damned_institute | Day 52: Game Room

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Day 52: Game Room

Lunch had taken his mind from his worries, if only for a few minutes. But after the intercom sounded and the nurses began leading patients onto the next activity, one look at the bulletin board brought everything back in full force. No replies from Ashton, Dias or Dad. By now Claude felt like he was practically counting down until the end of the day, when he was going to have to finally grapple with the real possibility that most of his friends from before Landel's, as well as his own father, had fallen victim to the institute.

And now he was going to have to deal with his mother being here on top of that. It didn't seem like a coincidence that she'd show up right when his father's whereabouts were so up in the air. But what did it mean? Why couldn't Landel leave his family out of this?

Normally, the announcement about new video games would have made him perk up, but his eyebrows only knit together with concern as his nurse led him into the game room. That didn't seem to stop her from trying to get him to unwind, though.

"Oh, come now, Thomas, you've worn that expression for most of the day!" she told him with a frown. "Why don't you have a bit of fun now that your eyes are all better? I'm sure you could use it."

The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of his "sleep studies", he darkly thought to himself. But before he could protest, his nurse had sat him down in front of one of the television screens. There was an old gaming console, one Claude had never seen before, and he glanced at her with a confused expression. "Go on," she encouraged as she placed one of the controllers in his hands. "I know how much you enjoy these kinds of things. Someone will come play with you soon, too, I'm sure. Doesn't that sound nice?"

He didn't have time to answer her, because she'd soon bustled off to tend to some of the other patients. Claude watched her leave with a sigh. He realized the daytime staff meant well, which made knowing what they turned into at night even worse to think about. But now he was just being negative for the sake of it, wasn't he?

Taking in a small breath, he reached over to the console and turned it on. As long as he was waiting for some kind of answer from the bulletin, there probably wasn't much he could do except pass the time. Claude watched the title screen appear on the television, his expression growing more curious in spite of himself. Super Mario Bros....

[For Prussia!]

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She couldn't help but glare at Isaac, despite his helpfulness. She didn't like people telling her what to do, even if it was for the purpose of being helpful. But all the same, she snatched the controller and went back to playing, this time with significantly more success.

Since he upheld his end of the bargain, Elle decided it was time to do some work on her end. "What do you want to know about the institute?" She asked as casually as someone would ask about the weather, not taking her eyes away from the television screen.

Minato frowned, his patience literally fraying as he felt the nurse's hand on his shoulder and watched Aigis reaching out for him. He tried to step forward again, the grip on his shoulder becoming firmer as he reached out to Aigis. Why were they keeping them apart? Did these nurses think that he would hurt Aigis, or somehow make things worse? The only ones making the problem worse were the nurses, making Aigis more upset and drawing more attention to them.

If things went downhill from here, they might take Aigis away. Sedate her. Force her to deal with whatever she was feeling, alone.

He tried to move towards Aigis again, relieved that his nurse's grip had loosened. Freed and not being followed, he didn't hesitate to hurry over to Aigis, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand. For now, he didn't speak, instead allowing his eyes to do the talking for him. Concern, compassion, the desire to make her situation better -- to make her feel better.

He held her one hand in his two, squeezing it meaningfully. I'm here. I understand. Please don't cry.

"...Scar?" Ratigan coughed, slowly moving his hand back to his side when 'Scar' didn't shake it, "I...which nationality is that, if I may be so bold?" That certainly didn't sound English, which is what Ratigan had originally guessed based off of his companion's accent. Surely it had to be some sort of nickname or alias.

There was the obvious question as to why Scar would hide his real name, but also why he would try and hide the truth from someone he had just met with such a mysterious name. Why not just make one up? Then again, Ratigan had made his fair share of amateur mistakes when he was starting out. Perhaps Scar was just beginning his life of crime.

"Well, it looks like we shan't be playing a game together..." Ratigan sighed, resting his chin on his hand, "Unless, of course, you have some sort of game we could play. Perhaps a round of word association would be fun..."

"He is," Ema admitted, busying herself with writing her name at the top of her sheet. "Actually, the last thing I remember from back home is waiting for him to arrive in court--Mr. Wright called him as a witness. But he's been around the investigation this entire time." And no wonder; Mr. Marshall's brother had been Darke's final victim, sacrificing his own life to save Ema. If Lana's trial was truly connected to the Joe Darke killings, then he had every reason to be as involved as possible.

