Souji doesn't know what he's supposed to do either. This was always so routine: stand back and watch someone let out their secrets and fears and worries, fight the monster, reassure the person. This isn't so simple. He knows his own secrets, his own short-comings; he's just never had to own up to them before.

He tilts his head, stretching his neck. Might as well dive right in.

"Take off the mask."

The Shadow's hand goes up, his fingertips brushing the mask. "Even when you're straightforward, it's calculated. There's nothing spontaneous about us."

Souji could argue, but knows there's no point. He waits in silence while his Shadow hesitates, and then takes the mask off, holding it cradled in his visible hand. The left side of his face and skull is gone, but it's not a gruesome wound so much as it's vacuous, the event horizon of a super dense black hole.

The wound continues down his neck and disappears under his clothes, though Souji's sure that that overly long sleeve is hiding a lot of nothing at all. Around the edges, his skin shows a network of fine cracks and the ragged edge wavers, as though his entire body is one cringe away from collapsing in on itself.

Souji says nothing. The others can make of this what they will.