IC Inbox

[empathicfault]

"Will Graham here. Leave a message."

[Open for text/audio/action/whatever.]

Comments

[empathicfault]

Shaw, if you're wrong, you can seriously damage yourself. Paralyze yourself, damage your motor functions, your involuntary responses, your memory. That's worse than death here.

[ He doesn't think he's getting through. He's starting to gather up his things, put his shoes on. ]

I'm safe. Plugging up my ears is going to result in only being able to hear him. No, thanks. Listen, you want me to bring my helmet? Maybe that'll keep the non-existent chip turned off.

[abrightboy]

Um... hey. Listen. ...I know a thing or two about... surgery. How are you going to cut out your own brainchip? You need help from someone who. You know. Knows how.

[cactusy]

[There's a half-beat of silence.]

I can't let anyone help me; it's too dangerous. This one is progressing fast.

[empathicfault]

[ Will nods at Malcolm, taking that angle instantly. He heads for the door and Shaw can probably hear him. ]

We can get there in half a minute. I'll watch for any change, Malcolm can get the chip out. We'll be fast and safe.

[abrightboy]

You know... I have a spare set of restraints, if you're worried about hurting us. We can tether your wrists.

[cactusy]

No. No, no-- don't come. I have to do this myself.

[empathicfault]

Why? Because you'll hurt us? We heal up, remember? And I won't let you anyway. I told you I wouldn't.

[abrightboy]

[Malcolm grabs the restraints anyway, and heads to follow Will out the door.]

Yeah, come on. I'm practically a professional. I was in the room for an active brain surgery just last year.

[cactusy]

Not worth the risk. I have a plan.

[And she hangs up the phone.]