damned_institute | Night 48: M91

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Night 48: M91 - M100 Hallway

Tonight, Tenzen had decided to explore beyond the institute's walls.

He had already attempted it on his very first night precisely one week prior, but the attempt had ended in a dramatic failure. During the course of the past week, his skepticism regarding these monsters had lessened greatly, and he had decided that weaponry were among the highest priorities especially with his skills as dampened as they were. His speed, his strength, his stamina...they all were a far cry of what he, Yakushiji Tenzen and one of the ten chosen Iga, had been capable of. Infuriating, but he had little choice but to adjust to the given circumstances.

Doyleton had already informed him that the head doctor's reach even extended beyond those walls, so any covered distance would be certainly lost by morning. Still, the ninja wished to know how far he could come. And perhaps there was something out there that was of interest that could help with tearing Martin Landel to pieces.

By the time the doors unlocked, Tenzen had long since finished his preparations and immediately headed outside without so much as a second glance to his roommate. They had not conversed the dinners prior, so there was hardly any sense in wasting time on such a trivial matter now.

[To here]

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Sho was looking through his closet when the doctor's voice came on. This time, he actually perked up and paid attention - this was, after all, the man he intended to take down, so he needed all the data he could get on him. So there was some kind of resistance fighting the doctor? Were Sho someone else, he might have considered adding his resources to theirs, but being who he was, his only thought was how he could manipulate this extra factor to his advantage.

Well, it wasn't possible with what little he knew about them. Returning to the task at hand, Sho went over his supplies. After last night, he was down to one oxygen tank - just in case anyone else he met deserved a good bombing - and one aerosol can - he must have lost it during the explosion. Luckily, he still had his lighter and the hand truck, even if it was looking a little worse for the wear.

Pulling on the jacket and tying on the shirt-bandanna, Sho armed himself with the remaining aerosol can and lighter in one pocket and his megaphone in the other. Grabbing his shovel and a roll of duct tape, he set off with his trusty hand truck - he heard there was a chemical storage upstairs and the storage closet was probably worth another visit. What things could he get his hands on to add to his art?

[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/844406.html?thread=67518582#t67518582)]

Edited 2010-03-25 08:05 (UTC)

[After Sync leaves.]

A stale odor brought Nigredo to consciousness, to the dulled points of pain lacing his neck and his fingers. Like habit, his mind moved to process the situation before allowing eyes to open; the cause, after all, might still be around. Another reveal would be another mistake, another set to another pile. He would do so well to lessen that.

Thankfully, Sync was nowhere to be found; no amount of stillness and quiet revealed his presence. With the confirmation, Nigredo attempted a shift-- If he could move to stand, the child would be in a very fortunate position. He could think and figure the matter out.

His shoulders nudged against the floor in preparation, and by accident, a broken digit scraped across metal. The resulting pain had Nigredo gasping on intake, the right hand reaching across to tear the offending object from the left's grasp. It freed after some effort, some twisting and patience, and in the process, he discovered a few significant details.

First, the item in question was a weapon, the all too familiar handgun used by standards and variants alike. Second, it had been in his closet the entire day, meaning another would have had to pilfer through his possessions to place it in his hand. And really, there could only be one individual to have accomplished this.

This, in turn, meant a plethora of others, most detrimental to even properly consider. Despite splintered digits and a dwindling sense, he pulled himself to his knees. He cradled the broken hand against himself while evening his breaths, and the child moved toward the closet. His intent was to take stock and determine damage; however, the smaller part of him simply wanted confirmation.

That Nigredo was good for only violence, whether received or given. That really, he never had any hope at all.

Edited 2010-03-26 06:59 (UTC)

[from here]

The hall was accurate, the room faded. He stepped carefully, thinking backwards, narrowing it within three doors. Even if he knew the exact one, what would be done? Would he fling open the door, knock quietly? How does one go about being concerned over one they have wronged? He paused there, swordtip resting on the floor beneath him. A breath, breathing, and he reached out slowly, walking forward as he did so, as one following a trail.

The sword was placed next to the frame, his head lowered to press against the door for a moment, hands on either side. His call came softly. {...Nigredo? Are you all right?}

Although scattered, his things were generally left alone. Sync likely found nothing to be of particular value, or maybe there existed no point in stealing from one's roommate. Nigredo should care for the reason--it could factor in at another time--but he didn't. Or didn't to the extent of analysis. U.R.T.V. cared little for possessions, cared less for being without, and Nigredo could not muster enough want to hate the violation.

