It's his own damn fault. I'm all the things he can't do. If he'd just fucking do the things he had to do, it'd be fine. But no, he has to be mister high and mighty, mister the world is painful, mister I can't bear to hurt anyone. He's a fucking soldier and he won't act like it.

I guess I should be thankful, though. That lets me live. And lets me have my own fun.

[He starts working on the other eye, making sure to cut roughly. There's no point in doing this if there aren't screams.]