The frustration bites into him, gnawing with blunt teeth; shared emotion that still threatens a jolt of surprise to sluice through his body. But it’s buffered by something of his own. Partly an understanding, his personal frustrations at being misplaced and changed. And partly the fact that his own emotions will meet Sniper’s halfway, an ingrained, determined sort of calm that will create an impasse when they collide — the blessed result of neither party being too overwhelmed by the other.

No time for it, anyway. The other is starting with a light jog, and Markus uses the opportunity to shake aside the sensation by kicking his own body into gear. He does well enough at first, of course; there’s a fluidity to him that belies the way he pointedly feels the jostle of leg bones when the heel of a running shoe strikes the pavement. Heart rate slowly ratcheting up to meet the increased activity.

Breath meant to be conversed for running, apparently to be used for conversation, now — but he doesn’t mind it. Markus keeps his view pressed ahead as he speaks.

“That depends on who you ask.”

Not much of an answer, but a few paces later and he provides more.

“City life. Big. Busy. Demanding — like this one, but a few centuries behind."