Night 49: M11-M20 Hallway
[M16]
Edgar made note of the intercom's nightly message. Visitors. He'd heard the prisoners received them on occasion, but hadn't put much thought into the matter. There were more pressing concerns at the moment.
"I've not had much opportunity to try escaping yet," he told Gren as he thumbed through his journal, taking note of the supplies he still needed. "Even if we could, there's still the matter of getting back to our individual homelands. It can't be as easy as leaving this place and finding a ship headed in the right direction. It's even more complicated for those who claim to be from different times entirely."
Then there was what he'd seen on the board- stories of patients being "released," as the nursemaids put it. Edgar doubted the validity of being "released" by the institution as a method of escape. It was more likely those who had been removed from the ranks had been killed, or perhaps had submitted to the brainwashing they were trying to-
The machinist froze as his mind entertained a dark thought. Celes. Her words just the day before had reflected someone who was ready to give up, her spirit more than battered from its long battle with imprisonment. If Luxord could disappear without notice...
He rose from his chair, the metal scraping against the floor slightly. Pulling the desk drawer open, he took his light and radio. "You'll have to forgive me, Gren, but there's something important I have to check." He looked over his shoulder at the other man, feeling a little guilty for leaving him with little explanation of the situation into which he'd been thrust. Edgar had been there himself once, and not everyone had enough skill in combat to defend themselves. "It might be best that we stick together for this evening. This place is more dangerous than it seems during the night."
Edgar made note of the intercom's nightly message. Visitors. He'd heard the prisoners received them on occasion, but hadn't put much thought into the matter. There were more pressing concerns at the moment.
"I've not had much opportunity to try escaping yet," he told Gren as he thumbed through his journal, taking note of the supplies he still needed. "Even if we could, there's still the matter of getting back to our individual homelands. It can't be as easy as leaving this place and finding a ship headed in the right direction. It's even more complicated for those who claim to be from different times entirely."
Then there was what he'd seen on the board- stories of patients being "released," as the nursemaids put it. Edgar doubted the validity of being "released" by the institution as a method of escape. It was more likely those who had been removed from the ranks had been killed, or perhaps had submitted to the brainwashing they were trying to-
The machinist froze as his mind entertained a dark thought. Celes. Her words just the day before had reflected someone who was ready to give up, her spirit more than battered from its long battle with imprisonment. If Luxord could disappear without notice...
He rose from his chair, the metal scraping against the floor slightly. Pulling the desk drawer open, he took his light and radio. "You'll have to forgive me, Gren, but there's something important I have to check." He looked over his shoulder at the other man, feeling a little guilty for leaving him with little explanation of the situation into which he'd been thrust. Edgar had been there himself once, and not everyone had enough skill in combat to defend themselves. "It might be best that we stick together for this evening. This place is more dangerous than it seems during the night."