Lee wrinkled his nose, pulling away and putting a hand to his face. "Anyone else would have hit me. Even if they were close friends." He muttered. "But damn it, Dustin, I blame me. I did it. I did it because I was asked---told---to do it, I kill and torment and I don't even fucking feel, I don't feel a damn thing. I'm not supposed to feel anything. I rip the skin off people's bodies, I castrate them, I cut their fingers off and pull their teeth out and I'm not supposed to blink because that makes me weak. And I'm doing this... I'm doing it legally. To people I side with. I'm hurting the chances of the States to keep their freedom, I'm causing agony and I'm not even a criminal. And I killed those people above ground. Your peers will be here soon, in cells nearby, and they'll be here because I caused it. I called in their position and I watched them be brought in. Me. If no one else will blame me I'll do it myself."

He was obsessively scratching the wrap on his wrist that hid the tattoo. When he grew agitated it would itch incessantly, and he'd often leave the skin around the actual thing. "And I have to do all this to you too. And you don't even know why I hate it so much more..." He felt free to show some of his emotion around Dustin, at least. The waver in his voice would never be present in front of another prisoner, another guard, any of his supervisors or superiors.