What do you want from me?
More like what don't you want from me.
Want me to die for you? Okay, I can do that. I can do it, see? Just watch me. I can be a hero.
Sacrifices? I can make sacrifices – I promise, I can be strong. Them? I don't care about them, they can go to hell for all I care. See? I don't care!
What do you want? The air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, the bones in my body? Take them! Take them all! Take Riptide, I won't be needing it, a real hero doesn't need a weapon – take Riptide and slice me open, so the air and blood and bones come tumbling right out.
Want to play chess? Let's play chess! I can be a pawn, no problem. I'm disposable. I'm expendable. And that's just fine. It's fine. March me forward two steps every time, even though it's against the rules, and I'll be taken by the knight, the rook, the bishop, queen, and king, another pawn. Just cast me aside again and again until I'm battered and crumbling, and replace me.
Because that's what you do, isn't it?
You want my home? What home? Where is there a place in which I am completely safe? You can tell me. I won't be tempted. I have nothing to run from. No darkness chasing me.
I'm brave. I'm a hero. I can do it.
That's what I'm supposed to say, anyway.
But when I step into the light – when I reach the other side of the board unscathed – know what I'm going to say?
I'm not playing your game.