Funny how some people you'd ask wouldn't even say they were even properly free. Still taking orders and designating handlers, still refusing a name, still not a person. The Soldier can't think of anything else to do but say, "Me, too." Which is true. Even if they're still not a person, it's better here. They'd never really wanted to be dead-- they're pretty sure, anyway-- but now that they are, it's not so bad.

(Maybe should've done that a long time ago. Maybe. Might not have brought us here at any other time. Not like we can change it, now. No.)

The light show seems to have stopped, though, so maybe that's all they need to say about it. Feeling steadier, if more sad, the Soldier pushes up to its feet. "Thanks for the cigarette, Rosinante. And the silence. It helped."