[Some of us had far more potential than others, he says, and Octavian thinks, oh, he's going to give the speech anyway? Is he? No? He's almost surprised there isn't a whole speech, but perhaps looking upon one's own death from this angle is more of a distraction than not. It is, after all, Silco's first time.

Octavian almost envies the novelty. He has been here- well, sort of- so many times. Enough times that now he rises in his own corpse, a mangled thing, wringing more blood out of his hair as he looks at the floor.]

You measure the value of a human life against nothing and reward yourself with indignant rage when your hands come away empty. Potential is air. Legacy has weight. Neither make a death more than a thing that happened.

[He's interrupted by his own body pitching forward, and he grabs the back of a chair to keep himself from falling as he makes a wet sound and spits blood. God, maybe the corpse ride wasn't worth it after all. Maybe he's talking too much, but alas, death is a thing he has opinions on.]

I have been dead for a long time. It is a thing that happened to me. What does it reflect on me? Perhaps that I should have turned around sooner. Ducked.

[He straightens up... mostly. Ugh.] Your potential had nothing to do with this. It is not pathetic to die.