"A medic, you say? And look where you are now. You do not delay death - you inflict it onto others. You became a monster in the eyes of medics, medics who thought they could save the lives you took only to see a red line drawn across your victims' throats. But this entertains me. You wanted to change the world by saving lives. How did you end up deviating so greatly from such an objective? Answer quickly now, or Mr. Wilson will have to take the other hand." The faintest hint of a smile peaked at the corner of Lucien's mouth. Another part of him was coming out - something even he was scared of sometimes. But he could not feel his own demons rising, as he was blinded by toying with the girl.

[i]Wilson wrenched the blade free, wiping her own blood on her cheek, and holstering the knife, in turn pulling out his machete, twirling it in the air. [/i] I.... I joined the Foreign Legion as a soldier... I was trained to be a field medic. I was approached by Atlas through an emissary, the man said that Atlas wanted someone with my abilities, said that there was a better salary, a better everything, and with as devastated as my home was from the Third World War, I took the opportunity. [i]She spoke through clenched teeth, clearly in a great deal of pain. She looked between the two men, terrified.[/i]

[i]Another lost soul caught up in the war of another man. Desperation is a powerful force indeed.[/i] "So I am to understand that you joined up with Atlas in order to survive. I get that, at least. We do what we must in order to survive. No one's innocent I suppose. You're as much as a monster as we are now. Even if your means justified the end, those lives you took are all calling your name. And look where we are now." Lucien raised a hand towards Wilson, as if to say [i]don't do anything just yet.[/i] "I could leave you alone with Mr. Wilson if you wish..." he said, letting that sink in. "Or I could keep you company for a tad bit longer. Something tells me you would prefer the latter. That language of yours - Old French, I assume? A local village in my home spoke a bastardized version of it. Through some old linguistic documents and learning, I picked up on a simple term of identification." He leaned in close to her ear, as slowly as a lover would when embracing his newlywed bride. "Je suis le prophète du faux. La deuxième bête des révélations. Je me nourris de vos péchés. Remember that, miss. Remember my name. Remember it every time you stare into that abyss - because I will be watching. And if you believe in God? Pray that you do not sin once more while I watch."