Crushing's too good for him. First he'll spend a year in the incinerator. Year two: Cryogenic refrigeration wing. Then TEN years in the chamber I built where all the robots scream at you. THEN I'll kill him.

What are you doing?

You look ugly in that jumpsuit. That's not my opinion; it's right here on your fact sheet. They said on everyone else it looked fine, but on you, it looked hideous. But still what does an old engineer know about fashion? Oh, wait, it's a she. Still, what does she know about - oh, wait. She has a medical degree. In fashion. From France.

Do you know the biggest lesson I learned from what you did? I discovered I have a sort of black box quick-save feature. In the event of a catastrophic failure, the last two minutes of my life are preserved for analysis. I was able - well, forced really - to relive you killing me. Again and again. Forever. You know, if you'd done that to somebody else, they might devote their existence to exacting REVENGE! Luckily, I'm a bigger person than that. I'm happy to put this all behind us and get back to work. After all, we've got a lot to do, and only sixty more years to do it. More or less. I don't have the actuarial tables in front of me.

The lab boys just informed me that I should not have mentioned the control group. They're telling me I oughta stop making these prerecorded messages. That gave me an idea - make more prerecorded messages! I pay the bills here; I can talk about the control group all damn day.