Instead, he began piling things to one corner, shuffling clothes into stacks and objects to another. The shield they'd won from the Sphinx was looked at briefly before being thrown aside. His left hand had softened to numbness, a rising heat replacing the hard edges. It meant swelling, adjusting. He should really bring it down. Should go out and--

The call from the link circumvented any logic, and Nigredo froze, his heart at his throat. A sibling had come to his door without knowing; the part that didn't care wanted nothing more than to ignore all attempts at interaction. What would be the point of that when it was interaction in the first place which claimed the fault? Still, he rose and went to open the door, his injured hand now pressing against his back. The child was not surprised when greeted with white hair and violet eyes; the other only ever really cared as much as Nigredo did, after all.

He watched for a long minute before coughing. "I'm fine," stated Nigredo, sounding worse than he wanted. At this, he tried to clear his throat. "I was just sleeping."

Edited 2010-03-26 23:33 (UTC)

The door clicked open, and Albedo's hands dropped, gaze calm at his brother. The words scratched out hoarse, and he half-winced in reflex. Memory called to earlier, and he wondered why his sibling had chose words over a sending. Had he been that worse earlier that this was better? He couldn't know.

But it remained that lies were not to be taken, especially such obvious ones. "You were," he agreed. "But before that, you weren't." The calm the boy was projecting was patient, still. Albedo tilted his head, eyes dark in the hall. "What happened then?"

His left hand shifted further from Albedo's sight on reflex, and still, Nigredo remained unchanged. "Of course," he said quietly. "I fell asleep." Knocked unconscious, passed out--why did it matter? Terms were terms, and he was more than in the right to manipulate them as he saw fit. His unfortunate affairs were none of his brother's business, even if the elder claimed otherwise. Even if the younger couldn't clamp down simple fluctuations down the link.

And what brought on this sudden care? If not for the pain coursing through head and limbs, Nigredo might have noted the fact with relief. As it was, he felt only a minor annoyance, a vibrating pain. Why here? Why now? When he wanted nothing to do with anyone.

A darken haze took over his vision, causing Nigredo to slouch forward, eyes closed. And still, focus remained with Albedo, as if nothing had transpired. Nothing had, as far as he was concerned. "May I ask why you're here?"

The still countenance of his younger brother was known to provoke violence, and it in its entirety hadn't been seen as of late. There was something familiar about this meeting, but no frustration graced the white-haired Variant's features. He kept the calm, an almost stubborn method. In the slightest way, Albedo frowned. "If you lie about it, it's suspicious," he remarked. "It's better to just be outright."

The boy shrugged, as if they were talking about something lighter. Had they ever done that? Sat and talked about the day, the weather? The thought was so surreal that he almost laughed. Instead he raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by Nigredo's mien. "Checking on you, of course."

Here, again. That accusation seemed to quite like Nigredo, from the way it rooted itself to the viewpoints of others. All that remained was for Albedo to lose his temper and crack the younger's right hand. Or throw out a reprimand in the guise of a 'simple' observation. Like Nigredo had meant harm in a lie. Like it was the worst he could ever do.

He opened his eyes, taking in the other's calm with a blank face. It could go any way with this one; it would do well to consistent, then. "I'm glad you did," said Nigredo, who did not sound glad in the slightest. "Would you mind if I went back to bed, though? I don't feel very well."

What wasn't "well" flickered on the boy's expression--a memory, a duplicate of a time before. Still, without waiting for an affirmation, he stepped back to close the door.

The words were ignored in favor of action. Nigredo wasn't being truthful by any degree--Albedo would do well to look elsewhere for answers. When Nigredo stepped back, Albedo shifted forward--not moving to come in, but placing a foot next to the door-frame to disallow its shutting.

To mirror his brother's flash of remembrance, irritation slid forward, the slightest change in stance, movements and mannerisms. The boy's eyebrow twitched but he remained mostly the same. "Then tell me," he said lowly, "what happened."

A foot had slipped into the threshold, forcing Nigredo to pause and reconsider. Albedo was denying him, like the older boy had before. In the realization, something shifted, leaving the child in want of a consequence he knew would eventually come.

The door stayed and so did he, whose eyes cast downward as though to retrieve some semblance of sense. He blinked. "Nothing happened."

