Coldyron: Let me tell you something, mister. You fire me and I'll make more noise than two skeletons making love in a tin coffin, brother.
Greg Hutchins: You look like you got both eyes coming out of the same hole!
Captain Barrett Coldyron: Remember what I said at R.O.T.O.R.'s christening? First prototype of a future battalion, on the battlefield highways of the future. He'll be the judge, jury, and executioner. Now, I've got to wonder: Were we playing God, breathing life into our artificial Adam? Or have we lost sight of paradise? What was it Milton said? "Did I request thee, maker, from my clay to mold me man? Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?" Is it his fault he is what he is? Or is it ours?
Captain Barrett Coldyron: We scientists are like degreed science-fiction writers. We're all prognosticators of the future. And since our particular purpose of vision belongs to the creed of law enforcement, we open inroads into tomorrow in ways and means of those who would serve and protect justice and order.
Gunman: [holding woman hostage] Okay, white boy. You get to watch... you get to watch while I blow her brains out and splatter all over the ground. Eh, what are you gonna do? You gonna stop me? All you got is a newspaper.
Captain Barrett Coldyron: I got more than a newspaper. And you get to guess what it is.
[reveals gun from newspaper and fires]
L.A. Scientist: Who are we to create such a thing, heroes and villians?
Captain Barrett Coldyron: The only difference between a hero and a villian is the amount of compensation they take for their services. At our pay scale, I'd say we're closer to heroes.
Captain Barrett Coldyron: It stops felons, judges the crime, and executes sentence. Justice served C.O.D.
Captain Barrett Coldyron: You call the senator and you tell him R.O.T.O.R. walked through a busload of nuns to get to a jaywalker, with malice towards no one. It won't stop. It wasn't ready. Its brain functions are incomplete. It can't think twice, can't reason, can't change its prime directive. It's like a chainsaw set on frappé.
Dr. Steele: We're not knocking over tin cans here, this is reality.
Shoeboogie: Say baby, slide me them seven digits... The phone number, mama. You got to give up the phone number!
Shoeboogie: [Opens switchblade comb] Cause like I said, once you go red... you never get out of bed!
Kipster: Shoe Boogie, you're like, going too far!
Shoeboogie: [Sticks unlit cigarette in mouth] Another paleface grindin' his heel in the poor Indian's face. Thank God my sainted ancestors have gone off to the happy hunting grounds and ain't around to see this. This... racism.
Kipster: You're not an Indian.
Shoeboogie: Look at these cheekbones, baby! Either I'm an Indian or I'm a sissy. And well, since, uh... I *must* be an Indian!
Dr. Steele: Oh God. The brain matrix. It's modeled after your own lower brain functions without the higher functions to control them.
Coldyron: A brain without a heart... a conscience without recognition... a will without a soul.
Dr. Steele: If I miss, you're going to be fighting your own base instincts. To combat pure will, you're going to have to use pure illogic.
Coldyron: What do you mean?
Dr. Steele: You *will* have to allow yourself to fail. Use your failure against him! Your failure is his failure. Your weakness is his weakness. Then, only then, can you do something.
Coldyron: Great... except I don't know what any of that means.
Dr. Steele: Let's hope you never have to find out. Remember... you're the brains. I'm just the brawn.
Dr. Steele: You don't happen to know any good Indian trackers, do you?
Captain Barrett Coldyron: I used to spend every summer on the Indian reservation. Will I do?
Dr. Steele: Hey, I'm like a cemetary. I'll take anybody.
Captain Barrett Coldyron: [to ROTOR] Come on, you monster. What's the matter, using my brain to think with? You think I'd set you up?
Motorpool Policeman: [R.O.T.O.R. rudely pushes him aside] Hey, what's the matter with you, buddy? Get your pecker caught in the plumbing this morning? I ought to jack you up! Spit and polish academy snot! God save us all!
Mokie Killion: Say, Captain. Don'tcha know you done the right thing. But you ain't no street cop, are ya? Why don't you go back to your nice little laboratory and stay there?
Coldyron: You're right, Mokie.
Mokie Killion: Let us boys handle the streets. You handle the test tubes!
[laughs as he walks away]
Coldyron: Sure. Cause if I don't handle the test tubes... the streets are gonna eat you boys alive. Teeth, hair, and eyeballs.
Willard the Robot: [to female receptionist] Say baby, why don't you hit me with those, uh, seven digits? Whaddaya say?
[Houghtaling gestures to him]
Willard the Robot: All right, I'm coming.
Greg Hutchins: You know what it is? It's the wedding. I mean that's what's wrong with this.
Sony: I want a wedding, just because you've already gone through with this, doesn't mean that I have...
Greg Hutchins: It's a barbaric ritual! The sacrificial virgin! It's heathen!