"And I think you like to cut other people down because it makes you feel like a hero. Is there really such a difference?"

Rico keeps his voice low, angled, and sharp, like the boot knife he's itching to slide under his ribs. He can hold a tight leash over his anger, keep it simmering under the surface. There's a time and place for shouting, and this isn't it, not unless he wanted less time for this confrontation he'd been waiting for.

"It makes you feel big too, doesn't it?" he hisses. "I bet you felt like the biggest man alive when you popped those mercenary heads right off, even before you got your dumb squad killed. Not because you're bloodthirsty, or sadistic, but because you thought you were doing the right thing. Feeling moral that you were taking lives, can you believe that? That's worse in my eyes."

He settles back down to mockingly incredulous, tapping his stolen gun on his upper thigh. "You thought you could look somebody down the scope and sentence them to whatever charge you made up in your head was worthy of killing for. With all the bad judgement calls and mistakes that you've made - and believe me when I say we saw them all - you thought you were the best candidate to mete out justice."

This is what he hates the most. That Archangel is so self-righteous about everything he does, like somebody else he knows.