[twelve-point-five]
[Ten years is a very long time to live in Mayfield.]
[Some have weathered well. There are always new faces, new crisis, old routines. And there has never been a way out.]
[Gabriel is a stubborn man. In these ten years, he has refused to give up any sort of hope for escape. Nearly seventy years old now, he keeps himself healthy and in shape by running. Always running, through the endless streets and past the buildings no one has ever been able to breach. Running, but not thinking.]
[Thinking is for later in the evenings.]
[After he's played the husband and father for his 'family', he retires to the basement to study. There are books stacked on the floor, lining the walls, slowly collected over the years from the shops. There are journals filled with observations, hypothesis and passing days, drawings and diagrams.]
[He's died thirty eight times, and been droned hundreds. Each time, he tries to remember every moment, anything that might give even the smallest of clues. He has gone from fighting death to welcoming it, for the sake of knowledge.]
[His abilities have returned, but with their price. His great power is gone; his telekinesis is only strong enough to move the weight of a bowling ball. The headaches and nosebleeds have returned as well, triggered at the slightest use of his teke. A step forward, three steps back. It doesn't matter. It doesn't impede his true goal, to find a way out.]
[And he will find it. It's only a matter of time.]
[He's also lost more than a chunk of his sanity, and his peaceful nature has worn thin.]
Merry Christmas, children. What has Santa brought for us this year? Will you accept what he brings?
He comes to this house, he's going to be leaving in a bucket.
[Some have weathered well. There are always new faces, new crisis, old routines. And there has never been a way out.]
[Gabriel is a stubborn man. In these ten years, he has refused to give up any sort of hope for escape. Nearly seventy years old now, he keeps himself healthy and in shape by running. Always running, through the endless streets and past the buildings no one has ever been able to breach. Running, but not thinking.]
[Thinking is for later in the evenings.]
[After he's played the husband and father for his 'family', he retires to the basement to study. There are books stacked on the floor, lining the walls, slowly collected over the years from the shops. There are journals filled with observations, hypothesis and passing days, drawings and diagrams.]
[He's died thirty eight times, and been droned hundreds. Each time, he tries to remember every moment, anything that might give even the smallest of clues. He has gone from fighting death to welcoming it, for the sake of knowledge.]
[His abilities have returned, but with their price. His great power is gone; his telekinesis is only strong enough to move the weight of a bowling ball. The headaches and nosebleeds have returned as well, triggered at the slightest use of his teke. A step forward, three steps back. It doesn't matter. It doesn't impede his true goal, to find a way out.]
[And he will find it. It's only a matter of time.]
[He's also lost more than a chunk of his sanity, and his peaceful nature has worn thin.]
Merry Christmas, children. What has Santa brought for us this year? Will you accept what he brings?
He comes to this house, he's going to be leaving in a bucket.