Cyrus, how did it feel being used by your mentor? In fact, how did all of you!? Moh stopped anyone from hearing the crime occurring or the ice bullet hitting the water by putting your heads in the clouds. Part of our agreement, of course. He was an unwitting accomplice this whole time.
Good heathers, you sure
gloat a lot for a buster with a dying scheme.
Cyrus, don't listen to him. He blundered and was completely seen through, so now he is trying to spin a yarn and make it look like this is all part of his masterplan. Let me put what
actually happened more plainly:
You--Lorenzo Lazarinus Letmegetoff de Latrinus, less acclaimed sequel to a deadbeat dead man--had a far more competent person and world-renowned somaticists cover for your crime flawlessly... and despite this overwhelming advantage, this
virtually guaranteed victory, you STILL somehow blew it and got caught?
Astounding! We are lucky there are so many scientists present, because you are plunging to
depths of failure hitherto undiscovered.
Like, for crying out loud! I used to live with a man who committed crimes with exploding whoopee-cushions, and you somehow make him look like a master of subtlety!
Let me make one thing clear. You and your late benefactor have hurt a lot of people who are dear to me.
Acedia Blumenthal and her
parents,
Enomoto,
Mr. Sholmes, and
everyone entrapped by the death games on the ships and the island.
It is for their sake that I will partake in bringing your
childish ambitions to an end today.
But do not be mistaken: This is not
revenge. I feel no burning hatred towards you, no grand rage born of justice or satisfaction in bringing about your demise. You are beneath all of that.
In truth, I am
perfectly calm; my facing you a rational, calculated decision. There is no poetry, or irony, or heroism to it. Dispatching you is a matter of convenience, like blowing ones nose, or walking a dog, or taking a more circuitous route when picking BB up from the pound.
We have, quite frankly, more important things to do. There are bills to pay, and running after you and wiping your butt for you doesn't come with a big enough salary to justify the hassle. Mr. Sholmes needs his rest so he can solve the mystery of the bacon-filled bugle next week. Now there's a puzzle worthy of his intellect.
But here I say you deserve no words, but then blather on without cause. So let me put it this way:
I was a
botanist by trade once, and still consider it a hobby of mine. Acting in this field of research comes with certain
obligations, particularly to the upkeep of this planet's flora.
If our
world were to be likened to a beautiful tree, then you two are one branch... a
malformed branch that inhibits its
growth.
As is my duty, I will cut you down and see it made healthy again.