[Silco paused in his writing, watching Akechi on the bed, piecing things together now that he had enough information. How Akechi came about didn't matter, but the loyalty to the memory of a dead mother at the hands of the father - voluntary or involuntary - was the kind of tragedy familiar in the undercity as well. He was certain it was familiar in every place, in every time.]

And you wouldn't have been born. He's the calming hand smoothing out the ripples you create. I doubt murdering him will bring you peace, no more than my death did. [May as well play into the illusion a bit.]