[ Imagine this, Topher. Maybe it's the thing your nightmares are made of -- after all, it's not the maker who is supposed to be strapped to the chair. It's not the programmer who is supposed to have his mind meddled with. And it's definitely not comforting to be strapped to a makeshift dental chair with makeshift wires connected to makeshift motherboards in a makeshift laboratory that really is something more out of a horror film.

Is he dead? -- Always so paranoid. -- Reckon it'd be no skin off my back if he was dead -- Idiots! The point of this isn't death! -- It's not?]

No. The point of it is more mindblowing than that...

[ He utters the words almost fondly, his fingers moving forward to cup Topher's chin with a surprising gentleness. ]

Hello, Mr. Brink. Did you fall asleep?