[The discomfort of the conversation — constantly read, constantly judged — ratchets up by measurable degrees, and the reasoning why (the one that Connor can obviously perceive, at least) soon becomes apparent. He pauses, trying to process that. What it means for human lives, human energy, to be turned into machines made for war. Objects to fall on swords and sheared by bullets for what he assumes is the sake of overwhelming the enemy by numbers.

For some reason, this doesn’t make sense to him.]

No, don’t.... don’t apologize, I suppose I’m just trying to wrap my mind around how this particular army has equated human lives as disposable as clockwork soldiers on the frontlines.

How is that morally sound?

[It isn’t.]