"Of course the Industry was right," Pierce argued. "'They let me go, and they let Lacy go. Of coarse they control everything, and this was all meant to play out this way."
"I beg to differ, Ms. Pierce. You see, the Industry was obsessive-compulsive. They just wanted to get ahold of Jeff, and see what would happen if-"
"No, that cannot be. They just rounded up some everyday serial killers, to test their DNA against mine, and merge it. Then they would fight them to the death, and the survivor would be killed, so not information could be leaked out."
"Don't you see?! They messed up on you on purpose, they never cared about you! They wanted to have a tool for the wars, for the uprisings. And you escaped!"
"It cannot be so, for the explosions were on purpose. They let us out of our cages to go. They let me out of my trust so I could roam the streets safely. I am not a monster!"
"Ms. Pierce, I am afraid you are." Mr. Blinde answered. Mr. Blinde had been a rational man, a proper one, a fine young English man. A fine servant for the Industry. He had too much anger for his own good, however. He blamed his poor eyesight, and horrificly ironic name on the Industry, who had generously raised him since he had been eight months old, about the time I came to the Industry. I was searching for work, and they gave me that, with good pay. They said I had to give a few piercings for some terribly unfortunate people, and that they would be genetically tested for the greater good. Mr. Blinde worked on people's eyesight, which was another ironic statement, having a blind person work on your eyes and all. Shame I had to kill him.
