[Flynn takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to come to grips with what, exactly, he feels about all this. The reality that he's been dead finally starts to creep up on him and he realizes that isn't what he wanted, not really. He was just at the end of his rope, humiliated, and angry when he dropped that grenade.
Then there was the matter with Lazarević. He'd happily danced to that man's tune for months on end, enduring no end of his violently melodramatic bullshit and hadn't gotten a payoff to show for it.
He hoped his end was painful.]
... Good. That son of a bitch had it coming, after all.
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Then there was the matter with Lazarević. He'd happily danced to that man's tune for months on end, enduring no end of his violently melodramatic bullshit and hadn't gotten a payoff to show for it.
He hoped his end was painful.]
... Good. That son of a bitch had it coming, after all.
[A pause.]
I s'pose it was our boy Drake who did the honors?