I see you are as predictable in this world as you are in the other.

- What? - He's out of his mind.

It might appear that way. But Mr. Anderson and I know...

...that appearances can be deceiving.

Confused, Mr. Anderson? It'll all become clear in a moment.

Thank you for bringing me the gun. You can set it down there.

Don't do it.

- Shoot. Shoot now. - Yes, shoot. Fry us. Burn us alive.

Do it. If you don't, he'll kill us both.

Look at him. He knows he should do it, but he won't.

- He can't. - Do it.

Back away from the gun and turn around.

Let her go.

Somehow familiar, isn't it?

We've been here before, you and I, remember?

I do. I think of nothing else.

- Who are you? - Still don't recognize me?

I admit, it is difficult to even think encased in this rotting piece of meat.

The stink of it filling every breath, a suffocating cloud you can't escape.

Disgusting.

Look at how pathetically fragile it is. Nothing this weak is meant to survive.

- What do you want? - I want what you want.

Yes. That's it, Mr. Anderson.

Look past the flesh.

Look through the soft gelatin of these dull cow eyes and see your enemy.

- No. - Oh, yes, Mr. Anderson.

- It can't be. - There's nowhere I can't go.

There is nowhere I won't find you.

- It's impossible. - Not impossible.

Inevitable.

Goodbye, Mr. Anderson.

This is it. It's gotta be.

Oh, no.

I wish you could see yourself, Mr. Anderson.

Blind messiah.

You're a symbol for all of your kind, Mr. Anderson.

Helpless.

Pathetic.

Just waiting to be put out of your misery.

I can see you.

It's not over, Mr. Anderson.

It's not over.