The metal fist connects but it doesn't satisfy.

The... copy, is still standing, still breathing, still existing as he subconsciously echoes the sneer. Identical down to everything but too long hair, more muscle and eyes darkened by so many sleepless nights in recent weeks.

"What are you?!" he spits, the indignation still roaring in his ears.

There's a dozen ways just off the top of his head to disarm and disable eliminate the man before him but he wants, no needs, to know.