If Ema had been purely objective during the whole time she and Mr. Wright had been working together, she probably could have figured the connection out herself even without Lana's explicitly saying so. Only a strong sense of denial--it was supposed to be over--had kept her blind to that fact. A mistake of perception, most definitely, but not an unreasonable one. And it was one that she was going to correct the instant she got home.

The gentleness of Lana's tone took Ema by surprise. Lana was worried about her, even now. What was left to protect her from? Her own memories? The connection between her trial and Joe Darke? The truth? No, Ema didn't want to be shielded from any of it--she wanted to know. She deserved to know. "I said I was going with you and I meant it. Are you going to pick me up from my room before you meet the detective tonight?"

As a silent concession to Lana's desire to play the game and not dwell on the topic too much longer, Ema started gathering the dice into the plastic cup.

So there were a lot of similarities, after all. It was still too little to be sure that it was anything more than a coincidence, however.

"That's right," Rita replied. She wasn't sure how much she could say about the journey without sounding crazy, however. Most people wouldn't believe that she was from another world. How many would believe that she was just a day away from saving that world? It seemed prudent to be vague enough to sound believable. "We spent the better part of a year traveling all over the world. Another day, and we might have completed our goal... if I hadn't wound up here." The word here was spat out with contempt.

Rita's knowledge was going to be vital when it came to dealing with the Adephagos, which meant that her friends could only get so far without her. If she didn't return soon... then she wouldn't have a place to return to anymore.

"No, not much longer," was Izaya's response, leaving just how much longer up to interpretation. If Masaomi had been here a couple of nights already (assuming he was telling the truth in that), then they must have arrived around the same time—there was no way of telling who had been brought there first in that case, and so Izaya would happily assume the senior role.

How strange, though, that four involved in the conflict brewing in Ikebukuro were all here, brought together in so short a time—Izaya himself, then Kida, then Shizuo, then the courier... Izaya could have done without Shizuo's presence; he was a nuisance that would be hard for their jailors to keep under any kind of control, even if they had proved quite effective against him that morning.

He gave a short sigh. "If you've already been here for a little while, then I guess there's nothing I can tell you that you don't already know," he said. "Such a pity! ...But I'd be happy to offer advice all the same. My services are at your disposal whenever you need me."

It was partly a bluff: Izaya was not yet in a position where he could comfortably make conclusions and predictions like he could from his office in Shinjuku, but he didn't expect Masaomi to take him up on the offer, either. Not yet, at least. The other part was an offer for the future, a reminder of what Izaya could do for him when the need arose.

He watched Elle's more successful trek through the game with disinterest, frowning as he considered the things he didn't already know. Peter and his roommate had been fairly successful in explaining the gist of the facility itself and why he was there, but the whole situation was like being in a dimly lit room. He didn't think he'd ever see the whole picture.

"Is there any way out?" The first question slipped from his mind easily, and others followed. "Where are all the monsters during the day, and why is my door only unlocked at night?"

"I'd like to teach you. It's been awhile since I've gotten to play." As he said that, he started dealing out the tiles. It truly was a simplistic game in theory, but the tiles interacted in odd ways. Roads became a network, and one person could hold on to the entire network no matter what. Likewise, tiles with rivers formed a stream, forcing it to be completed- and undercutting other buildings. Chapels, walls, homes... there were a wide variety of tiles, and they all interacted in complex ways.

For now, however he was more focused on the girl with him. As he offered her stack of tiles, he smiled- controlled, due to his heritage, but still warm for him. "Ludwig. I wish we could have met under better circumstances."

She drew a tile with a reserved smile of her own: not precisely strong, given her day, but the sentiment underneath was genuine. "So do I."

Ludwig was an unmistakably German name. Was he from the AEU, or something like it? His Russian was flawless, but then everyone's was to her ears; she couldn't assume anything from that.

"Have you been here long, Ludwig?" she asked, hesitating over the tile. "I don't think I've seen you around much before."

Mello had been counting the translation going haywire, too, which hadn't affected him, but he could imagine the impact if he'd been traveling with someone who didn't speak any of the languages he did. That part of the interference, he was sure, was misdirection, an attempt to maintain the artificial drama of the alleged rebellion. The real focus--probably the true purpose of the entire place--was the fucking with people they did at night.

