[He doesn't respond for a moment- he's listening outside, trying to ensure that they're actually alone, that it would be safe to leave soon. He thinks that most of the danger has passed, but it's impossible to be sure, just like it's impossible to know how long this goes for, if it will end as usual, or if it's different now that Tucker is here. Rome frowns, reaching for his weapon again, compulsively ensuring that it's loaded.]

Yes.

[It's a simple answer to a simple question. The gun is loaded, like he remembers. He rearms it.]

Normally I'm- not an onlooker. When I dream about it.

[He's the one doing the killing, just like he remembers. He's the one doubting the necessity of it, just like he remembers. He's the one who doesn't let his softer side get in the way of the slaughter- just like he remembers. There's a certain visceral misery to replaying the same steps over and over again, unable to change it, unable to know if it could have been different in the first place. He followed orders. He did what he was told. Questioning whether or not he should have changed things is the precipice to a very frightening sort of cliff that Rome is nowhere close to being able to scale, so he accepts it, like he always does. Moves forward, like he always does.

Dreams about it, like he always does.

Rome's jaw is tense and he peers out onto the street again from behind the curtain.]

It usually ends when I find the girl. I don't think it will be long now.