( He's good. In one piece. No longer... burning. Medium rare, no extra crisp. Most of his marbles stringing along, and hell, Raynor's talked to crazy, crazy's looked back at him from a mirror. He knows the likeness.

The man's eyes are clear, steady. No drugs. No alcohol. No stims. Maybe the appetite for a martyr's glory, but got no medic who'll heal you of human hubris. That's all in the soul.

And Raynor, well. He's slow, but waving back. God help them both. )

Something tells me, would be our loss to lose you. So make sure we don't.