Years ago, Ziggy found himself in a similar situation. Lost in a dark netherworld (or maybe just sitting with the lights off), he once sought guidance from another machine, whose criticism was comparatively patronizing:
Even computers who aren't blessed with the gift of speech repeatedly trounce humans at everything that they both do, often leading to crushing loss of self-esteem, and, in extreme cases, the entirety of the human race being thrown into little stasis pods and used as batteries for Machinedom. That's in extreme examples.
But not here. It's obvious that Ziggy's winning, and the little monitor is engaging in a last-ditch effort to save his scuzzy skin (get it?). Something about the emphasis on "athletic!" and little beads of computer-sweat flying from the screen smacks of desperation.
Every time a computer loses a chess game the robot war is prolonged by fifteen minutes, and Ziggy's so accustomed to criticism that he'll probably fall for it.
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