[37: Shadow] from the desk of Jack Ryan
[Jack--the Jack we're all accustomed to--has vacated his room, for the moment. Someone else has taken up residence. And use of the communicator. And just generally made himself comfortable.
He's seated at a desk, a bulky construction of glossy, dark wood. He wears Jack's face, but his hair is swept back unfamiliarly from his forehead, and he is wearing a well-tailored three-piece suit. His hands are spread in front of him, leaving dark smears across the desk's surface, the spaces under his nails clotted with what looks like blood.
The shadow-self isn't magically a good speaker--he's only working from what's already there, and Jack is taciturn and awkward--but he doesn't seem nervous about it. He's smiling, perfectly relaxed.]
I have something to say to everyone:
We're not impostors.
The only reason to kill us is so we don't kill you first. The "real" one is whoever has the guts to come out on top.
As far as I'm concerned, that's going to be me.
He's seated at a desk, a bulky construction of glossy, dark wood. He wears Jack's face, but his hair is swept back unfamiliarly from his forehead, and he is wearing a well-tailored three-piece suit. His hands are spread in front of him, leaving dark smears across the desk's surface, the spaces under his nails clotted with what looks like blood.
The shadow-self isn't magically a good speaker--he's only working from what's already there, and Jack is taciturn and awkward--but he doesn't seem nervous about it. He's smiling, perfectly relaxed.]
I have something to say to everyone:
We're not impostors.
The only reason to kill us is so we don't kill you first. The "real" one is whoever has the guts to come out on top.
As far as I'm concerned, that's going to be me.