The sentiments are sensible and familiar of course, but still his heart wavers. Nothing else can be done, though he dearly wishes otherwise. It's the cruelest of kindnesses. Eleven swallows and raises his sword again, arms shaking, and it's only that desperate wish not to inflict more pain than necessary that sees the deed done a second time.

But this time, as he endures the grisly extraction of his sword and watches the trickles of blood run, and strength flees his limbs. Doubts creep through his veins and twist his stomach. Eleven backs up and barely keeps hold of his weapon between nerveless fingers, paler than before.

"I can't.. I'll do worse with the others."