[ There's a loud 'ding'; cheery despite the setting, as if in contrast. Silco's eyes flick upward, and his fingers tremble. Is he allowed to take this off? Surely there can be nothing else, right?

He tries to reach for his head, as if aiming to take the damned thing off. Does it work?

Still, he speaks. Even while the announcement filters through the speakers. ]

He did not. I got away. With barely my life, and...

[ And the eye. The injury. It hadn't looked like that at the time, of course, but he doesn't share that. ]

There is a lot more to the man than the lot of you know. [ A beat. ] We grew up together. [ He peels off the headpiece, still speaking. Reality crashes in. Real reality. There are no more visions. Nothing else to keep him here. ]

We were like brothers, but as far as I have ever known, siblings do not do that. How funny, that he plays this persona with the lot of you. He has always had a difficult time accepting the truth.

[ Pot, kettle, etc. ]