"Yes. Other than your consciousness, what do you actually own? Huh? Tell me. What in this existence can you truly call yours?" 27 circled around 28 with cold, indifferent eyes, his gaze moving over him as though he were examining something that had already lost its value.
"You own nothing here. Not your body. Not your soul. Not your memories. All you possess is that miserable consciousness still clinging to the belief that you matter," he said coldly, staring at him as he watched 28 slowly lower his head.
His shoulders had begun to sink beneath the weight of everything he had just heard.
"I... I didn't ask for any of this, did I?" 28 said quietly. His voice carried no anger now, only the exhausted pain of someone who had run out of strength to defend himself.
27 said coldly, "No one is born knowing they were born... but everyone dies knowing they will die," as he continued circling around 28, looking him up and down as if he were sizing him up.
