"Trombley," Nate says gently, "You have to be prepared for the possibility of a formal investigation in this shooting. You need to write it up." Wynn slaps his shoulder as they go: "Keep your head up."

Trombley asks Brad if it's going to turn out okay. "I mean, this 'investigation'? Brad tells him he'll be fine, but Trombley gets a look in his eye, talks slow, portentously, biting his lip. He's playing an angle, at the least. I can't tell what, because I think Trombley is creepy all the time, but maybe this time it's intentional: "No, I mean for you, Sergeant, since you gave the all orders." His tone changes, completely, in a split second; his entire posture changes. He's just a little boy. "I don't care about any of this, you know? I'll be out in a couple of years. But you... Sergeant, this is your career." Either way, Brad's not impressed. "I'll be fine," says the Iceman, and Trombley leaves with a creepy smile. And Ray and Brad, they take a good, long look at each other.

Later, Ray's keeping Walt company while he does something to something: "I don't want to sound like I'm defending Trombley or anything, but ... How come nobody remembers that they declared everybody hostile? I mean, they told us to shoot at everybody." Walt's like, Which was retarded, but think about this: "Trombley only shot two bursts maybe seven rounds. I mean, we're bumping down a dirt road, his targets are like 200 meters out and he hits exactly what the fuck he's shooting at? I mean fuck, man. The boy is a cold-on deadeye killer." And drink, because this is miles away Ray's worst acting for the entire episode, and it makes the non-Sixta eye twitch every time: "Yeah, no shit. That's 'cause he's a psycho. But at least he's our psycho." Oh, Ziggy. Why are you such an acting enigma? One minute you're Lydia Deetz, Veronica Sawyer, and the next you're Mina Harker. I cannot handle it. You are screwby.

Screwby means something awesome/Screwby means something awful. Screwby means success/failure, glory/futility, heroism/cruelty. (Captain America and my abiding passion for him, that's the opposite of screwby: something so terrible that you can't look away.) War is screwby; this is screwby. I don't smoke pot because I have a secret Espera buried deep inside me that has all kinds of theories that nobody wants to hear about. My little Pinko Poke. And he says this:

It is hard for me to reconcile the screwby of war because of men like Fick and Colbert: war -- pure war, the art of war, the state of war, the eternal and undying unfortunate truth and fact of war -- makes them beautiful. Or they make war beautiful. There is something glorious, and pure, in applying your strength solely so that other people can live. There is an innate need for strength and the war inside to prove itself: to protect, to serve by protecting. To love that way. I can't get away from the jargon and the worn out ... Okay, how about this?