"Two monsters up there does strike me as overkill," he agreed. "Particularly when the Head Arsehole could make those doors go anywhere he wanted. I've got to think letting us believe we have a fighting chance is part of the game." He wondered, belatedly, if that were too paranoid, too indicative of his unwillingly shifted worldview. He should have been spinning it some other way: heavily guarded lets us know where the real priorities are, perhaps; but he was getting tired of having to constantly reframe things that way internally.

"Who was the other who'd run into leeches? Someone my age, or older?"

"If you'd like. I assume you're still in F28 with Agatha?" It had been much more convenient when they'd been two rooms apart, but it seemed some people weren't kept here very long. At least Ilia had been awake this morning. And perhaps during the day before; the previous day was uncomfortably vague.

"Oh, and that reminds me. My new roommate is a scientist -- some other time you should both come by and meet her. She seems quite accomplished." A little poise and that wasn't difficult to simulate, but Ilia had no obvious motive for lying. "She was wondering about the radios. If they could be made into walkie-talkies? I'm afraid I had to tell her that was out of my area of expertise."

If she got Ema started, she could probably carry on the conversation single-handedly; it wouldn't be the first time.

"Guy named Mason. About your age." He'd been touchy about the bandages, but if he'd really wanted to hide them he'd have stayed in his room.

"And letting us believe it sounds par for the course. Voyeuristic bastard. Couldn't he just run a rigged quiz show or something?" He'd thought the Rebel Alliance sideshow was just part of the script, but D.C. seemed pretty convinced. Then again, that just meant Marc was convinced. Loyal opposition, two-party system, everyone's really in it for themselves. Never trust anyone who wants power. They enjoyed it too much. Worked as a rule for S.T., since the closest thing he wanted to power was occasional control of the remote.

"Good turn." She figured encouraging the guy was better than cheering for the fact that it was her turn again, which was what she actually wanted to do. But Jo was trying out the whole civilized manners thing, something her mom would have paid good money to see. She had a feeling that if she didn't play nice, the game would be taken away and she'd be escorted over to do something else.

She focused on the screen once again as she played, rushing through the level without hopping on all the turtles and mushrooms. "So this place not only brings in people from all over, but from all different times too? That's good to know." Real great to know. Maybe her mom would be able to show up, after all.

The Doctor, for his part, hadn't exactly noticed the way Peter had shrunk back, though he did notice the look Peter had shot in his direction. What the look had meant, though... that was anybody's guess, and the Doctor was too concerned about what might or might not have happened to spend time trying to decode it.

...Particularly when Brainiac 5 confirmed that yes, it had happened.

The confirmation sent the Doctor to his feet, his expression grim. He took a few determined steps towards the door before deciding that no, he couldn't just go charging towards the nearest nurse and demanding to speak to Martin Landel. Not when Brainaic 5 was in the state he was, and not when the Doctor hadn't even known...

It was bad enough that Donna had been taken. For Brainiac 5 to have been taken too, and on the same night...?

He halted abruptly, pausing before tearing himself away to turn back towards Brainiac 5 and Peter in what must have looked like an awkward form of pacing. Brainiac 5 seemed like he was taking the whole procedure better than Donna had, but they'd obviously underwent different experiments... Brainiac 5, too, may have had some sense of detachment from his human form, but what that meant in the long term, or the psychological impact...

The Doctor sat down again, burying his face in his hands for a moment before slowly looking up, trying to decide what to say. "I'm sorry," he ended up saying haltingly. "I— I didn't know. I was in the hall where those who were experimented on are left last night, but I didn't... I didn't know you were there, too. I'm so sorry..."

Spock paused at the request to call him by his first name. It was not as though he had never called him Jim before, though typically it was not under these sorts of circumstances. Not for the first time, he thought back on the Kirk and Spock of the alternate reality, the pair he had witnessed the night he traveled to the Enterprise with Dr. McCoy. They, too, had been on a first-name basis, and it was not difficult to imagine that it carried over into their off hours as well.

But what he had seen that night was not relevant to here and now. Spock did not wish to imitate the lives of two individuals whose circumstances were completely different from their own. But when Kirk asked that he not use ranks for the duration of the shift, Spock didn't have any objections, and so, logically, there was no reason not to comply.

"Very well," he quietly answered. Though he did not return the captain's smile, if one looked closely they might have noticed the corner of his mouth was somewhat upturned. "Jim."

