[ Survival is a word Parker understands well, in his own terms, regardless of what both him and Cathaway think. Survival was all he understood, in fact, for a while. Him, and everyone else in the world. Survival was the only way of pushing through the days. Then, that day made everything much worse. Impossible. He replays it every night in his mind while he traces the jagged scar across his belly from that day. The physical reminder of his barely-kept secret (even if it is a secret in his mind, at least from most people).

His words make him stop. Fingers tighter around the strap. He skirts the line between life and death twice a day. He already has to deal with that. He has already lost part of him because of that. He nearly lost himself completely more than once. He doesn't want to go through that again. Losing himself to some-- symbiote. Brood. A collective. No. He's been running from that ever since that day and he won't stop now.

He turns around to him. Feels like punching him in the face. Repeatedly. Wants to break the bones of his hands in violence. But that primal violence is just part of the virus eating away at his brain. He pushes back, barely, but the buzz is-- loud. ]

You don't know me. I don't care how many people you've met, how many you've lost, how long you've been around. [ And then, he punctuates every word: ] You don't know me. [ His jaw clenches. ] And get out of my head.