Sometimes Dorothy wondered if the whole exchange between her and the Big O hadn't been some kind of strange dream. And then she would feel the pain that the Megadeus had warned her about.
Most of the time, it was a dull ache due to some of her circuits carrying up to twice the information for which they were designed. There was no danger of damaging the conduits--they could handle ten times the load--but when there was any kind of problem with her body, the signals that were meant simply as a damage alert created a bottleneck that was perceived as overwhelming pain.
Had she been built to original specifications, of course, it would have been a non-issue, but Big O had had to do a certain amount of re-routing because several crucial connectors were missing, and they were much too deeply buried within her body for it to be a simple matter of Norman popping open her housing and adding them.
She could, of course, block the input temporarily, but that was of only limited use because she was also blocking some of the signals that permitted her to perceive her environment. It was analogous to a human trying to walk on feet that had gone completely numb. It could be done, but one ran the risk of further injury due to being unable to perceive the location of one's feet in relation to the floor.
The circuits that once given her the ability to sing as sweetly as a nightingale had been turned to... other purposes. She was not sorry.
Still, her progress with Roger Smith was frustratingly slow. Every time she began to think that perhaps she had made a small step in the right direction, that horrible woman had to show up!
Angel. Dorothy's lip curled in an angry scowl. Blonde, curvaceous, and beautiful, it seemed no man was immune to that woman's charms, including Roger Smith.
When Beck had kidnapped Roger and Dorothy had gone to negotiate his release, there had been a certain warmth to the way Roger had looked at her that had given her the first stirrings of real hope.
But then Roger had gone off to spend the evening with that woman, leaving Dorothy to her own devices. And she had run afoul of Alan Gabriel.
Even the memory of the agony of being shot was enough to cause a twinge of pain in her arm and leg, despite Norman's meticulous repairs. That woman could have done something to help her, but instead, she had listened to the madman and left Dorothy there at his mercy.
Although it had pleased her to think that she'd had enough of an effect on Roger Smith that he hadn't simply fallen headlong into that woman's welcoming embrace, the satisfaction hadn't done much to improve Dorothy's chances of survival.
And then Roger had arrived. She still found it hard to wrap her mind around the idea that he had left Big O to come to her aid. She would never forget how he had rushed Alan Gabriel, nor the comfort of being held in his arms when the pain had overwhelmed her and she had fallen to the floor.
She had allowed herself a moment of illusion that he did really love her, and when Angel showed up at the mansion, she had endeavored to be kind, even lying to Norman to protect the blonde's whereabouts--a thing she should have been incapable of doing.
Whatever had happened between Roger and Angel, though, had apparently weighed heavily on Roger's mind. When he had run into trouble trying to fight the Hydra and she had come to his aid, there were the flowers.
When she had asked him who they were for, he had blushed. Blushed! Roger Smith, the epitome of cool, turning red over a bouquet! He had tucked one of the flowers behind her ear, and it was at that moment that she understood that she had lost.
No matter how clear his feelings might be to the people around him, no matter how obvious it was to everyone else, he chose not to see. And if he chose not to see, it was the same as if it didn't exist.
She had cut short the humiliating tableau by delivering Angel's message. The next day, Dorothy had gone through the motions, but she knew it didn't matter. She'd even spoken to Roger about the lie she had told, but his thoughts were only for Angel, and he had dismissed it as of little consequence, as if she were a child he was trying to placate.
He had left soon thereafter, and then the scorpion-bots had attacked. She had obediently gone to wait in the Big O when Norman told her to, but when she no longer heard the steady return fire of the guns he was carrying, she realized he must have run out of ammunition, and she had left her place of safety to bring him some.
"I am what I am," the sorrow of the unexpected insight froze her in place as Norman tried valiantly to fight off the robots. "I am not like the robots or Roger."
Norman didn't understand. He would defend her until the end. She could not permit it. She heard Roger shouting her name, but she permitted the scorpion-bot to take her without protest.
"I am what I am. I am not like you, Roger. I will always have this same body and this same heart." She would never be warm and welcoming like the human Angel; she was only a mechanical facsimile of a woman, and she would never be real.
"What are you talking about? Don't give up!" he shouted. But what was there to fight for? No. It was better this way. She made no move to break free despite Big O's desperately reaching hand and Roger's shouted words of encouragement.