[ Qubit scowls, hands on his hips. Absolution, excuses, rationalization, whatever you want to call it - it just figures his friend would jump straight to that where he's concerned. ]

Oh, all right, so we'll just - divvy it up, shall we? Work out what percentage of sins I can waive responsibility for? Do we divide by context before or after subtracting human lives? Don't be absurd, it doesn't work that way.

[ That day at the Grand Canyon, when he stole Bette's shot - "She's finally free," Cary had said. "She no longer has to carry the guilt of six million dead. You do." But as usual, Cary was wrong. He used to shuffle blame around like a money-laundering scheme, assigning ownership of it to (predictably) anyone but himself. Concepts like good and evil, honor, love - they were all just transactions to him, and fully transferable.

Bette never stopped carrying that weight. She was never free. ]