15 >> {voice}
{It was funny. He knew he'd die.
Didn't expect to wake up in an alley, though, least of all that alley. Malfatto recognizes it the moment his eyes flash open, the brick, almost the scent, though what comes new of it is the sheer, crippling pain when he tries to move, tries to turn on his side. Rasping a breath, lungs searing, he cries out involuntarily, snapping his mouth shut almost immediately upon realizing he's the one making that grating screech.
Teeth clenched tight, his jaw aches.
Tries to move again. Fails.
Breathe, breathe (but fucking hell, the pain)
... eyes close, not to open again til several hours later. It's dark now. He feels not much better, though this time manages to heave his weight up into a sitting position, leaning back against a damp, chilled wall, almost in the exact spot he and Dawn shared a most endearing heart-to-heart not so long ago. Smirking to himself at the memory, he pats around the pouches at his belt, only noticing now that he's been “returned”, so to speak, in his regular attire. No mask, though.
Great.
He'd damn well trade the Forge for that bit of coverage at the moment, handling the machine gingerly between gloved fingers, clicking on the microphone and steadying his breath.
Remember, good doctor, how you're going to handle the mess you left behind.}
... I died? No.
Did I die? How did... I get here? This alley.
{Of course you died. And you remember everything. Every pound of flesh tormented by the teasing blade, every scream severed by the brief, strong snap of a spine. You remember how they begged.
But they don't need to know that.
Looking back... why should you remember? You've heard them speak about memories lost as a result of death. They've mentioned it openly.
Do they really need to know what you know? Besides, you're suffering enough for your demise! Need time. Rest. How much can they despise a man who simply doesn't remember what he's done?
Look back at old broadcasts, old posts, sure. It's all there.
It's simply not in his mind.
Heh.
Take another breath. Speak slow. Confident. You're fine. You're fine. Play the game. It's worth a shot.}
Presuming that's what happened, unless I merely blacked out... but... something doesn't feel quite right. Something feels...
Merda.
What happened to me?
Didn't expect to wake up in an alley, though, least of all that alley. Malfatto recognizes it the moment his eyes flash open, the brick, almost the scent, though what comes new of it is the sheer, crippling pain when he tries to move, tries to turn on his side. Rasping a breath, lungs searing, he cries out involuntarily, snapping his mouth shut almost immediately upon realizing he's the one making that grating screech.
Teeth clenched tight, his jaw aches.
Tries to move again. Fails.
Breathe, breathe (but fucking hell, the pain)
... eyes close, not to open again til several hours later. It's dark now. He feels not much better, though this time manages to heave his weight up into a sitting position, leaning back against a damp, chilled wall, almost in the exact spot he and Dawn shared a most endearing heart-to-heart not so long ago. Smirking to himself at the memory, he pats around the pouches at his belt, only noticing now that he's been “returned”, so to speak, in his regular attire. No mask, though.
Great.
He'd damn well trade the Forge for that bit of coverage at the moment, handling the machine gingerly between gloved fingers, clicking on the microphone and steadying his breath.
Remember, good doctor, how you're going to handle the mess you left behind.}
... I died? No.
Did I die? How did... I get here? This alley.
{Of course you died. And you remember everything. Every pound of flesh tormented by the teasing blade, every scream severed by the brief, strong snap of a spine. You remember how they begged.
But they don't need to know that.
Looking back... why should you remember? You've heard them speak about memories lost as a result of death. They've mentioned it openly.
Do they really need to know what you know? Besides, you're suffering enough for your demise! Need time. Rest. How much can they despise a man who simply doesn't remember what he's done?
Look back at old broadcasts, old posts, sure. It's all there.
It's simply not in his mind.
Heh.
Take another breath. Speak slow. Confident. You're fine. You're fine. Play the game. It's worth a shot.}
Presuming that's what happened, unless I merely blacked out... but... something doesn't feel quite right. Something feels...
Merda.
What happened to me?