M11-M20 Hallway

[affictitious]

As one hundred percent thrilled as he was to find that his recent thirteen year old victim of good ol' traditional slaughter was alive and, unfortunately, not in pieces, Gabriel was significantly more thrilled that he had self-established himself as a guardian angel for the night to one very, very hapless human

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[touchedgod]

Frustrated but defeated, Billy could only assume he had never made it to the Darwin Center at all.

“What the fuck, Simon,” he gasped into the empty room. How long had he been out? Too long, obviously, if he excused the fact of his continued existence. While the state of this room certainly said “apocalypse” to him, it was more of a post-apocalypse look, rather than the mid- he was expecting. Not the feel of a world about to burn down to nothing.

The unknown was threatening, and Billy fumbled for Dane’s gun, only to come up empty handed. There was a dull ache that came with this realization, deeper and more disturbing than simply the loss of a desperately needed weapon. He felt robbed. The discovery of foreign pockets were an adequate distraction, which led to the realization he was wearing entirely new clothing. It was strange sort of military ensemble that he didn’t recognize. Uncomfortably, he wondered who had redressed him in this and why. He felt exposed, even if the reaction was a little bit childish and out of place against the backdrop of the end of the world.

Steadier on his feet now, Billy rummaged through the dresser. The bed soon amassed a pile of things that were much less useful than the gun that had gone missing. Pens, a generic blank journal, a radio, keys. A flashlight that he had knocked onto the floor as he had fought a losing battle against the sheets. Time slowed as he created his small inventory, and it allowed his mind to wander too far. He knew that he remembered nothing. The memories he was going over (fruitlessly) in search of some explanation, they belonged to another him. He was newborn, no matter how old his hands appeared. It was a vast amount of knowledge to inherit, but he felt no worse for it. At least, not compared to what he had expected. Billy tried not to let those thoughts stall him. The list of things he couldn't handle thinking about yet was growing.

He settled on the flashlight, radio and keys, which seemed frail defenses against what he expected to face. But what exactly was he anticipating now? An unhinged man with a religious vendetta versus a former museum curator armed with a hefty flashlight? Sort of an unfitting end to all this, he thought with too little emotion. There’d be time for that later, maybe.

[touchedgod]

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