[By the time they find 'Newton', he's in surprisingly decent shape, for a man who had tried to murder every member of the Ximilia (be it with a kaiju, a bomb, his own hand-). Other than the furrow of blood along one shoulder and the scrapes and bruises that pepper his hands and face, he's — they're doing quite well while others struggle to keep themselves alive.

This thought brings them great pleasure, of course.

There is, though, a dried line of blood from one nostril. A familiar ghost of a memory may pass Rhysand's mind of a time when Newton had stared up at him, terrified but hopeful. ... If I go crazy, can you kill me, too?

In their hands, they hold two things:

A dagger with blood on the blade.

And in the other, some kind of small rock. Rhysand may recognize it as a talisman from Sedorum, if he'd gotten familiarized with the work there; any kind of projectile won't work well for whoever comes after Newton.

A slight smile pulls at their lips.]

Because you're a nutjob who goes out for suicide pact tats instead of therapy sessions?

Yeah, I remember.

You know that was all a load of bullshit, right?