Night 45: West Wing, North Hall 2-B
[From here.]
Dias had simply assumed things could only get worse - he was generally a pessimist, if only because there was at least a certain grim satisfaction in being right frequently - and he wasn't disappointed. Moving, and moving with urgency, was definitely making his wound bleed more freely; the sheet was completely plastered to his chest with blood by now, and he wasn't entirely certain how much good it was doing anymore.
And, of course, the hall was completely empty, from one length to the other; it was dark enough to make that not entirely discernable visibly, but the complete silence and just the sense of emptiness was enough to tell Dias that not only was no one in the hall, no one was even within hearing distance. And, really, could he have necessarily relied on assistance even if he'd found someone? He wasn't sure what kind of picture he'd make to an outside observer, but he was certain that it probably wasn't one which inspired confidence...and he, himself, had never been one for inspiring goodwill. Besides, he was pouring blood; he might as well be monster bait. There weren't many people in the institute he'd trust to help him in spite of the fact that he might bring an attack down on the heads of his rescuers, and of those he did, he certainly didn't know how to reach them.
Still, with bloody-minded (and bloody-everything-else) determination, Dias moved down to the far end of the hall, keeping one hand on the wall as the dizziness grew worse. He really doubted falling over could make things that much worse, under the circumstances, but he'd still prefer to avoid it.
When he reached the door, he paused, debating what he should do, and what he was actually able to do. He could press on a bit further, he was fairly certain...but he recognized that, if he did, there was no way he'd have strength enough to make it back to Guy. And Guy was even more helpless than he was at the moment - leaving him undefended, even if Dias himself was in no shape to do much defending, felt like...some sort of betrayal. Or at least a failure. If he couldn't find help, then Dias ought to at least be there to help Guy himself as much as, and for as long as, he could. And Guy had asked him to come back, as well...
With the indecision came hesitation, and in that lack of momentum, the lightheadedness took full advantage, his body suddenly cashing in checks he hadn't realized he'd been writing. The transition as he sank heavily to his knees took him entirely by surprise, and some consternation.
Dias had simply assumed things could only get worse - he was generally a pessimist, if only because there was at least a certain grim satisfaction in being right frequently - and he wasn't disappointed. Moving, and moving with urgency, was definitely making his wound bleed more freely; the sheet was completely plastered to his chest with blood by now, and he wasn't entirely certain how much good it was doing anymore.
And, of course, the hall was completely empty, from one length to the other; it was dark enough to make that not entirely discernable visibly, but the complete silence and just the sense of emptiness was enough to tell Dias that not only was no one in the hall, no one was even within hearing distance. And, really, could he have necessarily relied on assistance even if he'd found someone? He wasn't sure what kind of picture he'd make to an outside observer, but he was certain that it probably wasn't one which inspired confidence...and he, himself, had never been one for inspiring goodwill. Besides, he was pouring blood; he might as well be monster bait. There weren't many people in the institute he'd trust to help him in spite of the fact that he might bring an attack down on the heads of his rescuers, and of those he did, he certainly didn't know how to reach them.
Still, with bloody-minded (and bloody-everything-else) determination, Dias moved down to the far end of the hall, keeping one hand on the wall as the dizziness grew worse. He really doubted falling over could make things that much worse, under the circumstances, but he'd still prefer to avoid it.
When he reached the door, he paused, debating what he should do, and what he was actually able to do. He could press on a bit further, he was fairly certain...but he recognized that, if he did, there was no way he'd have strength enough to make it back to Guy. And Guy was even more helpless than he was at the moment - leaving him undefended, even if Dias himself was in no shape to do much defending, felt like...some sort of betrayal. Or at least a failure. If he couldn't find help, then Dias ought to at least be there to help Guy himself as much as, and for as long as, he could. And Guy had asked him to come back, as well...
With the indecision came hesitation, and in that lack of momentum, the lightheadedness took full advantage, his body suddenly cashing in checks he hadn't realized he'd been writing. The transition as he sank heavily to his knees took him entirely by surprise, and some consternation.