Hearing that he had experience in chess was interesting, though Spock was not yet sure how he would compare to his own ability. There was no doubt the captain was gifted in certain fields. When checking through his records back at the academy, he'd learned that, as a cadet, he'd been at the top of his class in both survival strategies and tactical analysis. And while he'd apparently served as treasurer for the xenolinguistics club, there was no mention of him being involved in chess-related extracurricular activities.

Regardless, Jim appeared quite confident in his own playing, which made Spock curious to see how their game would unfold. He considered the board for a moment before he reached for a pawn and made his first move.

While he was not opposed to conversing while they played, Spock hadn't expected a question about McCoy. He glanced up with Kirk with a faintly raised eyebrow. "I was not aware I was in need of a medical examination. Why does he wish to perform one?"

Mello hadn't heard that alias before, but he'd picked up enough about that game to recognize the name as one Matt would use. "Mm. I know that one." He didn't have to try to keep his tone flat.

He was warming to S.T., not to the point of actually liking him, but certainly enough to appreciate the kindred black sense of humor beneath the hippie-looking facade. "Presumably, changing the rules out from under us every other night is more entertaining."

The experiments were an exception again, in that they had no rules at all: no way to anticipate who would be taken, no pattern to what the victims were put through except the personalization. And no hope of reversal or reprisal, as far as Mello had been able to discover. People were so fucking close-mouthed about them. He couldn't blame them, but that was a built-in deterrent to investigation, and it needed subverting. "You've managed to get there at least once," he said, shoving aside his own reluctance to remember, mostly successfully. "Or more than once?" The barest hesitation, and he went on, "People don't want to talk about this shit. It's built in to the system, and I mean to change that."

"Yeah. I'm glad that Agatha's still around; people seem to leave this place pretty abruptly." Ema tapped the end of her pen against her cheek, furrowing her brow in thought. Why were some patients kept around for long periods and others quickly dismissed, anyway? It was something to look into some other time, when there weren't personal discoveries that didn't need to be addressed. Maybe she would ask Mr. Javert or Mr. Dent over the bulletin board tomorrow--they seemed like they would have good theories.

Lana finally succeeded in steering the topic away from their plans for the evening with talk of her roommate. Ema perked up a little despite herself. "A scientist? Did she say what kind?" She continued without waiting for Lana to answer her first question, thinking out loud. "Theoretically making a walkie-talkie is possible; most electronics that can receive a radio signal can transmit one if wired properly. The trick would be finding a frequency that's not monitored by Dr. Landel. I don't know much about radio frequencies, but I'm sure we can figure something out. Actually, Agatha's much better at constructing things than I am. Did I tell you that she's trying to make a taser out of my broken flashlight? When she really gets going, it's amazing..."

The conversational redirect worked just as Lana had expected. At this rate, Ema would probably need a gentle reminder to take her turn.

Better than he'd hoped. That was a nice phrase to hear, Peter had to admit. He was used to disappointing people, and that hadn't necessarily changed even when he'd had abilities. He'd been a hero to a few people here and there, but he had also been a nuisance to others, and to some extent, he realized that. It was in retrospect, but he knew he'd burdened some people and he knew that he had blood on his hands. To feel like he was being appreciated was nice, especially from a stranger who didn't feel obligated to stroke his ego.

"Yeah, this time period," Peter answered with a solid nod. He knew what he was doing. It really hadn't been that long since he'd graduated from his nursing program, so the knowledge was fresh enough that he wasn't too worried about screwing something up. His bigger concern was that he didn't have all the supplies that he needed.

But it seemed like Javert already had some idea of the good medicine to have on hand, and Peter looked somewhat impressed as the man rattled off a few familiar names. "Yeah, those and a few others. I think that anti-anxiety pills would also be good to keep on hand, just to calm people down after they've been through something traumatic." Maybe he could get up to the pharmacy tonight, if he could find someone else to go with. Peter considered asking Javert, but he also figured that the man was pretty busy with his own responsibilities.

"I wouldn't mind heading up there with you sometime," he offered. "Though I'm curious... what does Search and Rescue do on the nights when there aren't sleep studies?" Maybe those were just their nights off to go look into other areas of interest.

Oh, that question. Elle had been over it in detail with Jo earlier today, and bringing it up for the second time was a little annoying. But Isaac couldn't know that, and she did want him to like her despite her childish tantrums, so she sucked it up and tried to remain civil.

