Nightshift 21: Hallway Behind Disciplinary Therapy Rooms
[[coming from here]]
Miles Edgeworth had developed a routine over the years for how to handle nightmares. He would wake with a start, quietly walk to the bathroom and splash his face with cool water, then walk quietly back to bed. He'd taken to keeping a book by his bedside for the - common - nights when sleep didn't come again afterwards.
As such, it took him a moment after waking up in the hallway to realize that he was not at home and his normal routine wouldn't suffice. The drugs he'd been given in the Experimental Trial had left him weak and shaky; he wouldn't admit this, but standing up was an ordeal unto itself. He managed to get to his feet, but the aftereffects of the drugs almost overtook him a moment later; there was a dull pain in the back of his neck from the needles, and remaining nausea.
The memories were far worse than the physical shakiness, and he couldn't shake a niggling voice left in the back of his mind - one that wasn't his own.
What was worse? It was night, he was alone, and - he cursed when he realized he didn't have a flashlight or anything else that might possibly be useful. He didn't even know where he was; he'd gotten a feel for the hospital's layout during the day, and he supposed he'd been taken to another wing.
"Calm down, Edgeworth. There have to be stairs or something around here, right?", he said to himself, as he looked around the hallway.
Miles Edgeworth had developed a routine over the years for how to handle nightmares. He would wake with a start, quietly walk to the bathroom and splash his face with cool water, then walk quietly back to bed. He'd taken to keeping a book by his bedside for the - common - nights when sleep didn't come again afterwards.
As such, it took him a moment after waking up in the hallway to realize that he was not at home and his normal routine wouldn't suffice. The drugs he'd been given in the Experimental Trial had left him weak and shaky; he wouldn't admit this, but standing up was an ordeal unto itself. He managed to get to his feet, but the aftereffects of the drugs almost overtook him a moment later; there was a dull pain in the back of his neck from the needles, and remaining nausea.
The memories were far worse than the physical shakiness, and he couldn't shake a niggling voice left in the back of his mind - one that wasn't his own.
What was worse? It was night, he was alone, and - he cursed when he realized he didn't have a flashlight or anything else that might possibly be useful. He didn't even know where he was; he'd gotten a feel for the hospital's layout during the day, and he supposed he'd been taken to another wing.
"Calm down, Edgeworth. There have to be stairs or something around here, right?", he said to himself, as he looked around the hallway.