Kratos Aurion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forsworn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2013-01-26 06:05 pm
forsworn) wrote in damned_institute2013-01-26 06:05 pm
Entry tags:
Night 68: M11-M20 Hallway
Kratos grimaced as Landel gave his usual little speech to begin the night. Having kept a close eye on the board, he hadn't failed to notice the influx of notes subtly telling of another death, another person that had succumbed despite all the advances they'd made in finding a cure. It was frustrating, and it hurt: he had contributed to that influx himself, killing Sora in self-defense the other night. Truth be told, he had been utterly useless the past two days, and unfortunately, he couldn't say that tonight would be the night where he'd turn things around--well, perhaps it would be, if he could actually accomplish what he wanted to do. That would be something to be satisfied about.
Neither of his old uniforms tonight; Kratos chose instead the old military gear left over from Aguilar's tenure, careful as he tugged one of the gloves on over his still-healing hand. Without the bulk of the Key Crest, it fit far more easily, but the victory meant nothing. At the very least, though, the long sleeves of the shirt and the glove served to hide the bandage from prying eyes.
He gave a slight nod to his roommate before turning to leave. Time to find Tsurugi.
[to here]
Neither of his old uniforms tonight; Kratos chose instead the old military gear left over from Aguilar's tenure, careful as he tugged one of the gloves on over his still-healing hand. Without the bulk of the Key Crest, it fit far more easily, but the victory meant nothing. At the very least, though, the long sleeves of the shirt and the glove served to hide the bandage from prying eyes.
He gave a slight nod to his roommate before turning to leave. Time to find Tsurugi.
[to here]
no subject
Murphy lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the dark ceiling even after the lights were out and he was alone in the darkness. The memories, the fake memories, were still there. He didn't believe them anymore but they were there anyway. Memories of his son. His teenage son. His wife. His family. In those memories they were as real as the clothes on his back. A son that had never died, a wife that never left...
And oh God, how he'd treated Gabe. The way he'd been cold, afraid...
Though now he had a hell of a lot of questions for the other guy regarding what he'd seen the night before.
He was slow in leaving his room. He didn't even know why he was, what he was doing. He just knew he hated these people, hated them for the invasion of his mind and heart and soul. He felt as though he had been raped, his most intimate wounds torn open and abused...
He felt the old rage burning. The stupid, blind rage. He needed to lash out. He needed to exorcise it. The ex-con took his desk chair - he idly wondered if they'd stop giving him one - and his flashlight and headed out.
There was bound to be something out there he could beat to an unrecognizable pulp.
[to here]