[He doesn't shy away from her nudging, but he huffs a breath out trough his nose. Sharp, like she's said something funny. It's not that he's having trouble taking her word for it—he got enough of a measure of her to be unsurprised by her tendency to want to help. She made herself out to be that kind of person from the start. But he knows better than to let himself be touched by the gesture—not just because trusting people past arm's length isn't something he does a lot of. She doesn't really know what it is she's offering.
He looks briefly up at the door, where the muffled whirring of the doctor's work continues. They've got a little time. (The air's taken on a stronger iron smell now that they're inside. For a moment, it makes him feel strangely sick. Claustrophobic. He rakes a hand through his hair and grinds his teeth and ignores it.)
Eventually—]
Here. [She's seen the data, this much isn't really anything she couldn't work out if she applied herself. Jason flips the file over to the scifi quivalent of an MRI. Two images, one blotted with gaping areas of nothing where the patient had suffered damage. The next, lit up in a way that is a little more typical, but spidered through with wiring.] Before and after. Like jumping a car. Or replacing the motherboard of your computer.
[Amazing, right? Kind of seems too good to be true. ]
Only there's a reason this kind of tech hasn't seen sanctioned use. [Messing with someone's head. Rebooting a spark that had been burned away. For better or for worse, that's a sketchy science in the first place. It's still not much of a why, not yet, but she doesn't need to know the personal parts. Answering the question without answering the question at all—] What happens if it starts going off book?
[Untested equipment stands risk of degrading over time. Or what if it was just flawed to start? Or, if you're the paranoid sort, flawed on purpose. Faulty synapses, broken bridges, whole parts of whole people irreparably damaged or lost or corrupted or rewritten. Cluttered with buried junk data or programming. Who the hell knows. After watching Old Town go half out of its head last week, he's painfully aware he's not going to able to be the most impartial witness of himself. That's why he's started digging for similar cases.]
no subject
He looks briefly up at the door, where the muffled whirring of the doctor's work continues. They've got a little time. (The air's taken on a stronger iron smell now that they're inside. For a moment, it makes him feel strangely sick. Claustrophobic. He rakes a hand through his hair and grinds his teeth and ignores it.)
Eventually—]
Here. [She's seen the data, this much isn't really anything she couldn't work out if she applied herself. Jason flips the file over to the scifi quivalent of an MRI. Two images, one blotted with gaping areas of nothing where the patient had suffered damage. The next, lit up in a way that is a little more typical, but spidered through with wiring.] Before and after. Like jumping a car. Or replacing the motherboard of your computer.
[Amazing, right? Kind of seems too good to be true. ]
Only there's a reason this kind of tech hasn't seen sanctioned use. [Messing with someone's head. Rebooting a spark that had been burned away. For better or for worse, that's a sketchy science in the first place. It's still not much of a why, not yet, but she doesn't need to know the personal parts. Answering the question without answering the question at all—] What happens if it starts going off book?
[Untested equipment stands risk of degrading over time. Or what if it was just flawed to start? Or, if you're the paranoid sort, flawed on purpose. Faulty synapses, broken bridges, whole parts of whole people irreparably damaged or lost or corrupted or rewritten. Cluttered with buried junk data or programming. Who the hell knows. After watching Old Town go half out of its head last week, he's painfully aware he's not going to able to be the most impartial witness of himself. That's why he's started digging for similar cases.]