Whiskey: This is the endgame. This is where it all leads. You design someone to hate you so you can convince them to love you.
Topher: Hey, I could whip up a love slave anytime I want.
Whiskey: But that wouldn’t be a challenge, would it? Slaves are just slaves. But winning over your enemy- the one person guaranteed to hate everything you are - that’s real love. More real than anything in the world. And I understand it now. I love you.
Topher: You need a freakin’ treatment!
Whiskey: Why shouldn’t I love you? Aren’t you loveable? Aren’t you Big Brother? Aren’t you the Lord my God? Why should I fight your devine plan?
Topher: ‘Cause you’re better than that! Because you’re better than me. Dr. Saunders was dead, and Whiskey was out of service, at least temporarily. So DeWitt gave me the call. “We need a new doctor. One who’s committed to our cause, who’s kind and efficient and will look after our actives.”
Whiskey: So why didn’t you stop there?
Topher: Because I was designing a person, not a Roomba. I needed you to be whole. If you agreed with everything I said, then we would miss something and someone would get hurt.
Whiskey: You don’t care if people get hurt.
Topher: You don’t know me! That’s the contract. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Not fully, not ever. I made you question. I made you fight for your beliefs. I didn’t make you hate me… you chose to.
—-
Topher: You’re human.
Whiskey: Don’t flatter yourself.