Patience was only so much, especially when one was newly realized and had a off-familiar churning inside in the same moment. The quiet denials of truth were grating; the simplistic refusal of emotion was becoming a bit more so. Albedo's eyes narrowed, his mouth thinned. What had happened, in the time before?

"Nigredo!" The one word was caught between a demand and a placation, and as if to complement this, he reached a hand for his brother's shoulder.

"Don't touch me!"

The reaction was instantaneous: he sprang back as if bitten, a hand curved back and reaching for an invisible weapon. Instead, Nigredo clutched against a sleeve, expression barely suppressing the sudden panic. What was once remembered now lay forgotten, and he shook for reasons too clear and too obscure to be entertained.

He heaved a breath, resulting in a series of painful coughs. For that moment, his line of thought broke apart, and the variant stepped further back into the room in hopes of gaining stability.

There was a moment of shock, hurt, anger--all mingled to break away and flow through him at Nigredo's accentuated reaction. Some part of him realized that his moves and motives were not enough to cause that in its entirety. Which gave more weight to something that Albedo was not pleased with.

At Nigredo's coughing fit, Albedo knocked the door open fully, the knob hitting the wall. With a closed expression, he marched over to the younger, and without knowing what to do, grabbed for one of Nigredo's wrists. What was going on? These reactions were... too much, and now.... "Tell me," he forced out between his teeth. {Tell me what happened.}

What chance Albedo might have had in obtaining a straight answer disappeared with snap of the wrist--the wrong wrist--and without meaning to, Nigredo screamed. To be drowned by another fit of coughing, choking, as the child pushed against his brother in an attempt to free himself. The effort came to nothing; his body found breathing properly to be more crucial. He slid helplessly to his knees, the one good hand grabbing at his chest.

Eventually, this subsided, leaving the child with raspy breaths and a hand that seemed ready to snap in half from the pressure applied. Yet, even with that reveal, Nigredo gave no answer.

There was a sharp snap in his mind, vaguely audible to his own ears. It echoed with the receding sounds of a scream ringing in his ears. The two noises overlapped--creating a fissure. Had Albedo ever heard Nigredo scream like this? No. No, never. Never in his life. Albedo was horrified. Here again his brother started coughing, kneeling on the ground in apparent pain. He became aware that he was still holding Nigredo's wrist, and his gaze shifted without thinking to stare at his own grip.

Eyes traced details in the dim; a compulsion. Fingers wrapped around flesh, an arm sagged, a hand at an odd angle, another set of fingers bending incorrectly. Albedo's head tilted as if to consider this--his own hand let go entirely; he stepped back.

Conclusions would find their own way. He wasn't slow by any means. Breaking a set of fingers had a point, purpose, be it boredom or something else, and not something he would attribute to Nigredo doing himself. His sibling had reached out, consciously or not, across the link during the evening. Locked in a room, there was only one other culprit. This was clear. The reasons why, the hows, were not. Nigredo was not someone that people took a disliking to without a severe reason. Even Albedo himself--

Had Rubedo felt the youngest call in need? And had Albedo's twin, cruel in heart as Albedo was in temperament, chosen to simply ignore; withhold a response and go about his night? Something hardened, something gave, and Albedo tensed, fists clenching on instinct. A moment, and then Albedo dropped to his knees to mirror the other, knuckles pressed into the floor. He stared at his own hands. Quieter, he started, voice odd. "Will you tell me why?"

Tell him why? After that? Really? Being taken as a fool touched on a rare temper, and Nigredo glared daggers at his elder. For once, he hated the very existence of his flesh and blood, for what he deemed as very good reasons. This one had taken it upon himself to appear no different from his assailant. Why couldn't he be more like the other and ignore his brother?

The damaged hand was taken in as he tried to stabilize, and he cradled the digits carefully against his chest. Ignoring the directed question, the boy rose to his feet, knees knocking against each other. Here, Nigredo walked the necessary paces to collapse on the mattress. There, he quieted, curling into himself. Albedo was seemingly forgotten.

For a minute, at least. The link fluttered as emotions crystallized into words, a half-hearted statement: {You can't fix what he broke.}

[...I lied.]

Albedo glanced up to see Nigredo's seething anger, something of a comfort and a shock at once. Nigredo was angry? The cause could be considered obvious, but for once Albedo wasn't truly at fault. The actions could have been circumvented if the younger would have spoken at the first question--extra pains could have been avoided.

