His reaction was moderately pleasing--at least a part of him seemed to relax with the visible threat in his own hands. If only other things were as simple to place together as the logic of threat and reaction. The Digimon watched him fiddle with the knuckle for a moment, then returned her gaze to his face.

"I already know that," she agreed, nodding. "Inorganics, as you say, don't resembles machines in my worlds," Unless they were specifically a machinoid Digimon, but she digressed, "But the ones formed from data have a great deal of prejudice stacked against them."

For a moment, Renamon wondered how it had become simple to speak like this, when weeks ago she would have done anything but. Not deny herself, no, but in turn, not give away anything that she was. And now she was here, speaking words once taboo. Was it apathy? Or acceptance? "I'd be defined as a computer program, and as such, many say that I am not alive."