falseblack
in
damned
Night 51: M91-M100 Hallway
[M96]
Like another time, Nigredo dreamed of stagnating indifference and an empty room. To awake to a voice growing in proximity and recognition. And what developments had Dr. Landel achieved now? It must have been sufficient; he sounded too close to his father when the man caught scent of a viable trail. Trait of a doctor, perhaps. At their core, they must all sound the same.
It faded, soon replaced by doors unlocking in unison. Soon accompanied by murmurs of patients making preparations for the night. In a previous instance, Nigredo might have bothered to do the same. A mind laced in chemicals, however, killed whatever need for a nightly venture. He couldn't recall the events of dinner or if he had actually slept, or whether the emotions that had blossomed at his own confession subsided in the rise of apathy. To put efforts in movement proved too much--he would rather stagnate.
He would rather rot.
The haze of sleep shifted to another sort, and Nigredo ran a hand over his eyes. Lines blurred and crossed, but overall, he had his senses intact. The staff must have corrected the dosage this time: not a single trace of nausea existed in his system. Just an overwhelming silence. Nothing.
Breathing across the room indicated the presence of his roommate. It was taken like everything else; Nigredo couldn't be bothered to leave his bed for someone such as Sync. The other was free to do as he wished.
Like another time, Nigredo dreamed of stagnating indifference and an empty room. To awake to a voice growing in proximity and recognition. And what developments had Dr. Landel achieved now? It must have been sufficient; he sounded too close to his father when the man caught scent of a viable trail. Trait of a doctor, perhaps. At their core, they must all sound the same.
It faded, soon replaced by doors unlocking in unison. Soon accompanied by murmurs of patients making preparations for the night. In a previous instance, Nigredo might have bothered to do the same. A mind laced in chemicals, however, killed whatever need for a nightly venture. He couldn't recall the events of dinner or if he had actually slept, or whether the emotions that had blossomed at his own confession subsided in the rise of apathy. To put efforts in movement proved too much--he would rather stagnate.
He would rather rot.
The haze of sleep shifted to another sort, and Nigredo ran a hand over his eyes. Lines blurred and crossed, but overall, he had his senses intact. The staff must have corrected the dosage this time: not a single trace of nausea existed in his system. Just an overwhelming silence. Nothing.
Breathing across the room indicated the presence of his roommate. It was taken like everything else; Nigredo couldn't be bothered to leave his bed for someone such as Sync. The other was free to do as he wished.