"It's already happened here," Schuldig snapped back. "People have died here, even when they had friends from different times who remembered their surviving beyond the time they arrived here. I know both of us - all of Schwarz - are still alive well into the future Balinese is from, but that apparently means nothing here." He turned to glare at Crawford. "And knowing that somewhere I'll still be alive and wreaking havoc does nothing for me in here, Crawford. In here I'm still being trapped and tortured...but I suppose that since it doesn't affect anything, that doesn't matter. You could snap my neck right now and it wouldn't change anything; I'd still be alive in the future somehow, and I wouldn't remember it. So why don't you try it?"

For all his aggravation, Schuldig found himself relaxing at Crawford's hand on his, fingers curling idly around the older man's own. "I don't know," he said finally, wearily. "I'm tired. I probably haven't made up for the blood I lost yet. And what does doing anything here matter? No one else has ever accomplished anything, and even if I did..."

Somehow Crawford's reassurances had done anything but make him feel better. They'd simply underlined just how pointless an exercise all of this was.