damned_institute | Day 41: Breakfast

Endrance turned his head to look at the intercom, giving it a look that would wither an entire rose garden in an instant. He would never get used to ending up in his room again from somewhere else in the Institute.

He brushed his bangs out of his eyes, not sitting up just yet. He could tell already that his torso had been heavily bandaged, even more so than it had been the night before. The cuts on his arms were covered with fresh bandages, and the one on his cheek seemed to no longer be there at all.

Endrance had been expecting to wake up in a lot of pain, but even that seemed numbed. "They must have given me something," he murmured quietly, as he slowly sat up.

At that moment, his nurse came to get him, pushing a wheelchair along with her. "Peyton, dear, good morning. I've come to take you to breakfast, so..." He shook his head. "I'm fine. There's no need for that...I can walk perfectly well."

She sighed. Well, if he insisted, she wasn't going to stop him. She motioned for an orderly to take the chair away, and walked him to the cafeteria. Once they had gotten there, she pointed him toward a seat, then set a full tray of pancakes covered with syrup, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of orange juice in front of him. "Now eat all of that, Peyton, or else you won't be strong enough to keep walking like that."

He glared at her back as she walked away, then stopped suddenly. There was that faint pulse he'd felt the night before...it was exactly the same.

And so he completely ignored his food in favor of staring at the cafeteria doors, looking at every patient that came in.

[thread will be closed to Haseo. ♥]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Allen added droid to the mental list of Akuma-like creatures he'd encountered at Landel's. There were so many now it was getting kind of ridiculous.

"I don't pretend to know why," Allen tried to explain, "I'm just telling you that's what they do. I don't even know what a processor is."

He sighed. Talking to this... droid was more difficult than he'd thought. "I think there's a lot of other reasons for going crazy in this place, but I guess that's one of them too." And why did he keep saying that Statement: stuff? Did he think Allen couldn't tell just from listening to what he was saying? It was all really strange.

"Statement: Well, I would never do so willingly." It was terrible enough to do it without his consent! He'd never do this just because it was an option.

"Definition: A processor is a component of a droid which executes programs. The meatbag equivalent would be the parts of the brain that oversee the glitchy, inaccurate function of the body and conscious thought." Honestly, it's just fundamentals! He wasn't being sarcastic about that, even!

Ugh, he was following it up with even more technical junk! How did he expect anyone to understand that? He didn't know anything about programs or why someone would want to execute them, but did that mean that there was something wrong with the way they tried to kill things? That... sort of made sense, so Allen nodded, even though he was far from understanding it.

"Well... I'm glad you wouldn't. I'm actually an Exorcist, so I'd hate to have to destroy you or something," he said awkwardly, between bites of his breakfast.

"Sorry I don't really know much about machines though. That's a little... um... advanced for me."

"Statement: If you ever change your mind, too tell me, meatbag. I would love to keep my schedule busy with as much exercise of my assassination protocols as possible," HK said, cheerfully. "It wouldn't do to let such skills go unused."

"Affirmative: That statement seems to be entirely true, from what I have seen so far." The meatbag certainly seemed to be attempting to latch onto the meaning of what he was saying but apparently missed every single time, no matter how many small words he tried to use.

It was hard to tell if HK-47 was being sarcastic or if he actually meant it. Did he really want Allen to try to destroy him?

"I um... I'll keep that in mind," he said, still appearing slightly confused. He downed a few more pancakes while thinking it over. Unless the man did something bad or started hurting other humans though, it really wouldn't benefit either of them to fight. Something he'd been trying to explain to Tyki before.

"Sorry. To me, almost everyone is from much further in the future. We had those machines, but that was only a very few people that could create them. We still don't have any flying machines or rockets yet."

"Statement: Good. I had fun shooting off a meatbag's toes last night, and then setting him and his companion on fire, but unfortunately, they have taken away my chassis again. Even though they did not allow me to kill anyone, it was still far more fun than I have had all week." And a week was a very, very long time for HK.

"Observation: Oh. One of the more prehistoric societies." He found it so odd to believe that organics could survive a day without droids there to support them and cull the stupid or easily targeted from their ranks.

"Unfortunately..." Allen repeated, brows drawn together worriedly. He shouldn't be so surprised to hear that the man enjoyed hurting people, but it still bothered him. "How could hurting people be fun? I would feel terrible..."

He didn't particularly like where the conversation was headed, but he kept most of his thoughts to himself for the time being, taking out a stack of pancakes in a matter of seconds. "I... well, we're not that old-fashioned. We have cars and trains and things like that."

"Statement: Even if I did not like killing and all the rest, I was still ordered to aggressively turn back all who attempted to pass through my designated guard area. Fortunately, I enjoy the aforementioned activities very much." As he had mentioned in this place several times already. He was eventually going to be reduced to every speech prefix being eliminated except for 'Repetition:'

"Statement: By galactic standards, you most certainly are that 'old-fashioned'. None of the major species have any direct records of the pre-spaceflight era." At least, not that he knew of. Those that did, therefore, didn't count.

"But it's wrong!" Allen insisted. "I know... I mean, if you couldn't help it, it's not your fault, but how could you enjoy something like that? It's awful!"

There were still a few items left on his tray, but he didn't have much stomach for them. He'd thought maybe this Akuma-like droid thing would have had some compassion, like Renji or Rukia, but in the end, it was just as bad as the Earl's puppets.

"Statement: Because I was created to carry out my functions as efficiently as possible. Who would want a sentimental assassin droid? Regardless, if I ever displayed any signs of developing pacifism," He very nearly shuddered as he said that word, "Then I would be recalibrated immediately. I have no desire for pacifism, or having such a bad mark on my blood-drenched record."

Pacifism was one of his greatest nightmares. If he ever had nightmares, of course. What would he do if he were pacifistic? Help meatbags? Feel compassion for them?! The concepts very nearly activated his body's gag reflex just thinking about that.

Droids then, were definitely closer to Akuma than shinigami were. As far as he could tell, they were exactly the same except for maybe the point where they didn't wear the skins of humans. But the mindless slaughter, that was where he took issue with it.

His hands balled into fists on his lap. He hated this place. Hated how weak he was here and how he'd completely lost any ability to perform his duties as an Exorcist. In his own world, he would've have even blinked at destroying a machine like this, but here, here he had to tolerate that kind of terrible bloodlust and complete disregard for life.

As it was, he had nothing he could say, nothing to reply with. HK-47 was the same as an Akuma to him and his only regret was being unable to keep him from hurting others anymore.

Day 41: Breakfast

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