Netherton took the peripheral’s hand, guided it to the nearest bench, one facing the forest that led, along what had been a length of Oxford Street, to Hyde Park. He gestured for it to sit. The bench vibrated briefly in anticipation, shedding drops of rain. The peripheral sat. Looked up at him. He was, he realized, waiting for it to drop this elaborate pretext of being an automaton, driven by AI. Not that she’d then be Flynne, but somehow the woman whose face this must be. "Have you learned who it was modeled after?" he asked Lowbeer.