Thousands of years beyond Hector's time, those words manage to mean something entirely different - tricking Liam into thinking they share a timeline, if very different worlds. Interesting, then, that Hector doesn't recognize him. Liam doesn't dwell on this - there was a certain kind of coward that buried their head in the sand and never once drew it out, in spite of the storm that brewed around them.

"Yes, that's what I mean," Liam answers flatly, entirely unsurprised. At the very least, he hadn't chosen the Federation - and he was in hell, now, for his apathy. He was beginning to believe that Hector was an average human; inherently individualistic, selfish, and wasteful, but not maliciously so. There were a variety of reasons why humans naturally fell short of superior moral life forms, and to find hell littered with them wouldn't shock him in the slightest.

Liam breaks from the conversation to walk to the table; picking up a knife with a flourish, spinning the handle between his fingers so the blade twists in the light. Then he switches his grip and offers it, handle-first, to Hector. "I can show you, then." He tries to lock his gaze, calm and emotionless. "That you don't have to fear pain."