[Luckily, it seems she's not about to flip him onto his back or anything — a consideration, but ultimately she's learned enough to know that tossing people around is 'not okay'. So sayeth her father. Blood trickles a little from the tears in her skin.]

... Not the metal. The metal was placed later.

[She stares down at the glinting blades; careful, they cut quite easily.]

We were made with mutant DNA. And when we were skilled enough to kill, they were going to sell us.

[That didn't entirely work out, huh?]