NARRATOR: Mall-One, hotel corridors...
KATHRYN: General, I'm told that a good therapist listens a lot, and coaxes patients into describing for themselves the particulars of their neuroses.
KATHRYN: That's not going to work here because you've poured three decades of concrete on top of your neuroses.
KATHRYN: Also, I'm not a good therapist.
GEN. TAGON: Fine. Bring it.
KATHRYN: Hmmkay.
KATHRYN: You and your son are both broken, and it's pretty much all your fault.
You told me he was too slow, didn't figure it out, didn't do what was needed. I'm sure you let him know that, too.
The truth is that you could have pulled an incendiary before stepping in, could have burnt up the assassin, the cloud, and your infected wife all in one go, but you didn't.
KATHRYN: You wanted somebody else to do it for you, but the only person around was your son, cut from the same loving cloth.
You couldn't firebomb your wife, but you expected your son to be able to firebomb his mother?
KATHRYN: Captain Kaff Tagon might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I bet he's figured this out.
He looks at you and sees an officer who was too afraid to do the deed, so he ordered somebody else to do it.
GEN. TAGON: Hmph.
You got at least one thing right.
KATHRYN: Really?
GEN. TAGON: You're not a good therapist.