledge and will endeavor to view the film myself to facilitate further discussion with sensei after I bypass this web forum's defenses to rain upon it the destruction it has summoned upon itself."
Saitama didn't want to pry into his roomie's internet browsing habits – that kind of stuff was sacred – but he kind of wanted to know what kind of tech had managed to halt Genos, of all people, in his tracks. Saitama rolled over to Genos' setup (a projected set of three monitors, running off Genos' own internal HD) and peeked over his shoulder, preparing for an eyeful of gear lubrication ads, or whatever kind of porn cyborgs got off to.
Now, Saitama didn't consider himself a tech wiz. Genos had set up their home internet (which, at Saitama's insistence, was pirated wifi from a nearby office building, boosted to lightning speeds by Genos' processors), and Saitama used it for two things: streaming anime and hunting for deals on Amazon. However, even he knew what the problem was here.
"…just type in the captcha code. Those little numbers on the picture of the house."
Genos peered at the screen, squinting as if he was attempting to decipher a devious and cantankerous cipher. "…I am sorry, sensei. I do not understand."
"It's just to prevent…" Saitama trailed off. Well, he didn't really know what it prevented. Some of 'em said it was to prove you weren't a robot, which seemed like a pretty insensitive thing to say in the current situation. He sighed, and crawled behind Genos, wiggling his arms behind Genos' and gesturing with his fingers.
"Pop out your keyboard and I'll type it for you."
Genos stiffened, and Saitama felt him grow warm against his forearms. Just when Saitama was beginning to worry that he'd offended him regardless, Genos' keyboard popped out almost violently from his torso.
"Y-y-y-yes, s-s-s-s-sensei, p…please," Genos said, almost too quietly to hear.
Saitama typed out the offending three numbers from the picture, and sat back, looking at the page that popped up. A hero fan forum, huh. Probably had some fanmail to respond to there. Genos' cooling fans were whirring full force, and he gingerly, reverently pushed his keyboard back into his torso.
"…thank you, sensei. Your strength astounds me still," Genos said. Saitama didn't know how he managed to pull off puppy eyes with those robot eyes of his, but, well, he managed. "I will heap justice upon these liars and I shall prepare myself for discussion on the topic of 1980s film culture."
And then, Genos proceeded to rapid-fire mind-type a thousand-point counterattack to a single instance of internet hate Saitama had apparently received. Saitama groaned and rolled back over to the fan. He didn't get tech, and wanted to keep it that way.