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At least S.T.'s room wasn't at the opposite end of the hallway. Spider was on the verge of just leaving without him as it was. Instead, he walked up to the door and knocked loudly with the butt of his flashlight.
"Hey you motherfucking sack of shit," he said, cheerfully. "Three seconds and I'm coming in after you."
Comments 35
"Sangamon? Sangamon? You better not have stood me up, you shit-sandwich-eating ..."
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"He's not here," Bourne said, licking dry lips. Damn, were they upping his dosage? "They took him. M-U tonight. Tried to stop them...it didn't work."
The asset took a few deep breaths as he walked to the closet, trying to clear his fogged head. "Who are you?"
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"My name is Spider Jerusalem, and I am recovering from a broken hand." Damn. Just didn't ring like his introductions back home. Fewer dead dogs here to play off of, possibly. "What the fuck is MU, where is it, and how fast can I get there? Additionally, are you sure you didn't EAT him?" No harm in making sure.
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"What? No!" he said, looking back at Spider like he was a crazy person. Why would he...oh, it was probably because he'd unconsciously licked his lips. Jumping straight from dry mouth to cannibalism was a bit of a leap.
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Contrary to popular belief, darkness was not something Bruce generally welcomed: it found him, yes, and it was necessary to so many facets of who and what he was that he chose night after night to live within it. But that alone did not change the fact that it was at essence unnatural for the human creature to enjoy the dark; more than a simple absence of light, darkness was symbolic in a way that both frightened and mesmerized. And just so long as happiness was transient, people simply could not live bound constantly by fear and enchantment; rather, they adapted, sought better situations. Gravitated always for the light that offered blindness and comfort from the darkness--the confrontation, realization, imagination--within.
Not even the Batman could live in darkness. Not forever. As he flicked on his flashlight and stepped into the hallway, Bruce realized with a sense of deja-vu that he had already begun to adjust to this place; the hallways were familiar, the sounds and the tastes and even the smell becoming ever ( ... )
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Wonka had been more focused on his dinner than anything else, so it took him a little while to get his supplies in order. But soon enough, he was ready - flashlight, broken chocolate, pillowcase and all - and out into the labyrinth of hallways that linked his cell to the outside world. Or at least to the rest of the Institute.
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Almost reverentially, Leon took the sword out from its hiding place and examined it one more time. He needed to do something about the hilt, even if it was only temporary, though. A few shredded strips of bedsheet made adequate wrapping for the hilt for now, and a number more were quickly woven into a sword belt of sorts--no sense carrying the sword around in his one good hand all night.
As he was heading out the door, Leon had one last thought and turned back to grab the pillowcase off his bed--he might not need it to carry anything tonight, but better to have it and not need it than the reverse.
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This had to be stopped. Marcus had changed quickly into the familiar, comfortable costume and stepped into the hall as he was fitting the faceplate to the cloth mask. He was faced with the very familiar problem that he just couldn't be everywhere at once. No matter how fast he was, no matter how strong he was, he wouldn't be able to save everyone. Not alone. Thankfully, he didn't have to do it alone, but the heroes were so few here and so many of them wanted to hide their identity.
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