“I can’t believe it’s not Buddha,” says Colleen.
“The Buddha,” says Bligh, “it’s a title, you extremely white person.”
They watch for a while.
“But no,” Bligh mutters, “the real Buddha is probably not filled with robot bears.”
They’re not big bears, but there are dozens of them climbing out of the bronze Vairocana’s mouth, and they’ve got buzzsaws. They can’t climb; Colleen and Bligh are safe clinging to the pagoda ledge. Most of the other tourists are already dismembered. The bears are aligning their limbs in patterns.
“Think it means something?” Colleen squints.
“It’s kanji,” says Bligh. “For assholes.“