“Oh, come on, Connor! I know you. I am you! Fuck man! I’m not real! I never have been. I am a part of you!” What the fuck are you talking about? I yell back. You’ve been my partner for twenty years, and you’re saying you’re not even real? You’re fucking crazy. “No, you’re fucking crazy,” he says and pushes a finger towards my nose. “You made me up twenty years ago to deal with the stress of killing that guy - the hair collector. You felt so torn between being right and wrong for what you did that you created me. Someone who is the exact opposite of you and has an ethical code of killing people
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