[♪♪♪]
[HEARTBEAT THUMPING]
So first, I'd like to thank you
for meeting us in person.
I know we're all-- Especially my client.
--eager to get this settled.
Especially your client.
PAULINE: Before we get to the details,
we have revised our figures.
We are ready to close this book and move on
if Lord Pearce Wachter can agree to 10 million.
[SCOFFS]
Excuse me?
PAULINE: Jason.
Now, that is a substantial drop from our last number,
more than half.
This is really about LPW meeting us halfway.
We are also willing to bend a bit on the payment structure.
Pauline, I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to cut you off.
It's only to spare us the extra energy.
This is starting to get comical.
Comical?
PAULINE: Please, Jason.
JASON: No, hold on.
What-- What about my situation is comical?
That I was injected
with millions of tiny fricking machines?
And that I can barely lift my arms and legs?
Or that my chest almost collapsed?
Sorry about your condition.
But you signed forms, Mr. O'Brien.
They do not account for--
MAN: He knew the dangers
and what he'd be entitled to.
That won't even get me through the decade.
I can't work anymore.
Work?
Does LPW want this getting out? How it treats its--
What he means is that he is very active online.
And if this went to court, we would have--
MAN: It's not going to court.
His blog has a little over 2000 visitors a month.
That's hardly dangerous, Jason.
We can drag this on forever.
Five hundred thousand dollars is our final offer.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to waste your time.
[♪♪♪]
[DOOR OPENS THEN CLOSES]
Jason, that wasn't the plan.
Nobody deserves this.
Those nanites destroyed my body.
Your company sits on billions because of people like me.
But if we get sick?
You were a guinea pig, Jason.
That's your name for yourselves.
I had a purpose.
I helped them.
Let me guess.
Your life, prior to this unfortunate accident,
went something like this.
Two weeks in a lab,
your blood swimming with a mixture of poison
you knew nothing about.
Days spent eating, tweeting, sleeping,
planning your next vacation. So that when the job,
if you really wanna call it that, was done,
you cash out, and fly out to Waikiki or the Bahamas.
Sip some pina coladas and work on your tan.
Wait two months until the medicine
dribbles out of your pores just long enough
to pass the screening of another test
somewhere around the world.
And then you do it again, and again, and again.
Never worried that something might go wrong.
Why would you? You're a lab animal.
I'm not a cliché, Mr. O'Brien.
I'm looking after my client's best interests, sure.
But on a personal level?
I just don't like your type.
So I have very little sympathy.
And what I do have lives in this settlement.
[ELEVATOR DINGS]
And maybe in this advice. Go back in.
Tell your counsel you'll accept.
And then use that money to build yourself back up.
Okay?
[ELEVATOR DOOR CLOSES]
[♪♪♪]