Mr. Waylon Park, consulting contract 8208. Software engineer with a level 3 security clearance. Graduated cum laude from Berkley, but still somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider's web is wiggle.
Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world's leading supplier of biometric security.
Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid, in fact, that was crazy.
I'm afraid that we're going to have you commited. Mr. Park, will you willingly submit to forced confinement? Did you hear that, agent?
Great. Oh, and... Did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?
Security Guard: That's what I heard, Mr. Blaire.
That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery and sacrifice. Maybe you could administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?
Security Guard: Gladly.
Waylon Park. You couldn't just...
You couldn't just keep your mouth shut. You couldn't just play along. But you're done talking now...
Well... Fuck.
Do me a favor and die here, Park.
Mr. Park. How the fuck are you still alive? Let's... make a deal. You help me, I'll help you.
God, I'm stuck like a pig.
Help me up. Please.
Fucking DIE already.
No one can know! No one!
Grah! What the fu... Urk. Oh, God! Oh, Christ in Heaven! How did it get out?! No! No, please! No! No! Ahhhhh!
