[ Everything Silco was describing was so far away from what he'd experienced. If he hadn't heard any voice, he probably would've been none the wiser about anything going on. Everything had seemed normal — creepy, and lifeless, but normal — right up until he'd heard something telling him that he could help others— ]

Nothing about it was violent.

[ It slipped out of him, quiet and almost wistful, before Amos realized what he was saying. Everything had been so peaceful, like nothing he'd ever known before, and he had craved it. Even as it had reshaped his body. Even as it had made him weak, slow—

Amos involuntarily shivered, remembering the feeling of too many wings, too massive and heavy to do anything with, sprouting from his back. His grip on his glass tightened, and he threw the rest of it back before he did anything else stupid.

Nothing about it had been violent, but. Amos pushed the now-empty glass away from him, screwed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, violence being the only thing he could think about. It felt almost like coming home. ]

How do you kill a disembodied voice. [ It was a question, but barely, coming out flat and pissed. ] Give me something to fight and I'll beat it until it doesn't get back up. Can't do shit to a voice in my head.