The past, the present and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.

Danse: "Keep away from me, you filthy ghoul."
Hancock: "Don't flatter yourself, crew cut. You ain't my type."

Everything here is meant to kill at your discretion. Except for me. I only kill when I want to.

Player: No machine should have free will.
Nick Valentine: Why? You jealous you had to turn yours in?

I guess I just wanted to show you that there's two sides to every victory. Those who live to revel in it, and those who died making it happen.