END GAME: THE COUNTDOWN STARTS

[sailmods]

[the prisoners wake up on cold, hard floors.

the lights are bright, glaring, a sterile cell with sterile bars facing a sterile hall. the prisoners with you, across from you, and no one else. no rocking of a ship in waves, nothing. just the prisoner and their prison.

time passes, one assumes. the rhythmic click of Friday’s heels down the hall. it’s almost like the ticking of a clock.]

Comments

[abhorrently]

Pulling back, she nods, reaching into the makeshift pocket she made from her shirt. She winces when her burned hands brush against something too roughly, but what she pulls out is the equivalent of rope - one of Flan's long, long braids that had been severed and wound together.

"If you can find anything to pierce with, even better. I know we'll be facing that eye again - that's why she had to silence him, because it's his domain. But the eye is key. If something happens, either go for her eyes...or stop me, if I cannot see the way."

The last whispered only to him. If that outer madness sinks in, there's no telling what she'll do.

[blindwatchersees]

He takes the braid in hand, already feeling the familiar instinct of readying to wrap it around someone's throat from behind. When... when did he become an assassin, in all of that chaos? When did it become second nature?

"Understood."