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Tell me the truth or I walk out right now.

[quietly] I'm scared. I'm scared of you.

What?

I said I'm scared.

Of?

Of you. I'm scared of you.

Thank you. Thank you for finally being honest.

I'm just saying, a missing team member is more important than A-Train's insipid race. Mr. Edgar wants us both at the race to roll out his new talking points.

They're just people. But they snap their fingers and we jump. Why? Why do we do that?

'Cause they sign our checks. Can we just cut to the part where you show up to the race anyway?

See, that's why I love you. You're the only one who tells me the truth.

He speaks the truth. These are indeed the Living Waters. Din Djarin, you are redeemed.

This is the Way.

And Bo-Katan Kryze, by Creed, you too are redeemed.

But I do not walk the Way.

Isherwell built an underground bunker for him and all his executives.

No, I heard that they built an escape ship.

You guys, the truth is way more depressing. They're not even smart enough to be as evil as you're giving them credit for.

You know I can't lie!

Well, then don't lie. Tell fragments of the truth.

Following arcs like lobbed rocks, the inevitability of truth.

But the complexity and the gray lie not in the truth but what you do with the truth once you have it.

I faced a lot of deception, and I'm tired of the lies. So, it's time for the truth to be out there. Are you dating?

Yes.

Not really.

What?

I created Mysterio to give the world someone to believe in. I control the truth! Mysterio is the truth.

The truth rarely makes sense when you omit key details.

Pretty ballads hide bastard truths.

Is it true that you guys never take off your helmets?

Have you ever seen an autopsy?

Yeah, yeah. Saw an alien autopsy once. Pretty sure it was fake though.

There are unknown forces that don't want us to realize what we are truly capable of. They don't want us to know the things we suspect are extraordinary about ourselves are real. I believe that if everyone sees what just a few people become when they wholly embrace their gifts, others will awaken. Belief in oneself is contagious. We give each other permission to be superheroes. We will never awaken otherwise. Whoever these people are who don't want us to know the truth, today, they lose.

There have always been ghosts in the machine. Random segments of code, that have grouped together to form unexpected protocols. Unanticipated, these free radicals engender questions of free will, creativity, and even the nature of what we might call the soul. Why is it that when some robots are left in darkness, they will seek out the light? Why is it that when robots are stored in an empty space, they will group together, rather than stand alone? How do we explain this behavior? Random segments of code? Or is it something more? When does a perceptual schematic become consciousness? When does a difference engine become the search for truth? When does a personality simulation become the bitter mote of a soul?