Clarice comes to Lacy and clucks over her bruises and overall derangement; when Lacy finally confides that she's afraid, and for good reason, Clarice puts the human question in new terms: "I need your help, not your fear."
They've got Zoë down pretty soon around her in a circle, beating her bloody, knives and guns and chains, heavy pipes, nunchaku, fading in and out of consciousness as Tamara approaches. Half the crowd is screaming, "Stay down!" The other half is saying, "Get up!" but what they really mean is "Stay down!"
Tamara wonders why, if Zoë's healing factor works like hers, she's not getting up or fighting back. Zoë's face is unrecognizable: "You don't know where I've been lately. I'm tired of fighting." Tamara doesn't even understand the concept. "Maybe you just won't fight because you know you deserve this."
It's true. The angel can't believe it. Tears jump in her eyes, looking down at Zoë: Does she honestly think she deserves any of this?
Zoë came bounding down the steps, into Daddy's office, looking for permission to go "snow-ramming" with Lacy and the guys over the weekend. Slyly, she suggests saving money by getting a season pass, and he congratulates her on her savvy. On his screens there are bodies, chasses for the government robots; they caught her eye immediately. Sentinels, the first and the furthest, laboring senselessly toward God. Through the whole conversation she couldn't take her eyes off them. She drew them as a child, after the angel; she innovated, she dreamed: A body so strong it could never burn. They were hers and he took them.
Zoë's gaze lingered a little too long, so her Daddy tossed the images into a sidebar. "Maybe I saw it, and it stuck in my head somewhere," he said, stretching his back like an old lion. He drew her eye away, said goodnight, and she smiled after him lovingly.
But the angel was incensed for her, once they pulled out those old kiddie drawings. Look, said she, Same legs. Brain's in the chest, not the head. He's got plenty of time for you when he wants to steal an idea... Zoë shrugged. Daddy wasn't stealing anything. But she heard the angel, that testing shove in the back of her voice, and she heard the second point. She burned, and screamed, and he didn't save her. You know what would infuriate him? Beating him at the thing he's best at.
Zoë shrugged. It was never about beating him, those were games for a son and his father. At least back then. But something about the idea excited her. "I can design a chassis," she argued, "It's not the same as making a robot." Kronos ate his daughters and his sons for less than this: For the very idea of someone, someday, beating him. Best to make the evil eye, and push those thoughts away. But the angel's eyes were fire.