The last stage of grief is acceptance. Acceptance is what Conner had felt in the last moments before succumbing to his murder — A macabre sense of peace he had never felt before had washed over him as his consciousness drifted away into nothingness.

But like everything else, Conner was never given a choice regarding his life. So why did he expect his death to be any different?

The aftermath of his resurrection at the hands of his best friend had been horrific to witness. His temper had gotten the best of him like it always did, and he had left Tim’s laboratory in ruin. Maybe he’ll apologize later. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll be trapped in this endless cycle of grief and anger he was forced to live in.

But as Conner heard soft footfall approaching him from behind, the white-hot licks of anger curled within him once more, burning everything, he was. “Do you think you’re that important?” he spat out with a cruelness he always knew he was capable of, eyes meeting the gaze of the thing Tim had created in his absence.

A simulacrum, just like him — A replacement, a pawn. His very own foil and parallel, a reminder that Conner’s very existence is a sin. But he’ll be damned to let the life he managed to carve out for himself be stolen away.

“You were created.” He’s screaming again, like a man possessed, slamming the fellow abomination into the wall with all his strength. “To fill a void that I left because I mattered. Nothing but a cheap substitute.”

He’s not exactly sure why he feels so threatened.

“You should be dead,” Conner decided, as the irrational fear of losing his individuality and identity overpowered him. Shaky fingers clenched around on either side of his successor’s throat as he started to squeeze.

All before he found himself releasing his grip. What was a copy like himself doing, trying to play God?

Come even dust, they wouldn’t be able to be distinguished.