I haven't felt any inclination to sing. So I guess--
[Isaac's trying to grab for a wrench; he misses twice, then knocks it off of his workbench.]
Fuck. I guess that means it's done, right?
[He grumbles, reaching down for the wrench. He stumbles, slamming the front of his helmet against the workbench.]
Son of a bitch! [He rubs the side of his
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