[And neither does he. He hasn't been able to really help anyone when he needs to most, he feels, not here. And here he is, snapping when he should be calm, lashing out when he should keep his head, and he tries to remember when it started, but knows its roots lie before Norfinbury. The last thing to break is his brokenness itself, it feels like...

He takes deep, shaking breaths, trying not to lose himself in awful memories that crowd the edges of his thoughts and make him feel claustrophobic in his own mind. He can't help anyone, not the remaining humans, not the twisted copies...all he can do is talk, and hope, and look for opportunities that never present themselves.]

No, I should apologize, I'm not...

[Another ragged breath.]

...I'm sorry.