Secure and protect, guard. He's done that before. That makes sense, that's familiar, and it's a relief. It's easier than killing, defense leaves no room for failure. His grip on the knife seems to loosen just a little, his shoulders seem to relax, but he's still a guarded machine. A barely-tamed animal, something distant. Someone other than the man he'd been a few hours ago.

"солдат будет подчиняться." He murmurs finally, accepting.

A second passes, a tense second of silence, and he has to ask, "What do you need?"