Cid felt tired when he got back to his room, and he hadn't even been one of the damn rioters. Hell, he kinda wish he had, but then he wouldn't have had the leisure to flop down on his cot and... do nothing.
Shit, this place really was killing his brain cells. What the hell did they put in the food, engine oil? And speaking of engine oil, he wondered what the hell kind of transportation they used around here. Sure, there were buses from that field trip mentioned in the bulletins that he'd apparently slept through, but he doubted Head Doc traveled the country in a Greychocobo, and there must've been some kind of garage somewhere. Of course, there was also the question of how the hell an endless supply of chumps seemed to be constantly cycled through the Institute's halls, and though Cid already had a theory on that, he didn't want to think too hard about it.
See? His thoughts started rising up against him like some punk kid. You ain't getting dumber, you're just getting scareder.
Cid thought his brain had a pretty good sense of humor.
He glanced over at the empty cot on the other side of the room. The silver-haired guy who'd unsettled Cid for obvious reasons hadn't been brought in yet, but then again, he'd also been missing last night. The pilot wondered if it was too much to hope that he had the room to himself, and then he wondered what that would have meant for his ex-roomie.
Whatever. Cid leaned forward and grabbed his journal and a pen, sitting sidewise on the bed and leaning against the wall. He had a hard enough time worrying over his own ass.
M21
Shit, this place really was killing his brain cells. What the hell did they put in the food, engine oil? And speaking of engine oil, he wondered what the hell kind of transportation they used around here. Sure, there were buses from that field trip mentioned in the bulletins that he'd apparently slept through, but he doubted Head Doc traveled the country in a Greychocobo, and there must've been some kind of garage somewhere. Of course, there was also the question of how the hell an endless supply of chumps seemed to be constantly cycled through the Institute's halls, and though Cid already had a theory on that, he didn't want to think too hard about it.
See? His thoughts started rising up against him like some punk kid. You ain't getting dumber, you're just getting scareder.
Cid thought his brain had a pretty good sense of humor.
He glanced over at the empty cot on the other side of the room. The silver-haired guy who'd unsettled Cid for obvious reasons hadn't been brought in yet, but then again, he'd also been missing last night. The pilot wondered if it was too much to hope that he had the room to himself, and then he wondered what that would have meant for his ex-roomie.
Whatever. Cid leaned forward and grabbed his journal and a pen, sitting sidewise on the bed and leaning against the wall. He had a hard enough time worrying over his own ass.