"I'm in here, under guard, because I asked to be. Because if Harvey can take control of me and make me kill one of the best friends I have on this ship, what the hell else might he try to make me do?" Crichton runs a hand through his disheveled hair in frustration.

"I don't know. I don't know what the hell to do except live the rest of my goddamned existence on this ship down here in a cell. Maybe you all start taking shifts shooting me at six a.m. every three days." This is something he has, seriously, considered.