[There's certainly no doubt left in his mind that this is either the Commander or some... different version of her, somehow, in all of this mixed up mess. Her knowledge is too vast and her reaction too genuine to be that of a pretender. It's almost otherworldly, listening to her speak about it, like he's watching someone else's life unfold rather than being told his own history, but at the same time, it stirs up the memories he much rather would've forgotten. The anger and hate and Maker, the blood, the torn flesh and the taste of iron on his tongue --

It's all he can do to keep himself from vomiting or devolving into tears as well. There's a tremble in his arms just the same and he forces himself to sit down so his legs don't give out from under him.

He can't so much as look her, this stranger who's so painfully familiar, in the eye, even through the screen. His eyes close and his head gives a couple of slow shakes as he clutches desperately at any sense of stability inside him.]

No. It was... It is Justice. [Or maybe "was" would be more accurate. He swallows down bile and regret and more hate, again remembering blood, but fresher. Innocent blood.

His head shakes again.]

We wanted to help. To fix the Circle. But -- you must understand. It isn't his fault. There was something inside me, Commander, [The title slips, and he either doesn't notice or doesn't bother correcting himself] before he joined me, and it... hurt him. I hurt him.