The thought of one causing Nigredo pain created a severing of self and soul--the two places in himself shifting and again aligning to agree for different reasons that it was not to be done. No. Like love, hate, too, must only be shared with blood. In that way. None would be allowed--

Breathing was slow and practiced as Nigredo moved to get up and away. Albedo went back to staring at his knees, silence being still and sharp. When Nigredo did choose to share, Albedo started as if pierced. His eyes were wide, the emotion unknown. He. If Nigredo had wished to fuel the quiet behind Albedo's eyes, making mention of the assailant yet unnamed was the perfect way to go about it. Albedo's eyes trailed up, resting on Nigredo's curled form. Like an injured animal. Like a small child. He was reminded of the day Nigredo cried in the showers.

The boy slowly got up, pressing hands to knees before rising. There was the scuffle of material against the floor, and then again, silence. Albedo could respond in comfort, tell his sibling that he could try to ease the aches an experience like that would create, but Albedo knew enough about himself to know that he would fall short. True as well, he could not literally fix Nigredo. For all of Albedo's instant regeneration, it would useless where it was needed. The boy felt grotesque for a moment, disgusted at his own mockery of life, a parody of what was. It passed.

He patted his hands on his thighs, brushing them off. Voice even, he asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

The forced silence was a godsend, a clarity to a head overwhelmed by emotion. Nigredo's breathing grew easier, far less obtrusive compared to earlier intervals. He moved little, shifting only once to better watch the wall. If not for his condition, it was a prime position for sleep, like how he'd lied about doing so in the first place. Funny how that happened.

Albedo's question was again ignored until the very last. Had Nigredo wanted him to leave? Wasn't the answer given away only a few minutes prior? {Yes.}

This pressed like a wound, a thin sliver of metal sliding into his heart to puncture the muscle. The boy froze, pain crossing at the rejection, even as it had been expected. A hand, fisted, moved to press against his chest. Everything hurt.

But did he really want to stay here either? No, like this Nigredo would tell him nothing, and really, Albedo knew all he needed to know. The rest could be found out one way or the other, and then all would come full circle. But that would take some time, and at the moment, would do nothing to soothe the wretched burning in him, the flames of ill-directed anger. Hadn't he come here in peace? Hadn't he come possibly more, somewhat less? This couldn't be blamed on either of them in full. This involved another, like always, and that other had ruined things.

Still, Albedo remained quiet, still. A warning if any at all. "Okay," he said simply, easily. "But you have to stay and rest." The unsaid end of the sentence was that if Nigredo didn't, Albedo would have to stay and keep an eye on him. But that was not what the middle Variant wanted. Tension pulled him tight, a strung bow with a need to loosen, and nothing at the moment would have him directing it at his brother.

He was not so out of it to not appreciate the irony. Oh how things did change.

To be told "to stay and rest" rang as ridiculous in his ears, and the child internally sniffed at the prospect. The act would yield no benefit, would bring no immediate relief. Nigredo required medical attention, first and foremost. Then, rest. Then...

But what use was it to preach practicality? His brother sounded set in his views, and Nigredo... Nothing said he had to listen, now did it? He would deal with the matter in his own way.

"Fine."

Albedo raised his gaze to stare at Nigredo, wondering for a moment if his brother would keep to his word. There was no way besides staying beside him all night to know for sure, and as wanted as that would be another night, for this, right now... He could only trust his brother, the true liar of the three. He sighed.

There was nothing, and then his hand dropped to the small pockets in his pants. "Okay. I'll leave then." Five steps took him next to the bed, and with no hesitation, the boy lifted his hand out, carefully placing two things on the dresser. If one remembered, had recollection of the afternoon, the first paper, folded, was familiar. "What I want never matters." With it, was a childishly drawn sun reminiscent of one drawn before. Albedo glanced over to Nigredo, the slightest bit of hurt working its way into his expression.

The boy watched his brother. "Feel better, Nigredo." Useless words. Stupid, useless words. He stepped to the door, anger hardening in his chest. He wanted to say more. I'm sorry. I'll kill them. But nothing else came. He paused at the door, hand on the frame, then passed through.

