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He cannot hide from himself. He cannot hide himself from beneath his Horus eyes. The chip does not allow for it, does not dull the edges of his mistakes, does not allow the mists of time to obscure his sins. He knows himself, it is a fact, solid as a knife edge.
He need not examine his own heart so closely, it is true. No one demands that he go out of his way for it, dissecting his own faults, but he does all the same. Truth is his currency, and he is greedy with it, miserly, hoarding all he can. He will not afford himself the luxury of self deceit.
Simon Illyan is hidden, eyes in the shadows, enigmatic. He does not allow his thoughts to show. Truth is his currency, and he spends it sparingly, holds it close within his chest. But Simon Illyan is eyes in the dark, watching, piercing the hidden places. And before anything else, he sees himself.