"If anyone knew a way out, do you think they'd still be here?" She tried to keep her tone low, eyes still transfixed on the screen. "I don't know. Nobody knows. I've never even seen a monster, and I don't know why the doors are unlocked at night, either. Maybe it's somebody trying to help us." She doubted it was the result of shitty security or a purposeful kindness, that was for sure.

Glad to see that Gavin was just as quick to hand over his own journal, Harvey took it carefully and opened it to the page marked by the pen. What he saw was a detailed chart full of information, but he didn't start reading it over until he listened to the other prosecutor's information. Harvey had to admit that the man's idea had been pretty ingenious, though the fact that the patients were shuffled around so much also made it almost impossible to keep track of everything. Unless a post was put up every day and people actually bothered to respond to it, there was no way to keep a complete and up-to-date ledger of the patients who were around at any given time.

Still, it was a good starting point, and this would still clue him in to the sort of patients who had been around at the time when Gavin had performed the study, two weeks ago. "Yeah, it'll be of use, thank you," he said with a nod. "And even if it's only a small sampling, it's worth something." It was better than nothing, that was for sure. There was a chance some of the information written down neatly onto the pages was also false, but...

Leaving Klavier to look over his own data (which would probably take much less time), Harvey quickly scanned the chart. He was a little taken aback by how many of the locations were places he'd never heard of (how mental were these people?), and he wasn't even going to touch some of ridiculous ages that he saw listed, but his main concern was the column for "Profession." There were a lot of military people, a lot of students (which made sense when considering the general age range of the patients), and a number of other terms which cropped up that he didn't even know the meaning of. Which wasn't helpful, but it probably also wasn't applicable.

Still, one of the most common professions still seemed to be law enforcement. Harvey couldn't explain why Landel would bring in the people who had the best chance of getting away from him (soldiers, detectives, and attorneys), but he also couldn't explain why there were so many kids running around.

"So, what were the ultimate conclusions that you made from this?" he asked. He didn't really have the time to study it in detail, and copying it over would take too long to be worth it, especially for information that was no longer relevant. "It's very impressive, by the way." Because Harvey wasn't above giving credit where credit was due.

It was no surprise that Ishida didn't know much about what happened to patients when they left this place. A lot of people didn't figure it out until visitor day came around, and Sora was pretty sure that Ishida was newer than that. He hated having to bring it up, but since the other boy had mentioned it, he might as well deliver the news. "Usually, if people disappear, it means they've been brainwashed and sent out into the world here to live a life that isn't theirs." Sora had gotten a taste of what that was like, and it had been frightening. "Sometimes they'll come back on visitor day, which is Sunday." They still had a few more days to endure before they were back to that point again, though.

But when Ishida moved on to ask about the size of the building, Sora did feel a little embarrassed. It was true; he should have known the whole place like the back of his hand by now, and yet it wasn't that easy. "It's not that big, really, but there are a lot of locked doors, and it can be hard to get around at night." Because of those monsters, but he'd get to that later. "And there's also a whole area around the institute that still needs to be explored better, plus the basement..." With all of those things adding up, it wasn't such a shock that he hadn't seen it all yet, right? He hoped that was the case.

And now, for the monsters. That was a simple enough question to answer, although it did get more complex when he considered the Keyblade. That was something that it was best to leave for a skeptic to see for themselves, though. "Oh, we fight them off. I'm going to try and put non-fighters with fighters to make sure that no one is wandering around without a way to protect themselves, though." If someone got seriously injured -- or even killed -- on his watch, Sora would never forgive himself.

He supposed he should have made it clear that death was very possible here, but he figured Ishida had worked that out on his own.

"Which are you, Ishida? Can you fight? I know a lot of powers are limited here, but any little thing counts!" He didn't want to put the other boy on the spot, but it was something that he needed to know if Ishida was planning to join the club. Which wasn't for sure yet, but all of the questions seemed like a good sign.

Likewise, Ludwig heard her speaking in very good German, which was starting to bother him to no end. They couldn't possibly be all German, and yet it seemed so clear that they were. Modern German, no less- colloquial turns of phrase, things Ludwig wouldn't be surprised to hear in Berlin. It was so normal it was almost uncanny, and he certainly had to fight to keep it from bothering him.

"I've been here for a few days now. I assume that you've been here for longer than that?" A pause, then he spoke up. After all, he did want Soma to enjoy the game as well, and mixing the two was not necessarily a problem. "That's a field tile. Relatively low value, but any other tile can be put next to it."

