Huh. I guess he gets it.

A faint rush of vindictive glee courses through his veins along with the pulse of adrenaline, and Krieg's head tilts back as he lets his breath out in a long, angry whoosh of sound.

"Taste the violence, feed the hunger," he murmurs, the cadence almost singsong. "Kill the ones who made us."

And only kill the deserving, the voice agrees.