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  • Ah, for fuck's sake. They got Gluskin out of his cell. Page him again, we need this guy in here now. Tell him he's got fifteen seconds to keep his job. Christ...
  • Shit. Goddamn it! What else could go wrong?
  • Let's get hands on that patient, gentlemen!
  • Agent! Can you make sure Mr. Park here makes his way swiftly to an area more fitting of his pay grade?
  • Park. Finally. Where have you been? The Functional Imaging interface isn't talking to the ASL. We've got a patient thirty seconds out and we're blind inside his head.
  • No. I don't need another performance evaluation. Mr. Park here is going to have us up and running before we even know it. Right, Mr. Park?
  • Are we happy, Mr. Park?
  • You're doubting our friend Mr. Waylon Park. Which I consider more than unkind to his programming skill and considerable dedication to the Murkoff corporation.
  • Fuck me, they're bringing him in.
  • It's all right, agent. Mr. Park was just surprised. I'm sure he's still calm and eager to finish his work. Take your seat.
  • Quickly, Mr. Park. A head will need to roll if perfusion monitoring is not active when they put him in the engine. Five seconds. Four. Three....
  • Ah. Good then.
  • You're finished, Mr. Waylon Park. You can leave. Don't expect anything but honesty in my review of your performance.
  • You're done here, Mr. Park. Thank you and good-bye.
  • Eyes on the floor, one foot in front of the other until you're back in your hole.
  • Walk away, Waylon Park. I was sick of you being here, even when you were useful.

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