It all comes down to you, Repentful Spy. Ninety-six years of human suffering -- most of which you weren't even alive for -- it's time…

It all comes down to you, Repentful Spy. Ninety-six years of human suffering -- most of which you weren't even alive for -- it's time someone was held to account for it.

I should have internalised this earlier, that's on me.

Hush now. Just let it sink in... All the way in...

Not enough slots.

No. I've done some messed-up stuff, but I refuse to take on everything.

Well, someone has to. If not you, fucking... who knows how bad things will get?

H, you ever wonder who's really responsible for the End of History?

Is it, you know, the Superbloc and the Developed World, the power-people? Or do you think it's the regular people who never bother to read the fine print of their own existence?

It's the powers-that-be.

You really believe that, H? 'Cos from how you talk sometimes, it feels like you think it's you. All you, habibti.

You're the Repentful Spy. Always taking the burdens of this fucking... replicate half-world upon yourself. Eager for a little flagellation wherever you can get it.

Even the accusation that you overindulge in guilt provokes a little pang of guilt.

Ah, yeah, this is the stuff.

It is. This is that sweet, fermented tang of self-loathing.

It comes with a neurochemical kick, a kind of anti-high that sinks you into a delectable depression.

Hey, whose fault is it that the 'global Left' has utterly failed to present an alternative to the End of History?

My fault!

On the sidewalk just now: An old woman nearly tripped over a loose kerbstone.

I could've done something... instead I was here, thinking.

Alright, how about this one: the dissolution of your old crew, the loss of your friends?

Entering dangerous psychic territory, abort! Abort!

Stop. I don't want to think about this anymore.

Too late, H, fucking... you're here, thinking. Like it or not.

Whoa, whoa. That was all very complicated and multi-causal. Best not to leap to any definite conclusions.

That was the most me of all.

That heart-stab doesn't taste so sweet as the others.

Okay, that's definitely not my fault.

I would think the Party's, maybe?

Quit blame-shifting, H.

Maybe this is overstating things a bit.

If it were, you know, you wouldn't be going around taking responsibility for every random thing.

I'm sorry, the world deserves better, but there's only me. I also need to atone for that.

For everything, sounds like.

It's the people.

I feel like the answer is me for vague and grandiose reasons.

There we fucking go.