He was running out of patience. First he looked at the prisoner who was interfering with Mother Miranda's business, and then he remembered that now this woman was in his care. Spitting somewhere on the floor, Carl threw a knife at someone's portrait with the help of telekinesis, and then, hearing a noise, rolled his eyes. His "pet" was too, even too loud.

He cut through the air with his body and, opening the hatch, bent down. “Shut the fuck up,” the man shouted in his manly, low timbre. A minute to think. His eyes turned back to the girl who, in his opinion, was a tough nut to crack. “You're not bad,” he echoed, picking up a chair and sitting down on it. “Too much.”

The man chuckled, looking at her insolent face. “Lovely facial features. Well, you're a prisoner. Not the most elegant prospect,” Heisenberg mused.

“Killed Dimitrescu, that filthy whore,” Carl laughed, pursing his lips. “Also that water moron,” and again, he laughed. “Who's next on your list?