[ He doesn't expect Danse to advocate for himself, not now. Because he's seen it before on someone else, that sinking, all-encompassing despair. He's seen where it ends, no matter how hard he tried, himself, to reach out and drag that someone back from the precipice. 

But when he does, it isn't an unwelcome surprise. Zack shoots him a look, again, first surprised, and then smiling. Earnest, certain. It feels like relief, like redemption for so many failures. He nods, a quick, decisive, approving gesture, and turns back to Maxson, expression hardening again but still void of the hateful cruelty in its would-be counterpart. ]

If turning the rest of the world into our enemy is how we survive, then maybe we don't deserve to. 

[ He doesn't waver, still calmly unafraid, and the voice he uses to command Maxson, now, is the same one he's used to lead countless troops into battle. Clear and firm but still painfully so that of an optimist. ]

Move aside and let us go. 

[ ...Seems like it's the wrong tone to use with this guy, though. That vein in his forehead looks like it's really going to burst, now, and Zack would almost find that funny, if he were the only source of the boiling-over outrage behind it. He reaches for that knife, and Zack reacts lightning-quick, catching his wrist in a stony grip before Maxson can so much as slice at him. He leans into the motion at the same time, darting forward and headbutting Maxson square in the center of his face. It's a staggering blow, but one Zack reels back from seemingly unaffected, before he shoves the other man with enough force to send him sprawling. 

It's only a fraction of what he could do - but he meant what he said. Nobody else is dying. ]

Come on. We're getting out of here.