[ that tremble is what he has hoped for: some slight waver of confidence, something to keep the gun from getting too steady. the slightest tremor gives him room to maneuver, room to take another step forward. ]
Your team, Spencer— have they yet heard elaborate tales of underwater prisons and artificial intelligences, or is that simply our little secret? [ a slow, cruel smile.
he has no intent to go back to prison— any prison, be it the prison of the baron's unfaltering grasp or the dome beneath that foreign ocean. his life is his own, now— his own to reforge, and to sabotage, and to end as he sees fit. two out of three so far isn't too shabby. ]