+ that. “You’re not wrong about handling things… not much of a fighter.”

His hand reached up, fingers touching the bag gently. “I… I’d rather not go into it.” Ciro closed his eyes, images of the police station, of that awful chair… How much gas had they blasted him with?

“I’m not supposed to take it off.” Bernard was straight forward. He liked that. He could understand+

Did he mention his first ‘trial’? No. Those might’ve been Bernard’s friends. All that mattered was he was still alive. Nauseous as hell… but alive.

“Why are you being so nice to me?“ he asked from behind the bag wrapped around his face. “Most people look at me and seem to keep their distance.”

“Gotcha.” Someone had to be looking for him. Someone would eventually realize he was missing. But the fact was, Murkoff had recognized him… that meant they had time to plan.

“Between the twins and that green gas, I think I’m gonna be perpetually hungover.”

+ nurse? No, that didn’t sound right.

“My cousin had told me about the flier 4 months… I never heard from her again.” He answered, looking up as Bernard began to whisper.

“Doris?” The words were louder than intended, causing Ciro to jump slightly. Lowering his voice, he continued, “No… I don’t think so.” Was that the name of the +

+ get out of here. Ciro would die in this hell. He had accepted that the moment he had woken up.

He sighed, letting his head hang down between his knees as another bout of nausea came on. “Guess a journalist who is not good at undercover work.”

On his own chest, he had a healing rig. When he had chosen his, the jammer rig had crossed his mind. But healing seemed much more important when you considered all the factors of the trials.

“Sorry. I am a journalist. I was a journalist.” ‘Was’, most likely, was more accurate. He wasn’t going +

+ and rightfully so. Ciro knew better than most how much Murkoff had eyes and ears everywhere.

“Ciro.” The sleeproom staff didn’t care if he lived or died. He was on his own out here. But Bernard? The guy seemed friendly enough… and not insane. That was always a bonus.

“Who were you? Before they took you?” He had to be careful how he asked questions. People in here were paranoid, scared, +

+ got a name?”

+ As he leaned back, the feeling of something warm on the forearm drew his attention downwards. “Damn, bastard nicked me.” He grumbled, looking at the fresh blood patch staining his sleeve.

He hadn’t even felt it. Was it adrenaline or was he actually growing accustomed to being mutilated?

“You +

Ciro nodded. “Second week. You?” He motioned for his chatting companion to follow him, moving away from the shuttles and the nurse whose name evaded him.

The stairs were the next closest place to sit that didn’t involve joining an arm wrestling game.

Ciro, with a groan, took a seat on the steps.+

“The others… they didn’t make it.” It was an understatement; One had triggered an explosive, another had been bisected by the Twins’ saw. The final hadn’t made it out before the time expired.

After the wave of nausea had passed, Ciro’s eyes finally focused onto the stranger. “Do I know you?”

+ a bunch of her bottles.” He’d be feeling this for days, the effect lingering as the toxin worked its way out.

“Gracias.”

+ exactly inviting to most and it wasn’t something he could remove. Maybe he could but… but he shouldn’t. Not until he was better, right?

These days, it was hard to distinguish what was truth and what was the whispers of Easterman.

“The.. the twins,” he offered as an explanation. “Got dosed with+

Hot breath bounced back into Ciro’s face, all of his willpower going to stopping himself from throwing up again. It took him a long moment to even realize the other was talking to him. The only one to exit that trial.

Most reagents didn’t talk to him. The word RAT painted across his face wasn’t +