...Nothing good, that's for sure. Like... here, give me a second.

[He looks around again before turning his back to the secunit and lifting his shirt slightly. Along his back are faint pink scars, reminiscent of wiring on a motherboard.]

These are from spinal stimulation when I didn't have proper posture. I've got stretch marks too, from the workout routine it put me on.

[He turns back to the 'man,' now counting off flaws on his fingers.]

It told me I was better off dead if I fought it on any subject. It hid information from me to make its stance more appealing. It wouldn't call me Rich even though I told it a hundred times that was my name. It could take control of my sense of sight or sound and block me off if I was being a shit.

Hmm, and... oh yeah, it fucking puppeted my body around to sell more SQUIPs to kids, and then tried to get me to mass dose my best friend's Halloween party. That a good enough rundown?

[He's being a little blunt, but he just needs to get this over with. The sooner this guy accepts that it's too serious to be worth getting into, the sooner Rich can stop picking at his old scars.]