Chilton, possessing every intent to stab the Lizard into sedated submission, halted his immediate plan -- he was momentarily transfixed by what the other being had said. His veins pulsed with an excited brand of blood; this was not merely transmutational dissociative disorder, as Chilton had hypothesized, oh no. This was far more severe, this was a literal Jekyll and Hyde.

When Chilton had pulled that allusions, months ago, he had been speaking only allegorically, somewhat romanticizing Connors's dire situation. But the way that Connors -- or rather, the Lizard -- referred to himself, and talked about Connors, this was a much more extreme dissociative identity disorder than previously anticipated. It was not like Gideon's, which had been vague and only natal in conception, and Chilton had to spend years teasing it out and forming it, creating Gideon into something else.

Connors was already a finished masterpiece.

"Tell me more," he asked in that soft voice of his. His eyes were focused on the Lizard, and his tensed shoulders kept their positioning -- needle raised, but only defensively. Chilton observed how the Lizard, in his remarkable reptilian body, pained to speak. He observed how elegant every movement was, when coupled with those layers of scales. The sharpness of the claws, the sheer muscle inherent -- it was an astounding transformation.

He wanted to measure the self-insight this mindstate of Doctor Connors had. This alternative personality.

"Tell me how you're stronger than Connors."