It had been a long journey back to Verens. The ghosts wearing the faces of his regrets had followed him the entire way, growing, strengthening, waning with each little emotional blow. His strikes had been futile, the liquid stuck in his arm, the gunk wrapped around his sensors causing him to relive memories he didn't want to tell anyone.

He remembered seeing the news. He remembered trying to call. To find out. He remembered how angry he had been when the entire world had branded his Commander a traitor, how guilty he had felt, like if he'd stayed he would have been able to talk him out of whatever happened, or saved him and Jack both, or something.

But when he's dropped onto a couch, staring up at that barn-owl mask, he's almost exhausted. Staring flatly at the ghosts that keep following him as Reaper moves off to do god knows what.

"What, if I left, you'd probably just hunt me down again."