But he wasn't a machine. He was bleeding. His mind was splitting—the terrified stoner and the cold assassin screaming over control.
Mike's eyes went white. His body locked up. For one terrible second, he was gone.
Phoebe came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her chin on his shoulder. American Ultra
Phoebe was sketching Mike's face when he got in the car. "You look like you just saw the ghost of a bad decision."
But Phoebe didn't let go. She held his face and screamed over the music: "You are Mike ! You are the guy who names the squirrels! You are the guy who burns toast and blames the toaster! You are mine ! Come back!" But he wasn't a machine
Lasseter smiled. "Too late. The program is being decommissioned. That means you, Asset. We've sent a cleanup crew. They're very good. But you… you were our best. So I'm giving you a choice. Come in quietly, and we'll make the end painless. Or activate the final protocol—the 'White Rabbit' sequence—and we'll see what you remember."
She put down the pen. "You're Mike. You have panic attacks about aluminum foil. You cried during the Paddington 2 trailer. Who else would you be?" Mike's eyes went white
"And if I refuse?"
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