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@hyperiontrxsh▐ █ MURDER HE WROTE // ACCEPTING
Finally, he savors it. Finally, he feels it.
Blood spatters hot across the face that isn’t his, dripping lines down the cheek soft from moisturizer and air-conditioning. No coarseness, no scars – flesh pale and new to the warmth seeping down his neck scarlet and bold. Some of it smears in his mouth, prompts his tongue to flick over his lip to catch the taste; coppery, thick, bitter and he misses the way it used to curl fresh along his tongue. This isn’t his tongue, isn’t his face, isn’t the clench of his fingers in the bandit’s blood-drenched collar. All of it borrowed– yeah, borrowed – and all the more reason to enjoy while it lasts.
But this skin doesn’t fit right. It’s just a suit, an ensemble, a mask to wear over the mask he already keeps firmly latched in place. Any excuse to live, however (to breathe, to smell, to feel), is reveled in to the very last drop. He’s got Rhys’ robotic hand clutching tight to the throat that no longer throbs hot with a pulse. His flesh hand holds a snatched rifle to the bandit’s head now half-gone in a splash of gore that stains his shirt wet with crimson. The smell of gunpowder is still a delicious smoke in the air whilst the sound of the shot still rings a pleasant hum in his ears.
He missed this. He missed this so much.
And that’s when he feels Rhys stirring again, the host roused and panicking for returned control. Jack doesn’t even mind this time. No, not when he’s gotten his palate wet with the taste he’ll be able to recall again and again in the cage of Rhys’ skull. And the look on his face is going to be priceless.
So Jack relinquishes the control stolen in the first place, shifting back into place in the backseat as Rhys’ limbs quiver with the pilot switch. The AI takes a moment, lets the sight sink in before his voice is a lazy drawl in his ear so smug, so pleased it’s practically cackled.
“Told you we’d make a good team, kiddo.”