You breathe without thinking, don’t you?

In, out… The simplest reflex.

A rhythm so natural – so effortless – that you never stop to question it.

Oxygen? It sustains you. It fills your lungs, fuels your blood, and powers your body without hesitation.

You trust it – depend on it – never considering what else it might feed.

But oxygen has no loyalty; it gives life as easily as it takes it away.

It keeps you alive before turning against you…

Before feeding the flames that burn everything to the ground.

You were your mother’s oxygen, weren’t you, James? From the moment you drew your first breath, she lived for you.

You were her world; her reason. The air in her lungs and the purpose behind every exhale.

In you, she found life.

But oxygen is a strange paradox, and when the fire came, it thrived on the very element that had once filled your mother’s lungs with love.

The more it consumed, the stronger it grew. The same air that once carried her laughter, whispered lullabies, and soothed your cries, became the force that stole her from you.

You were indeed in her oxygen, James, but it betrayed you both.

Now you breathe, but the grief is suffocating, is it not? It crushes your ribs, pressing down on them as you struggle to inhale.

And beneath that weight, something else smolders.

Something hotter; sharper.

The fire that took your mother that night was passed to you. It flickers in your chest, feeding on your sorrow, growing stronger with every breath you take.

You have let it grow. You have stoked it with anger, with loss – with the unrelenting need to make anybody pay for your shortcomings.

You hunt for answers – for justice – for truth. But justice was never truly what you desired, was it?

You don’t seek the truth; you seek retribution.

And so you burn.

As your mother once breathed for you, you now breathe for your mission. Every step towards vengeance is oxygen in your lungs, feeding the fire inside you. It flares with every decrypted file; every intercepted transmission.

Every name whispered through the ashes of your suffering.

But fire is insatiable. The more you feed it, the more it demands.

Just as oxygen once kept your mother alive before snatching her away, so too does your rage sustain you while destroying you from within.

The hunt has become your oxygen. Your fury, your fuel.

Every breath laced with vengeance.

But fire is never truly extinguished. It lingers – searching for something new to consume.

And when there is nothing left around it – no fuel to feed its hunger – it turns inward.

It devours the very thing that once sustained it, consuming its own core until there is nothing left but smoke and ruin.

You have spent so long fuelling the fire, James, you never stopped to notice it feeding on you in return.

Because in the end, fire always consumes what sustains it, and you, young man, will be no exception.

The same fire that made you will be the one to end you.

All it takes… is a spark.

And I shall be the one that ignites it.