[Steve's gamble pays off: as he starts asking questions, Wilhelm's thrashing stills and he sags in Steve's grip. He's not so much a defused bomb as he is a dormant volcano. His hands curl into fists, fingernails picking at the fungus that he hardly notices sprouting from his palms.]

Accept...accept—

[The thing is, Wilhelm doesn't have the language to shape all the wild knowledge blooming somewhere beyond conscious thought, taking root in his marrow. He doesn't know how or why — he just knows it's true. He stumbles over his tongue, his panic quicker than his words.]

They chose us, the gods chose us...! But if you don't accept them... [He shakes his head, voice splintering apart to its core.] You're never getting out of here. So, you have to...

[There's a part of him, buried in there somewhere, that knows this has to sound insane. But there's nothing else to hang any hope on. If this is the way out, then he's grabbing it and not letting go.]