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"Gave it was it was about four years overdue for."
But he's tired now, between his aches and the sudden change to an incredibly private topic, so he pushes off the bars properly now with a stiff smile.
"I'll message when I find out who else got Robocopped."
But he's tired now, between his aches and the sudden change to an incredibly private topic, so he pushes off the bars properly now with a stiff smile.
"I'll message when I find out who else got Robocopped."
He doesn't want him to go, but only because he doesn't want to be alone again. It's a selfish reason, so he doesn't say anything.
"I think I'm going to go with Terminator," he points out, turning back to his desk. "Seems more my aesthetic."
"I think I'm going to go with Terminator," he points out, turning back to his desk. "Seems more my aesthetic."
"You want me to not talk to you today, too?" Tiffany asks, as she takes a seat on the floor across from Callisto's curtained cell, on the couch cushion she's left down here for exactly this purpose. There's no malice or dryness in her question - if the answer is yes, she's willing to respect that.
Jacobi, having blown up at Rita earlier in the day, is not really in the mood for visitors, but he's not going to begrudge Tiffany staying.
He shrugs instead.
"That depends on what you have to say, I suppose. I mean, if we're going to talk about the finer points of philosophy, then probably not. If you want to shoot the shit, then I could justify a break."
He shrugs instead.
"That depends on what you have to say, I suppose. I mean, if we're going to talk about the finer points of philosophy, then probably not. If you want to shoot the shit, then I could justify a break."
Jacobi holds up his hands innocently. "Yeah, Daniel's fine," he tells her. "More used to Jacobi, but that's not everyone's cup of tea."
He peers over to the cell, though there isn't anything more to see that he hasn't already seen over the past few days.
"Isn't she in a coma? Or whatever you want to call it?"
He peers over to the cell, though there isn't anything more to see that he hasn't already seen over the past few days.
"Isn't she in a coma? Or whatever you want to call it?"
"Why?" he wonders, tapping his pen against the desk twice. "I mean, she's out. So what does it matter if people know? Or if you come visit?"
"I just don't think she'd want people to know, that's all."
Being forced into unconsciousness is a vulnerability, even if it's happening in a place that's somewhat more secure than the rest of the ship.
"I keep thinking maybe there's a part of her brain that's still aware of what's happening. She's unconscious, not brain dead. So I'm visiting and paying attention to that subconscious part of her right now."
Being forced into unconsciousness is a vulnerability, even if it's happening in a place that's somewhat more secure than the rest of the ship.
"I keep thinking maybe there's a part of her brain that's still aware of what's happening. She's unconscious, not brain dead. So I'm visiting and paying attention to that subconscious part of her right now."
He doesn't really see the point, but he doesn't have to. It's not his time to waste.
"Huh. Does that....help? Does she even remember?"
"Huh. Does that....help? Does she even remember?"
"No, she won't remember. And no, it probably won't actually do shit. But it's worth a try anyway, just in case. It's not like I can do anything else for her right now."
She curls her fingers around the edge of her cushion.
"I'm Tiffany, by the way. I work in the infirmary."
She's been seeing some of Jacobi's handiwork firsthand!
She curls her fingers around the edge of her cushion.
"I'm Tiffany, by the way. I work in the infirmary."
She's been seeing some of Jacobi's handiwork firsthand!
"Tiffany in the infirmary," he repeats. "Who likes to keep a little control when shit gets out of control. I can respect that."
He doesn't think she appreciates his fine art, so he doesn't address it.
"Well, I'll be out of here eventually and you can go back to being by yourself in here with her. And you don't have to pretend to be nice to me anymore."
He doesn't think she appreciates his fine art, so he doesn't address it.
"Well, I'll be out of here eventually and you can go back to being by yourself in here with her. And you don't have to pretend to be nice to me anymore."
"Hey, I just caused a lot of chaos and murder and shit. My bar for nice from other people is like...way underground. I'm just kind of expecting hostility right out of the gate. The fact that you're not giving me that?" He shrugs. "And there isn't anything you can get me even if you asked. So you don't even need to worry about that. I have my pen. I have my notebook. I'm set."
"Rita did," he confirms. "Gave her a bullshit answer first. Then I told her the truth. Then a couple of people I hurt decided to ask. I figure those are the ones who aren't going to stab me any time soon. So I told them the truth, too."
Good. Callisto's situation still has her looking disquieted, but there's some relief mixed in there now, too; relief that this man hasn't been left to rot.
"I'm curious," she says. "And you didn't hurt me, but you hurt and killed some people I care about. That earn me the truth, a bullshit answer, or no answer at all?"
"I'm curious," she says. "And you didn't hurt me, but you hurt and killed some people I care about. That earn me the truth, a bullshit answer, or no answer at all?"
He hesitates a moment. "You can have the truth, I guess. It's not really a secret. But, here's the usual disclaimer: the reasons are probably not ones that you're going to like." He puts down the pen and closes the notebook.
"Long story short?" he starts here and snickers at a bit of a private joke, "Everything got fucked real fast and it just felt better to let it all blow up. That's what I do. I destroy things. I blow them up. It was my job, my life, for a really long time."
"Long story short?" he starts here and snickers at a bit of a private joke, "Everything got fucked real fast and it just felt better to let it all blow up. That's what I do. I destroy things. I blow them up. It was my job, my life, for a really long time."
"Well, I've said it so many times that I've stopped getting it, I think," he mutters. "It just sounds like bullshit in my head. It's not like I'm some emotionally stunted gargoyle. I usually know what I'm feeling. The problem is that the person who usually listened to me died and no one else gives a shit."
Hey, next time you want to kill us all, at least have the guts to do it yourself.
[The reply doesn't come right away. Jacobi's on a strict schedule for himself. This will come right at his self-imposed break time, a few hours later, right on the hour.]
Huh.
That's new.
The goal wasn't individual lives or I would have.
Huh.
That's new.
The goal wasn't individual lives or I would have.
Okay, let me put it differently then:
The next time you want to do anything. Do it yourself.
The next time you want to do anything. Do it yourself.
I did.
Listen, you're upset because Connor was probably a friend, right? And I hijacked his agency for my own purposes instead of holding the gun myself. But using Connor was the most efficient way to get rid of as many people in as little time as possible. That was the point.
Listen, you're upset because Connor was probably a friend, right? And I hijacked his agency for my own purposes instead of holding the gun myself. But using Connor was the most efficient way to get rid of as many people in as little time as possible. That was the point.
It doesn't matter whether I like Connor or not. It doesn't matter whether he's an inmate or a warden, the most hated or the most popular person on this boat. I'm upset because you hijacked someone's agency, period.
So I guess you'd better get better at killing with your own two hands. Or maybe rethink how badly you want it, if you can't even be bothered to do it yourself.
So I guess you'd better get better at killing with your own two hands. Or maybe rethink how badly you want it, if you can't even be bothered to do it yourself.
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