Night 55: M61-70 Hallway

[deadlyjuliet]

The food was disgusting, but he had to eat. While Grell was hardly a gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, he knew good food from poor and this? Was atrocious. He'd only managed to choke it down because without food he'd have no energy and there was no way he'd allow his energy to run out. He still ached from his fight the previous night,

Comments

M66

[doneinthree]

Okay, that was more like it. Not quite on the level of Landel's theatrics, but assaulting their ears with static made Aguilar at least as irritating. Kirk scowled at the ceiling as the general uttered vaguely ominous pronouncements into the intercom, and wondered there existed a handbook on how to talk to the prisoners of the Institute. Be condescending. Say a lot while simultaneously explaining nothing. Have a flair for the dramatic. It became downright nostalgic if he imagined Aguilar as bald with tattoos and pointed ears.

He gave his uniform one last tug on the sleeves, straightening out the golden fabric on his shoulders. He selected a couple of items out of his box - the flashlight, its batteries switched out for fresh ones; the radio, and the box cutter - and reached for the baseball bat which had been placed nearby by unknown hands.

Spock had given him this, to defend himself. Kirk's fingers flexed on the handle for a second, as if reacquainting themselves with the feel of the gift, but he wasted only a couple of seconds before hefting the bat and switching his flashlight on with his other hand. Less than ten strides took him out of his room, and past the rows of near-identical doors.

There was a time for action and a time for reflection. Luckily, the former had always come to him so much more easily.

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