Breakfast

[Privyet†]

((Matt Moradi continued from somewhere else that I'll put here later, honest.))

Matt slept in the asylum that night. He didn't have dreams - not often, anyways - but that night he dreamed that he was home. That he was back in Arizona, studying to become a dentist like his father. He jolted awake and looked for the gun he had killed for. Grasping for the gun, he looked down at it. Staring at it. He shook his head before slowly starting to stand up, mumbling. Cold. It was morning. The flannel shirt he was wearing wasn't good enough. He needed to steal a jacket. Danya spoke and he spoke about all the people that had died the previous day. Eight people had died in total, three of them by his hand. He called Aiden's death exciting news. He would have been lying if he said he disagreed. Sniffing he looked around. The asylum. If he believed in ghosts he'd have thought this place was haunted.

Danger zone, regular treatment rooms. Then more interesting news.

He had won an award. He didn't feel very much - not pride - but he did feel good, albeit not very. Quietly, in the morning light he crept forward through the dark asylum, moving like some neolithic hunter in the unseen presence of a saber tooth tiger. Then he saw it. His reward. How it got here, he could never know. Never. It was the only question he would ask Danya if he were alone in a room with him (but questions wouldn't be on his mind if he were alone in a room with him) meaning it was a question that would remain unanswered for as long as he lived.

An M4 carbine and, more interestingly to him, food. He quickly picked up the rifle and slung it over his shoulder before turning to the more pertinent issue at hand. Breakfast. An omelette (smelling like something he would kill for) and a thermos. Quickly he uncapped the thermos and took a sip. Coffee. Hot coffee. He drank more before devouring the greatest gift he felt he'd ever been given, at least right now, quickly finishing off the omelette and side of hash browns. He looked over towards the window, towards the fallen tree that had broken into the asylum through means unknown to him. Something had knocked it over. A storm? He would never know but in here Matt realized that the island was beautiful.

The collar beeped and Matt realized that he had been sitting there, not thinking. How long he could only guess. Not long enough to die, he figured. He stood up, feeling stupid, and left, going through the entrance of the asylum that was nearby.

((Matt Moradi continued somewhere else.))