He remembers too much, and he still forgets - forgets that there is a limit to the tidal wave gray churned up in his guts, that there's an asymptote that can still be crossed. He'd forgotten that hatred could swell like bile in his throat and ignite his nerves in a burning hemorrhage of incandescent fury. His hands fall to his sides. His molars feel like they'll crack. The reflexive urge to draw his sidearm and discharge the entire clip with a vengeance robs his stance of even the controlled disdain he could exercise before.

He stares at the Director with a force that could liquefy lead.

"You have no idea what the Meta was. You don't get to pretend that you knew a damn thing about either of them when you couldn't even tell a damn thing about Carolina."