“I’m not signing your weirdo cult agreement.”
“That’s the scent of freedom, Misaki. Get used to it.” Welcome to the N.H.K. -Dub-
Satō stares at her. In the bad TV light, she looks like a ghost. Or an angel. He can’t tell the difference anymore. “I’m not signing your weirdo cult agreement
“This. This is their psychological warfare. Bad dubbing. They know I can’t turn it off. It’s like a car crash. A car crash where everyone sounds like they learned English from a cereal box.” Misaki. I’m conducting critical research.”
(voiced with that familiar, reedy exhaustion) sighs. He’s been staring at a blank document for six hours. The cursor blinks like a metronome counting down to nothing.
He takes the contract. He doesn’t sign it. He just holds it.
“Go away, Misaki. I’m conducting critical research.”