God, Howard's knight puts up a hell of a complaint. Howard reaches down an pinches his fingers over its head to muffle its whining.

"Well, if you're going to spin it that way, of course they'll get all ticked off at you."

He pulls his hand away from the downed knight, who pouts and stomps his fat little base at him.

Howard cringes a bit at the idea of hunting people for sport, suddenly reminded of Drake hunting the toddlers with his pack of animals, Drake peering down the barrel of a sniper rifle at a helpless five year-old, Drake screaming in the basement - and those are memories he'd rather push away as much as possible. He feels compelled to touch the long scar Drake left on his chest, but decides to tamp that urge down and pretend he's just focusing on the game.

"We had people with superpowers back home, but they just sort of happened. There wasn't any secret society or anything. Kids just ended up with them. But we didn't really have any society at all for a while, so I guess it makes sense that the first people to organize were lynch mobs and that bull."

He takes a pawn with his rook.