"Let him go." He doesn't blink. Doesn't show fear, because now there isn't any. He's all out of fear. "You can take me. You can do whatever the fuck you want to me. Just let him go."

He expects the thing to laugh, and he does - but with amusement only of the thinnest kind. No glee anymore. His dark self shakes his head, mouth twisted with disgust. "I don't fucking want you. I have spent a week trying to get through to you. This is what you are. The longer you run away from that, the worse it's gonna get. Don't you get it? I'm trying to help you, Mike. I'm on your side."

A quick spin and he flicks the knife around in his hand, holding it out handle-first. Mike stares dumbly at it.

That banked-down spark in him is starting to catch fire.

"So I'm giving you a choice. Call it a last-ditch attempt to clue you in. You can watch me kill him. And you know exactly how I'll do it. Or." He gestures with the knife. "You can kill him, and make it quick."

There's a moment where everything melts together. Time, memory, everything. Bodies in the jungle, blood-spattered tile, anguished faces, burning buildings, screaming ghosts, Neil bleeding in the dark, Sam's cries of pain, Tom twisting underneath him - his own face.

His own face.

The spark bursts into a fire, which burns hot.

"You're right," he breathes, as he slowly takes the knife.