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Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakoff's daughter? Sao Paulo? The hospital fire? Barton told me everything. Your ledger is DRIPPING– it's gushing red– and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer. Pathetic... you pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will NEVER go away." I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear. And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!
