Chesshire's hands fly up to his temples and he makes a gasping, keening noise. He feels like he's been shot, or shocked, and he's utterly still for a good minute or so. When he looks back up he stares straight into the poor girl, and there's something very cold and clear about him now. His eyes are narrowed and the natural pupil is so constricted it's barely a pinprick, and he must've bumped his eye when he clutched his head because it's now a bright red. If one looked closely, they'd see circuits and wires moving, honing. This wasn't Chess at this point, and whoever it was now was picking Ness apart, reading every temperature, signal, and wave he could get.
"I believe he told you his boundaries, you tactless girl." He's almost hushed, and the calm in his voice is much like the careful silence of a lion about to strike. "Did you really think you were working for some company, with all the paperwork they had you sign? Did you even read it? You've signed your self over to something much bigger than you could possibly comprehend. This doesn't stop at cars and planes and big, shiny guns, oh no. They have their filthy fingers in the pockets of every politician who's even thought of war. Do you really, honestly think they'd have the grace to give the perfect test subject even the slightest sense of his own identity?"
He's slowly, easily, crushing a fork in his right hand, bending it around his fingers like clay. It takes no effort to do so, and he wants to make sure she knows exactly what he could be capable of.