"Hey, whoa-" Peter joined the Doctor as he sprung to his feet and reached out for the man's shoulder. Fortunately, interference was unnecessary. Though the guy had looked like he was going to barrel down the nearest nurse, he'd stopped himself short and switched to pacing instead. Peter watched him for a moment, unsure of what else to do but to slowly sink back into his own chair.

Man, this was probably the cherry on the suck pie that was the Doctor's day. He was getting nearly as worked up as Peter had - maybe equally so. The two must have been closer than Peter thought, in spite of their disparity in years.

He exchanged a meaningful look with Brainy. If it were Mary Jane he'd put an arm around her and pull her close. If it was Harry, he'd try to pat him on the shoulder. Neither action seemed appropriate with Brainy. They were close, but it was...a strange closeness. As much as he liked the other boy, they still hadn't even known one another for a full two weeks. Not your standard buddy-system, there. Plus the other boy had made it pretty clear in the past that he wasn't big on human contact; particularly not when injured (which was totally understandable and kind of a given). As much as he wanted to respect that it left him at somewhat of a loss for what he should do. He guessed he would have to settle for sending positive happy vibes towards him with the magnificent powers of his brain.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if the world worked that way?

After some more pacing, the Doctor dropped back into his seat and began to speak again. Peter felt a prickle go down his spine. He was there.

Had he seen? Had he seen him and Grell - no, he would have noticed. He would have seen him even in that state, and when they'd broken through to the next room over there was no one in the hall. And the Doctor had scarcely reacted when Peter had sat down beside him. How had the two missed each other, then?

And why was he up there in the first place?

"Hey, it's not really...It's not something you can blame yourself for. All right? You couldn't have known unless you're in the room when it's happening, and even then it's not something we can control." Yes Brainy, I know this makes me a hypocrite, shut up. Peter meant what he said though. The reality of it might not have sunk in just yet, but he recognized it was the truth. And in all honesty, the Doctor was the last person who should be blaming himself. "The most we can do now is pick ourselves up and keep going forward. Know better for next time..."

Oh god, he was terrible at this morale boosting thing. He might as well have been reading off a cue card. Peter drifted into silence, short of words and heavy-hearted. He could have asked the Doctor what he was doing upstairs last night, but something told him he wasn't going on a cookie run. This conversation was already putting everyone in a miserable enough mood as it was.

The better part of a year, huh? That didn't quite reach the amount of time that Guy had spent running around with Luke trying to stop Van, but it was pretty close, and it wasn't anything to sneeze at. "It's the same for me," he said with a small smile. "My friends and I visited almost all of Auldrant on our journey, though I have to admit that I was more or less settled before I was brought here."

Except for the fact that Luke hadn't yet returned, but he was here now and that was what mattered. Getting him back to Auldrant might not be so simple, but that wasn't something Guy could start worrying about just yet. Not when there were so many other items on his plate.

He also didn't want to think about the fact that all of that traveling had been done in an airship that he couldn't remember.

"So I guess we have a good amount in common after all, even if I'm not Flynn," he pointed out. "Though I was wondering... you said you were a researcher. What do you research, exactly?" Maybe Rita would be willing to answer him now that she had mellowed out slightly.

He tensed automatically as the Doctor rose and stalked away, for a wild moment wondering if he'd said something wrong, shouldn't have brought the subject up at all. But just as quickly he pushed the idea aside. The Doctor was his friend and he genuinely wanted to know what happened. If anything, his anger would be directed at the institute itself, which they all knew was ultimately futile.

Brainiac 5 shifted in his seat, almost attempting to stand up himself before accidentally putting weight on his hands had him flinching and settling back down again. Fortunately Peter followed the Doctor as well, which was good as he'd likely be much better at stopping his friend before he did something reckless.

Luckily whatever motivated the outburst was short-lived, and the Time Lord dropped back into his seat. He looked tired and worn out now, and Brainiac 5 felt slightly uncomfortable for having been the cause of that. He shot Peter a grateful look for his roommate's words, too thankful for the support to point out the hypocrisy.

"Peter's right," he added, absently cradling his forearms in his lap and ignoring the throbbing. "It's no one's fault and you couldn't have know what would happen. It wasn't your decision to make."

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Day 52: Game Room

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