"It's always been there. You run this clinic because people like me do your killing FOR YOU!"

Something shorts out in Vika's chest, and she recoils in pain, clutching at the plate. A step back, crunching the snow down to packed ice...

"We're just tools to them," she manages, her vocals mangled, volume up and down the full range. "Replacing a tool isn't murder as far as they're concerned. When they don't like the consequences of their actions they push a button and it's all gone. When they throw you out for a new one, remember that I told you so."