[Connor laughs again; it's the second time in Connor's literal, entire life, and it's abrupt and uncomfortable-sounding. It does not sit; it stays in parade rest and looks as exhausted as an android that technically does not ever get tired can get.

God, it hopes this won't start becoming a thing now. How embarrassing. It needs to approach Amanda about pruning out this portion of its memory immediately.]

And here I had assumed your programming wouldn't be flexible enough for a personality.

[That's outright needling; Connor's gaze goes up and down the T-800, pushing a more aggressive scan. It's very blunt. Connor's blunt, Connor's social module is not really normal, but this guy has no social module to speak of maybe? No need for one?

In the movie, the Terminator is a machine programmed by other machines. Connor had forgotten that. Machines deriving reward feedback due to completing objectives for other machines, which are presumably rewarded when their own objectives are completed, all in a weird self-gratification feedback loop.

Connor's perspective on this is all totally normal.]

I am functioning well enough to complete my directives. Connor units are disposable, and we are in a state of civil war. Perhaps you are familiar.