People talk, Gaius. People the T-X can kill without a fucking shred of thought because they're inmates.

And say that metal bitch decides to wear their face into your cabin. For a look at your room just in fucking case that file is around. Your balls, Gaius, would be the least of your problems, then.

Your life isn't nothing. And neither is your death, which just might happen if that machine got a hold of you and wanted to interrogate you. Repeatedly. To multiple deaths. Fucking use your head, jackhole.

[God, if she'd been in his cabin, she would have slapped him upside the head.]