[He doesn't move; his hands stay where they are, his posture that of a man defeated.]

You want to help.

[What an absurd statement. It's spoken with such sincerity he almost believes the sentiment for a moment. What's the point of him hearing this? If a hallucination—some inner part of himself attempting to cling to hope? It's a nearly laughable failure if that's the case. If an illusion—mocking him, he's sure. If neither—

Could it really be what all these strange sorts are trying to convince him it is?]

If you want to help—then prove to me this is only a simulation. I'd sooner be comforted by the idea of being a copy.

[At least then his plans would proceed as they should. His true self would remain to make sure the boy wouldn't wither away.

All of this is pointless, but—he has to believe in something.]