[The video is set on one Cisco Ramon, looking rather worse for wear. He's scrolled back, skimmed things he's missed-- saw George's article-- he knows everything is out on the table already, but... but it's not the same when it's from a different source. When it's not straight from the horse's mouth. And... he owes them at least that much. More. So much more, but at the very least, that.
Iris had offered to interview him, give him the voice he didn't get to have when he wasn't here, but he refused. Not because he didn't appreciate the idea, the gesture, he did. And maybe he should have let her do it, because maybe she could put it all in better words than he can, it is her job, after all. But it's the sense of responsibility that he carries for what transpired and spiraled out of control because of his own, misplaced and selfish actions that makes him turn the offer down. He wants to do it, own it and let the cards fall where they may because of it. And it will be bad. He expects that much. Expects the hatred and the vitriol, yelling and condemnation, questions and criticisms. Nothing about this is something he wants to do, to deal with, but he has to. He knows he has to, it's entirely unavoidable.
This position isn't a completely foreign or unfamiliar one, it's one he's been in before. After the particle accelerator explosion. Science'd too hard, it went sideways, people were hurt. It's a pattern at this point, and he's learned his lesson now. But it's all too little, too late, because people have been hurt. People have been killed. That blood is on his hands, and it will never really come clean.
There's a flutter in his stomach and it isn't the nervous kind, but the violent kind, paired with a tightness like a vice grip that burns in his chest. He doesn't even know what to say, where to start. He clears his throat and he can barely look at the camera to address the invisible audience.]
For those of you...who don't know me, my name is Cisco Ramon. The... [His gaze drops, but it's brief, just long enough to collect himself before he looks at the camera again. Despite it, though, his voice is shaky, unsteady, thick with emotion--mostly guilt.]
Event, if you want to call it that, that we just had is the fault of no one but my own. Dr. Fitz...had his plans, but he didn't know my true intent. I sabotaged months of work and research for my own agenda. An...agenda that, ultimately, was never real, and only the work of fabrications from a mirror who manipulated me-- [He pauses and shakes his head, corrects the statement.]
no, who...I blindly trusted for months on a lie. A lie that...was so clever, and matched up so perfectly to something I'd been doubting for awhile, that I had no ch-- no reason
not to believe it, at the time. [He stares down at his hands, hanging loosely between his knees, where he's leaning forward just a little. He feels sick. Things he'd seen--blood, there had been so much--when his captors chose to show him the results of what he'd done, forced him to watch from the mirrors the chaos that ensued because of his own, selfish actions, are all too close to the front of his mind, but he pushes it all down. He can deal with it later.
Again, he looks back at his audience.]
My mistakes, my...emotional-driven choices led to catastrophic disaster and....for whatever it's worth, I take responsibility for that. I...I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it, I can't
fix it, but-- I'll do whatever it takes t- to make this right. Somehow. [Belatedly, as an afterthought:]
And I'm not...I'm not touching a project like this again. [Again, for whatever it's worth. He knows it doesn't change anything, it doesn't validate any of his actions, but he can't change the past-- ha, the irony of that-- he can only move forward in whatever miniscule increments he can manage. People will be angry, and they have the right to be, he won't begrudge them that. They should be angry. He risked them. All of them, for one person. For a lie. Nothing any of them could say is worse than what he's already thought to himself, and no one here can hate him more than he hates himself.]
I- I'm sorry. [A tear rolls down his cheek and he ducks his head, leaning forward to cut the feed off and it goes black.][Note: I'M SORRY, I COULDN'T WAIT, SO IT'S LIKE TINY BIT FWD-DATED! I'm an impatient child, I'm sorry. Plz feel free to threadjack, shitpost, defend him, rage at him, go wild, guys!]