[ as connor speaks with his own voice, the roiling and sickly feeling in the pit of his abdomen begins to unfurl. some measure of control has been stolen back, now that he doesn't have to listen to that beloved ghost speak to him through the wrong pair of lips. he'd have gone readily to his demise, if it had been markus who asked it of him - but this is connor, the hunter, and everything is a ploy to usher him along, placid as livestock to the slaughter. ]

I said I would listen, [ he whispers, mouth still soft along connor's; they do not breathe, so he has no need to pull back. he does have need to move his hands, to apply pressure and flex his inferior system to draw murderous fingers away from his spine. he relents, briefly. lets connor's dangerous hands remain pressed along his spine, as simon remains pressed along the angle of the damned hound's hip. ] I know enough about you not to be drawn in too deeply. Markus wanted to show you another way, Connor.

[ markus was kind at heart; he gave everyone a chance, though only one. it had broken simon to know that the chance he had given connor was used, devoured, then lead to his demise. ]

That's the trick of it - the thing all these newborns never got to learn, so fresh-faced and bright-eyed they are: you're always yourself, in the end.

[ like simon, who calls himself a machine.

like connor, who chooses his paths. ]

Let me go.

[ his tone, flat and serene, promises connor only one opportunity to do so. ]