NIGHTSHIFT 30 - M21-M30 Hall
So that was what that bastard had been up to: he'd been wondering where the Head Doctor ran off to and now they knew. Personally, he didn't care one way or another what happened in their little bitch-fight - he didn't trust Martin Landel and he didn't trust whoever was behind the radio. If one of them was dead? They didn't care unless it meant they were free. Although stabbing a guy six times seemed pretty excessive to Brock, even so.
The symbiote, on the other hand, didn't think so. It almost gave off a sense of admiration for what it thought was a thorough job. If you were going to stab someone, at least stab them enough to make sure they'd be dead, as much as it took.
But just because they approved of going overboard didn't mean they stopped hating Martin Landel.
Opening the door of his cell as soon as the lock clicked open, the blond peered out. Empty hall so far. And it was his first night fully-healed. His Other's night-vision kicked in automatically, casting the corridor in a grainy, grayish "light". They had no real plans for tonight.
Feed? The symbiote, as usual, got down to business. They weren't starving, but it was starting to get to that time. Better to nip that crap in the bud before Brock ended up in a padded cell again. The thought of feeding again made his stomach turn though, and it didn't have anything to do with the fact he'd have to kill something (or someone). No, he remembered his last attempt to feed from a monster; it'd been one of the most godawful experiences in his life and while he'd been able to choke it down, it'd been like trying to eat squishy, half-solidified vomit.
At least he'd canceled that out by crippling that crippled patient even more. Nothing like some good, old-fashioned maiming to settle a guy's stomach. Maybe it was karma.
Brock stepped out into the hall, looking down and testing his claws. They materialized almost instantaneously, the slick "oil" of the symbiote covering his hands and forming their claws. Perfect. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it. Perfect. Just knowing they were back together made him feel much safer, much more complete. Not as complete as he would've liked, but better than being normal: he needed this feeling even more badly than he'd thought.
The symbiote, on the other hand, didn't think so. It almost gave off a sense of admiration for what it thought was a thorough job. If you were going to stab someone, at least stab them enough to make sure they'd be dead, as much as it took.
But just because they approved of going overboard didn't mean they stopped hating Martin Landel.
Opening the door of his cell as soon as the lock clicked open, the blond peered out. Empty hall so far. And it was his first night fully-healed. His Other's night-vision kicked in automatically, casting the corridor in a grainy, grayish "light". They had no real plans for tonight.
Feed? The symbiote, as usual, got down to business. They weren't starving, but it was starting to get to that time. Better to nip that crap in the bud before Brock ended up in a padded cell again. The thought of feeding again made his stomach turn though, and it didn't have anything to do with the fact he'd have to kill something (or someone). No, he remembered his last attempt to feed from a monster; it'd been one of the most godawful experiences in his life and while he'd been able to choke it down, it'd been like trying to eat squishy, half-solidified vomit.
At least he'd canceled that out by crippling that crippled patient even more. Nothing like some good, old-fashioned maiming to settle a guy's stomach. Maybe it was karma.
Brock stepped out into the hall, looking down and testing his claws. They materialized almost instantaneously, the slick "oil" of the symbiote covering his hands and forming their claws. Perfect. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it. Perfect. Just knowing they were back together made him feel much safer, much more complete. Not as complete as he would've liked, but better than being normal: he needed this feeling even more badly than he'd thought.