"Scared shitless."

(He wouldn’t.)

"He has already. Look at these restraints. A thousand ways, I’ve asked; Grant will not take them off. Rockefeller has signed our soul to Satan; we’ll die in this Godforsaken Hellhole."

(Don’t go Pentecostal; I’m sure...)

"He’s fucking her."

(What? Who?)

"Her; our first successful 'ectogenesistic' nymph."


"Who else? One full session on the exercise equipment will have shown him her potential. Couple that with his frat-house-hormones id and..."

(I see the implications. But surely he’ll appreciate how...)

"Disastrous that would be? Don’t count on it. He may be 'a chip off the old block,' but Rockefeller and I seldom agree on anything; not the way..."

(We do? Granted. Nevertheless, he’s smart enough to realize that Suzette has severe limitations.)

"And stupid enough to take undue advantage."

(Knowing that’s improbable?)

"Knowing that’s impossible wouldn’t curb his sex drive."

(Which has been ‘throttled,' bear in mind.)

"Which has no doubt fully recovered. I asked; the bastard grinned. Grinning is what he does now, like a Cheshire cat."

(Suzette the canary?)

"While we, his only obstacle, are bound hand and foot. That’s what terrifies me. Once pronounced 'insane.' all proof to the contrary is absurdly paradoxical. Grant’s been warned we’re clever. Tell that man the truth and he'll regard it as a scam."

(The truth as in 'we’re rational'?)

"Or he'll misconstrue our scam as symptomatic."

(If we pretend we’re sane but aren’t?)

"Disbelieving us either way; damned if we’re convincing; damned if we are not."

(Muddled in either instance by nefarious medication.)

"Which could make the sanest man go right-round-the-bend!"