"What's the fucking point of being in the SEM if we don't fight for what we believe in?" Baz growls slowly, and quietly, the words eminating from a cold spot in his chest. "Cowards walk away, after all. Kill 'im, Halvorson. Kill the double-crossing bastard slowly!"<br/><br/>He turns his back on Feign, allowing him to see the blue square dyed onto his neck. The mark of someone who, in the eyes of his loved ones, friends, everyone he's ever cared about, hated, drank with, or even just met in the street, is already dead. One who does not fear death, but infact<span style="font-style: italic">seeks</span>it, a death in combat for an honourable cause, for what he believes in.<br/><br/>The mark of the Slayer Cult. The mark of someone who's written their own name in their Clan's Book of the Dead.<br/><br/>The same mark Mad wears, and the one that Sara wore.