[to here]

Facing the wall meant Nigredo was ignorant to Albedo's movements as it left the younger without awareness to current happenings. While this normally called for a more cautionary approach, he again couldn't bring himself to care. Confrontation aftermaths made for poor self-preservation, and with current temperament and circumstance, being bothered was difficult to achieve. Perhaps offering your back to an infected unit--no matter how dear--was begging for disaster. Perhaps that, in and of itself, was the point.

Still, the presence at his back was felt, every nerve sharpening to take in a waveform at close proximity. The child stilled, an odd tension winding against the base of his neck as a new pain completed the present set. In truth, he found the entire situation odd--his brother's compliance, odder. He vaguely wondered if Albedo was truly upset, if seeing the once despised baby injured and humiliated was somehow moving the elder to a selfless want. Outside the wrong choices, his actions reeked of care. And when had he gotten that way with the youngest? Not often in the past. More so in the present.

Where the realization came from, Nigredo didn't know. He couldn't recall when the patterns had started to shift. The hints at his very feet were beginning to make themselves known, and for once, he hesitated in his pride.

"Feel better, Nigredo."

The words held attention, but the variant refused to move. Refused to speak. Thus, the strong presence slowly ebbed to a softened glow, to that of another sleeping many halls away. Hours might have passed by the time Nigredo rose from the bed, but the reaction came as if it had been seconds. His right hand fisted into his shirt, a frustrated aura etching across the boy's face.

"You're impossible," he muttered angrily. "It's all your fault." For making him stay. For what would perhaps be a mistake in the long term. It had, however, been verbally promised. Going back on his word, especially after that statement, was so desirable that it was practically unwanted.

That made every bit of sense in his mind.

A broken hand made for poor sleep, and so the variant took to other tasks to fulfill the "stay and rest" requirement. He gathered pens from his desk drawer and a pillowcase from the bed. Thanks to a loose string and teeth, the latter was ripped into strips of varying quality. A rather unfortunate process, but Nigredo didn't particularly find room for complaint. As long as the matter was doable, coughs and stinging gums would be tolerated.

The nature of the breaks meant some manual adjustments in the fingers, but these, too, were taken in stride--so focused was this child on the task. Makeshift splints were then created from the pens, before he wrapped pieces of cloth around the area with his good hand and mouth. Before long, Nigredo had immobilized all five digits, in a way the instructors back in the other institute might have gloated about. He pursed his lips, the indifference once again filling the empty space with sarcasm. The first-aid lessons came in handy after all. To have thought they wouldn't hold any relevance to U.R.T.V.

Satisfied, Nigredo walked the length of M96, stopping occasionally to straighten his side of the room. Both radio and intercom crackled to life in sequence, but overall, the child simply filed the words to memory. The first, he had need for neither clues nor this mysterious "he". The second-- It proved to be too much of an oddity for the boy's interest.

But it did make him wonder if he had gone about their surroundings all wrong.

It could be said tonight's misadventure was expected to the careful observer. The signs had existed from the start, and really, Sync had spelled it out the night most everyone had acted strangely. Rather than taking the necessary precautions, however, what had Nigredo done? Became distracted with brothers and friends alike. This spoke too much of contentment, and the child had to concede he should have done otherwise.

Now seemed like a good time as any to begin.

After a pause, he reached again for his desk drawer. The notes he had saved from the bulletin or garnered from other patients were all ripped cleanly and tossed into the wastebasket. All but two. The hint regarding the presence of a father had a purpose which he had presently ignored. The napkin involved a deal he had momentarily forgotten. Both were placed in the folds of the boy's pocket, the intent for them to serve as reminders. Along with next dinner, tomorrow would prove to be a busy day.

As though prompted by the prospect, he climbed into the chair. There, he pulled up the handgun and the uneaten dinner tray, the first going to his lap. Nigredo then ate out of the second, the motions a kind of afterthought. Hunger was far from the variant's mind (the food was also stale to the point of sickness), but eating seemed to stave off actual thought.

And that, above others, was welcome.

Naruto woke up much as he had the night before - in the dark, in a "hospital" room.

But he didn't remember even coming back here! Or even talking to anyone. Hey, maybe he'd been dreaming? Man, he sure felt like he'd slept for-ev-er. He remembered running through the hallways, not sure where he was, or why he couldn't feel chakra, and...

And that perverted hermit was alive. That...wasn't possible. It had to be some kind of dream, didn't it? It was pretty crazy to think that it had all really happened. Maybe he'd just been hit on the head really hard, or he'd used up too much chakra, or...

