L had eaten as much of the spaghetti and garlic bread as he could stomach, then changed into his own white shirt before topping it with one of the smiling grey sweatshirts. When Landel's announcement came on, he sat, letting the cream soda lollipop that had come with his dinner dissolve in his mouth as he listened.
So Landel had grown tired of his own scheme, of the ways it was falling apart, of the numerous inroads Marc and Harrington had made, and was planning a last-ditch effort to push the rest of his plans through. It seemed like desperation. He had the manpower -- the kind of riots that had taken place in the past were unlikely now, for example -- but maybe not the compliance from his unwilling patients. Would that matter? "Become who we tell you you are, or become a ghost. You don't have any other choices."
I'm not going to play a part for you. But hadn't he already been, for a little over a month, all to avoid what seemed like something worse? Being defiant during the day had seemed like a foolish waste of time. Maybe now it would be necessary... they'd have to see how tonight went, and maybe the next few nights.
It might be nonstop resistance from here out, if Landel was indeed determined to purge the remainder of this group of patients in one way or another, and if L didn't want to live as Daniel Laurier. Who was, in his estimation, a rather pathetic figure -- not something he could have become in another life, if nudged this way and denied that opportunity. No, someone might want Laurier to exist out there... someone might even be paying very well for it... but he added nothing to the world, and L didn't want to exist in that kind of diminished capacity.
It didn't take him long to prepare to leave. His choices were same as they had been over the previous few nights, but given what had happened to Lana's ankle, it seemed like a good idea to change out the sneakers for the lightweight Institute-issue boots. The leather military boots might offer even better protection, but they were too stiff and heavy for him to wear comfortably. He couldn't see a point in wearing clothing that was more defensive if it would have the side effect of hampering his ability to move and fight.
He also took the time to replace the medical supplies that he'd used in wrapping Lana's ankle, then added a bit more. They were there to be used, and the third floor seemed more dangerous than elsewhere: he and Lana had been attacked each night there, attacks that had escalated each time. That meant that one of them could easily die tonight... but that was true any night. He couldn't do anything to decrease the chances of a fatal confrontation, not with the way their route was predetermined by others, but he could be sure that his bag was well-stocked again so that they could at least try to deal with any injuries, keep each other from bleeding out before dawn.
He had a few extra lollipops, so he pocketed them before leaving the room. Lana might want one. As for himself... God knew, if he was going to die tonight, it might make his last moments a little less bitter.
M6
So Landel had grown tired of his own scheme, of the ways it was falling apart, of the numerous inroads Marc and Harrington had made, and was planning a last-ditch effort to push the rest of his plans through. It seemed like desperation. He had the manpower -- the kind of riots that had taken place in the past were unlikely now, for example -- but maybe not the compliance from his unwilling patients. Would that matter? "Become who we tell you you are, or become a ghost. You don't have any other choices."
I'm not going to play a part for you. But hadn't he already been, for a little over a month, all to avoid what seemed like something worse? Being defiant during the day had seemed like a foolish waste of time. Maybe now it would be necessary... they'd have to see how tonight went, and maybe the next few nights.
It might be nonstop resistance from here out, if Landel was indeed determined to purge the remainder of this group of patients in one way or another, and if L didn't want to live as Daniel Laurier. Who was, in his estimation, a rather pathetic figure -- not something he could have become in another life, if nudged this way and denied that opportunity. No, someone might want Laurier to exist out there... someone might even be paying very well for it... but he added nothing to the world, and L didn't want to exist in that kind of diminished capacity.
It didn't take him long to prepare to leave. His choices were same as they had been over the previous few nights, but given what had happened to Lana's ankle, it seemed like a good idea to change out the sneakers for the lightweight Institute-issue boots. The leather military boots might offer even better protection, but they were too stiff and heavy for him to wear comfortably. He couldn't see a point in wearing clothing that was more defensive if it would have the side effect of hampering his ability to move and fight.
He also took the time to replace the medical supplies that he'd used in wrapping Lana's ankle, then added a bit more. They were there to be used, and the third floor seemed more dangerous than elsewhere: he and Lana had been attacked each night there, attacks that had escalated each time. That meant that one of them could easily die tonight... but that was true any night. He couldn't do anything to decrease the chances of a fatal confrontation, not with the way their route was predetermined by others, but he could be sure that his bag was well-stocked again so that they could at least try to deal with any injuries, keep each other from bleeding out before dawn.
He had a few extra lollipops, so he pocketed them before leaving the room. Lana might want one. As for himself... God knew, if he was going to die tonight, it might make his last moments a little less bitter.
[To here.]