[ He hears the skeleton fall apart; doesn't give a shit, because it's not the threat. It was never the threat. Amos is staring at the threat right now, John just standing there, smug and mocking and with full control over him. He strains his neck forwards towards him, snapping his teeth as though he's anywhere close enough to bite him. As if he has any means of attacking him right now.

For the record, you'll be fine means very little to a desperate mind — desperate to move again, to throw John into the wall, to claw his way out and take on Meridian singlehandedly if that's what it'll take to get the Oracle—

None of it is happening, and he's reduced to gritted teeth and angry glares. ]

You're here; you're a Zenite. You're a traitor. [ Because why else would John be harmonized to Zenith if not to fight for its goals? The idea of holding neutral ground here, in this conflict, is nonsensical to him. Either you fight or you get left behind, so he fights. ] We shouldn't be giving up. We're fighting for a new world. What, you want those assholes to claim the Oracles and waste them trying to bring back dead worlds? Shit that can't be brought back? Why are you helping them— [ his voice is strained, he can't feel his arms, can't feel his legs, it's starting to get to him— ] Why are you wasting everyone's time with this shit—

[ He can't even flex his hands. This is hell. His voice grows more desperate. ]

Fucking let me go—

[ So he can go after the Oracle, or so he doesn't completely lose his mind and fall back into himself? He wants the former. It might just have to be the latter. ]