The Asset ignores the offer for as long as it takes to tear the Chair to pieces, and hurl some of those pieces across the room. Okay, maybe it's a little angry about all this. But when it's done, and the Chair is a wreck of twisted metal and torn leather and exposed wires, standing in the middle of the room breathing harder than it would like and feeling the tickle of smog in its throat, it holds out a hand for the air.

"We will find who is behind this," it promises after a couple hits of oxygen. "And stop it."