The last thing she needs is some random man knowing her business. Keep your head down, do your job and get out of here the second you're able. It's easy. Should be, that is, until a morbid curiosity entreats her forward in her seat.
"And what was it my Director was up to?"
She needs to hear it. The what, the why— like kindling to her fucked-familial-revenge-fire. How exactly did my father screw himself over?
He puts his hands up in the universal 'don't shoot' gesture, "You don't want to be friends, all right, but I'm willing to meet you in the middle if you change your mind." Yes, even after an introduction like this, he'd still extend the hand of friendship to her. Assuming she won't bite his fingers off.
"He was playing God with AI, the way I heard it. Was willing to cross every ethical line known to man, all in an attempt to bring his wife back to him in AI form. Not that I don't get where the impulse comes from, but he put that above all else including the lives of the people he was responsible for--not to mention a world ending war he was supposed to be helping fight. Selfish son of a bitch."
"I won't." A promise made lethal by her green-inferno stare. She isn't here to make friends— not a chance in hell. Certainly not with much larger fish to fry— like how she plans on getting out of here. (Any closer and Crichton might go home with two or three less digits. Maybe a whole hand less.)
And in a jarring flip of countenance, Carolina laughs. It's the kind of laugh that's absent of joy; an explosion of air so aggressive it feels almost animal.
Selfish son of a bitch. Selfish is right. Selfish, cruel, stupid. An old man who leaves behind nothing but violence, and it's that very trail Carolina tracks like a bloodhound. Soon it will end with her— that's if nobody's gotten to him first.
When she speaks, it has an almost sing-song quality. "And it all came cashing down on top of his head. He's buried so deep in his mistakes he has nowhere else to go. It's exactly how I want him."
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no subject
Date: 2025-05-06 06:55 pm (UTC)"Good. We'll keep it that way."
The last thing she needs is some random man knowing her business. Keep your head down, do your job and get out of here the second you're able. It's easy. Should be, that is, until a morbid curiosity entreats her forward in her seat.
"And what was it my Director was up to?"
She needs to hear it. The what, the why— like kindling to her fucked-familial-revenge-fire. How exactly did my father screw himself over?
no subject
Date: 2025-05-20 07:35 pm (UTC)"He was playing God with AI, the way I heard it. Was willing to cross every ethical line known to man, all in an attempt to bring his wife back to him in AI form. Not that I don't get where the impulse comes from, but he put that above all else including the lives of the people he was responsible for--not to mention a world ending war he was supposed to be helping fight. Selfish son of a bitch."
no subject
Date: 2025-05-21 05:31 pm (UTC)"I won't." A promise made lethal by her green-inferno stare. She isn't here to make friends— not a chance in hell. Certainly not with much larger fish to fry— like how she plans on getting out of here. (Any closer and Crichton might go home with two or three less digits. Maybe a whole hand less.)
And in a jarring flip of countenance, Carolina laughs. It's the kind of laugh that's absent of joy; an explosion of air so aggressive it feels almost animal.
Selfish son of a bitch. Selfish is right. Selfish, cruel, stupid. An old man who leaves behind nothing but violence, and it's that very trail Carolina tracks like a bloodhound. Soon it will end with her— that's if nobody's gotten to him first.
When she speaks, it has an almost sing-song quality. "And it all came cashing down on top of his head. He's buried so deep in his mistakes he has nowhere else to go. It's exactly how I want him."