vsyourface
in
damned
Night 55: M81-90 Hallway
...'kay, that wasn't ominous at all.
Scott let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding once the intercom address finished. What were their actions going to determine, he wondered? He already knew that actions such as, say, punching a soldier or two equalled multiple days of punishment and torment. If the ratio of action to consequence was that far out of whack here, Scott was getting seriously afraid that the lot of them would be dead by morning.
He still wasn't sure what constituted a "good" action versus a "bad" one at night, though, and thus Scott couldn't exactly alter his plans for the night that much. Not that he wanted to. Even if it resulted in more consequences at some point, Scott needed a basement run like burning. As penance for what he'd been forced to do, and to stick it to Aguilar for everything from solitary to Senna, he was going to go kick some ass for the good guys - for real this time.
Scott had spent the awkward radio silence doing his nightly changing, meaning he was pretty much ready by the time the lights actually went out. He had avoided his new/old Smashing Pumpkins shirt (aka: his Special Counselling shirt) in favour of the usual Plumtree and parka ensemble. Now, he only needed to grab a few more things before heading out. Much as it pained him to erase the little emote, Scott dusted the broadsword off on his jacket sleeve before filling his pockets with the usual gear and taking a flashlight in his other hand. The sword was still heavy to hold, but he was already getting used to it. The weight kind of helped the situation, even; it was like the weight of everyone who had gone missing was held within the sword, and with their powers combined, Scott could take down whatever got in his way.
Finally, when he was ready, he gave Guybrush a quick well-wishing for the night and took off at a run.
[To here]
Scott let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding once the intercom address finished. What were their actions going to determine, he wondered? He already knew that actions such as, say, punching a soldier or two equalled multiple days of punishment and torment. If the ratio of action to consequence was that far out of whack here, Scott was getting seriously afraid that the lot of them would be dead by morning.
He still wasn't sure what constituted a "good" action versus a "bad" one at night, though, and thus Scott couldn't exactly alter his plans for the night that much. Not that he wanted to. Even if it resulted in more consequences at some point, Scott needed a basement run like burning. As penance for what he'd been forced to do, and to stick it to Aguilar for everything from solitary to Senna, he was going to go kick some ass for the good guys - for real this time.
Scott had spent the awkward radio silence doing his nightly changing, meaning he was pretty much ready by the time the lights actually went out. He had avoided his new/old Smashing Pumpkins shirt (aka: his Special Counselling shirt) in favour of the usual Plumtree and parka ensemble. Now, he only needed to grab a few more things before heading out. Much as it pained him to erase the little emote, Scott dusted the broadsword off on his jacket sleeve before filling his pockets with the usual gear and taking a flashlight in his other hand. The sword was still heavy to hold, but he was already getting used to it. The weight kind of helped the situation, even; it was like the weight of everyone who had gone missing was held within the sword, and with their powers combined, Scott could take down whatever got in his way.
Finally, when he was ready, he gave Guybrush a quick well-wishing for the night and took off at a run.
[To here]