"And my heart DOESN'T?"
His voice hung in the air, and he coughed to break the silence, his lungs ground to dust by his earlier screams of unbridled rage; all that followed, now, was the mistlike vapor of a voice unheard, a thousand words left unsaid. When he spoke once more, his voice was nary a whisper, let alone the angered bark he could once deliver. He absolved himself of sight once more, eyes closing to focus upon the nails which dug into his arm and the woman which dug into his mind. She wanted to study him like some sort of caged animal-- if she were complacent, she'd have forgone the manacles entirely and wouldn't have broken like she did. No, something had gotten to her. The name.
"For you to sit there… and lecture me… is telling enough of how utterly deluded you are, Fatima." His rasp returned, the weakness showing through in droves. There was no need to display any semblance of power, here-- she was scared enough by presence alone.
"I was prepared to sacrifice my life to save Sitri's. I was prepared to sacrifice my life securing your prison. I spend time away from the woman I care about to work for you, and I am willing to die for the people I protect."
Victor turned his head away. He could not bear to look upon her.
"But you? You're willing to let everyone die protecting you." Every second he spent gazing at her face was another moment he was reminded of the person he had left to come work here, and for what? To be collared and treated like some sort of rogue specimen? It was inhumane. Illegal, it had to be. When he left this place, he had to-- contact Sitri when she was stable, get in touch with Septimus, Hammerlock-- they couldn't just be complicit in this--
"You're an evil woman, Fatima, do you know that? No-- no, of course you do, because you're the worst kind of evil: the one which masquerades as good." He stared at her, now, the fury reigniting within his veins.
"You claim to be a martyr because you can't possibly justify your inner depravity, can you? Nobody else understands you. Nobody else is equal to you. Everyone else is a sycophant to be led, aren't they? And I-- well--"
A dry noise emanated from his throat. Another chuckle.
"I'm just what you hate, aren't I? It's... nagging at you, isn't it?"
Another wheeze. His eyes closed, again, and he adjusted himself within his bed.
"The fact that I refuse to deal with you on your terms. If I cannot interact within the little bubble you've made for yourself, this nice little net of security, then I can't be classified below you. I can't be controlled, like everyone else can. You-- you know how to read people, but not me. Your little abilities… don't work on me."
In a flash, his eyes snapped open, and he sat forward. Like a man possessed, he glared at her, hair falling over his gaze as if trying-- and failing-- to conceal the hatred trapped within.
"I am beyond you, Fatima. Do you understand that? Or shall you find that little nugget of wisdom within your mind after searching for the right thing to say? You are built upon disingenuous ground. Your entire existence is an amalgam of personality meant to satisfy all the followers under your thumb. You are nothing but a lie. Each part of you is manufactured, isn't it? Except fear. Oh, no, the fear I felt from you was real indeed, when I nearly put a bullet in your skull-- because that is all you are, in the end. That is why you do what you do."
He smiled, then. His teeth glinted in the fluorescent light, sharpened and hungry.
"You are afraid."