But it felt the same as it did in that dream! There was hardly any chakra that he could even feel, and even Sage Mode didn't work. But he wasn't tired or worn out or hurt or anything! So what the hell was going on here!?

He sat up and racked his brain for a minute. What would Kakashi-sensei do? Kakashi-sensei was probably the smartest person Naruto knew. So he just had to think like him!

This is hard, he thought. Plus he was hungry. And he wondered why no one had come to see him in this stupid hospital. And he still had this stupid smiley-face t-shirt, and his clothes were missing.

What was he thinking about, again?

Oh! Right!

He had to get out of here!

[skipping ahead to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/839647.html?thread=67562463#t67562463)]

622 picked up his sword and glowrod, checking the bandages on his leg one more time before setting off. He didn't trust the thing not to come loose and cause problems at some point, so a little obsessing over the thing was really just a case of better safe than sorry.

After making sure the cloth was secured, he headed out into the dark hallways, cautious but sticking to routine. Just like any other patrol.

[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/840587.html?thread=67416203#t67416203)]

Tonight was going to be a little different for Rolo, as he got ready and left his room with things in tow. Tonight, he was going to find his brother and talk to him. As much as Rolo wished to leave correspondence on the board, he knew... certain people were watching, and didn't want to rouse too much suspicion. To be honest, he had problems other than just wanting to know exactly where he and Lelouch were at this point. Suzaku was missing, as Lelouch's repeated attempts to reach him on the bulletin board showed. It figured, as Suzaku already betrayed his brother once before. Rolo didn't doubt for a minute that his brother was betrayed again, hence why it was extremely important that he find his brother as soon as possible.

"Useless," The boy spat, though it wasn't sure if he was berating himself or Suzaku. The word rang in his head: Useless. Maybe that's how he felt he was at the moment, just running around and doing nothing. What the hell did he accomplish these last two nights, trying to appease his brother by wasting his time with other people? Rolo had tried to tell himself that his brother was busy, that other things had to call his attention away like back home, but Rolo couldn't ignore it anymore. He had to let Lelouch know that he was there, that he could help. That he existed, because it felt like his brother wasn't even aware that he was there.

... Just what was he doing wrong? Rolo sighed, trying to keep those heavy thoughts away and focus himself on the goal as he made his way down the hall.

[ to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/842092.html) ]

Edited 2010-03-31 05:03 (UTC)

Thankfully it seemed that the difficult parts of his day had been early on. Dealing with both Yue and Kurogane had been draining to say the least. Luckily, there wasn't a lot of time to sit and dwell on it.

He dressed quickly, long coat trailing behind him. While he hadn't made any specific plans, he kept a close eye on the bulletin board. Seemed like there were a few different routes he could take for the evening.

[[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/842092.html?thread=67688300#t67688300)]]

Allelujah had spent the evening asleep after he'd left Badou in the showers. He didn't feel much like thinking after that. He felt... tired. That was it, he felt tired. He slept through dinner, not even waking when Fai entered (and presumably left) the room. He stirred later, opening his eyes to almost total darkness. He groaned softly, cursing himself under his breath and banging his head against the pillow a few times. Damn it all. He was supposed to do things tonight.

He pushed himself to his feet, going about the business of arming himself. He half wanted to go back to sleep and wake up somewhere better, but he knew it didn't work that way. And beneath that was the niggling feeling that he should be feeling more. He should be screaming and raging and demanding that they return his lost comrades but... but he just felt empty, bland. As he always had. It wasn't that he was particularly good at hiding his emotions, he just tended not to feel very much particularly keenly.

Let me feel for you.

"Mmm, yes," he agreed lightly. "We'll head to the walls again."

It was time for a proper Dig. No doubt about it. For the last couple days, Teisel had started to get the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't...trying as hard as he should be. He'd never get out of here if he let himself get complacent.

He felt only a brief twinge of something approaching guilt at the thought of ditching Zex for what had to be the third or fourth night in a row, but quickly brushed it off. As much as he needed at least one ally, the stooge act got tiring. Besides, it wasn't like the guy had a hard time finding folks to travel with. In fact, he'd probably found a replacement bodyguard by now (and best of luck to whoever it was). Later, Teisel would probably be incredibly depressed by the thought, but for now he was in high spirits. A pirate is free, after all, and Teisel was going to make the most of that freedom before morning.

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Night 48: M91 - M100 Hallway

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M96

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