IV: Abschussen im Dunkeln

[Nayt]

"I--"

Am unsure.

It felt sincerely embarrassing to admit this. Exitus did not lose his way. It was that simple. His spacial recognition and hearing quality were both far too great for him to get lost. He was no directional master, but he didn't find himself experiencing the failings of a blind man often.

. . . except for now.

This was an odd experience. A confusing experience. Exitus furrowed his brow. He could still feel space. He could still hear. He could hear and feel Shin's exact location-- but he couldn't feel the buildings around them. That didn't happen. That wasn't supposed to happen. Unless there was nothing around him, but . . .

"What do you see?" It was the most he could ask without indicating what was wrong.

[Shin]

Shin stood at the crossroads, peering out into the darkness and whatever else he could see. They were in a large and open space, tactically it was not a sound move.

"I...." Exitus's question got Shin unaware, never before had his friend ever asked him what he saw. Even with his blindness Exitus has been more perceptive then Shin and so when his friend asked he figured something must be wrong.

"Nothing. A cross road...open space." He turned to face Exitus. "We are out in the open, I dont see anyone out here..." Shin wasn't sure what Exitus was looking for or where he was going, he had simply put his trust in his friend and for a brief moment he wondered if that was such a good idea.

What if what ever is effecting me is now effecting him? The thought scared Shin to the core and he took a step back reflexivley.

[Nayt]

“I . . . see,” Exitus replied, ignorant to the irony of his statement.

That was a problem. Exitus should have been able to feel this. It was like suffering the symptoms of blindness all over again. As if he were losing all that made him capable of functioning even without his eyes. This couldn’t be. This couldn’t happen. There was no reason for it. He had no special powers that offered him the ability to function without his eyes. He’d simply trained all of his senses to the point that he’d no such need for his eyes. So why? Why would his senses, his natural senses, suddenly dull? Exitus almost felt the need to reach for a cane.

But he couldn’t admit this. This was information Shin needed to know, but—perhaps out of pride—Exitus couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“We cannot leave the city yet,” he said instead, “We need to meet someone before we can. But if he’s not out here . . .”

Exitus trailed off and went silent for a moment.

“We should hide out for the night.”

Shin had been here longer than Exitus, and he would know full well the fallacy in Exitus’s suggestion: it was always night in this city.

[Shin]

Something was certainly wrong with Exitus and Shin worried that perhaps his own sickness was somehow affecting his friend. Shin didn’t a thing about medicine or even much about what was wrong with him, he merely had to hope he was wrong.

Still, he felt the need to tell Exitus something. “I am sick. I don’t know with what...” Shin quickly said before continuing. “But I’ve been having….seizures…” The words weren’t easy for the Tenken to say. Shin almost never admitted a weakness and in telling Exitus it certainly showed a deep layer of trust. “..but that’s not all. I..I can’t use my Chi anymore. It’s like it’s not even there..” Shins voice trailed off as he looked around.

“Its always dark down here from what I can tell. The light never changes.” Shin shrugged a useless gesture in Exitus’s presence. “But if you want to go to a building we could just pick one out and rest for a bit. If you want that is.”

[Nayt]

Shin was without his powers? That would make things difficult. The seizures would make them even more difficult. Exitus didn't know what to say. He wet his lips as if preparing to speak, but said absolutely nothing in the end. He hadn't the slightest clue why this might be happening to Shin, nor how this problem could be taken care of.

Rather than address it, Exitus did nothing at all. Perhaps it might have seemed callous to anyone else, but Exitus-- truth be told --wasn't actually the type to simply not care about a companion's medical concerns. This was just one of those things that he had back on the "issues to deal with later" list. There were a fair dozen of them, and the only way any of these problems could be attended to was to get out of this city. And for now, that wasn't an option. For now, they needed a place to lay low for a little while.

". . . we should."

It was entirely up to Shin where they went, though. After all, Exitus was having some trouble here . . .

[Shin]

Shin nodded, a frivolous action in front of Exitus, and turned to regard those buildings that were on the outskirts of the city blocks, those that were still a good a distance away from the two.

One house is as good as another Shin told himself and began to walk in the direction of a single story building, from the distance they were at Shin wasn’t sure if it had been a house or a shop of some sort. Though it hardly mattered now he told himself.

“This way.”

Shin made haste for the building he was tired of the constant vulnerability he felt in the open. It always felt like someone was watching him, just on the outskirts of his vision. Paranoia he told himself.

“I hope this place has food.” Shin said off handedly as he opened the door for Exitus, then quickly following after.

[Nayt]

The house was small, probably built to comfortably fit two. The door was locked, but not for long. Once the door was open, Exitus entered at Shin's guidance and paused in the main room-- what Shin would perceive to be a living room, all equipped with a couch, chair, and a large weird box with a sheet black glass on the front and some useless knobs down the front edges --to feel out his surroundings. He could barely feel distance, though. He could tell what was directly in front of him, if he'd have to walk stairs or a flat surface, but beyond that . . .

It seemed like the building had only four rooms, three of which were directly connected to the living room. There was a small bathroom, a single bedroom, and a kitchen.

"I smell nothing," Exitus remarked on the topic of food.

But either his senses were off or metal shells dulled the smells of their contents, but Exitus was wrong. In the kitchen pantry, set at the far end of the kitchen and right next to the range, there was a series of metal jars, all containing various fruits and vegetables. Some even contained prepared soup. They didn't look to be expired, but it was hard to tell, what with only pictures on the front of them and all. There were no words or numbers, no indication of how safe it was to consume, only pictures for labels that conveyed the ideal contents of each can.

[Nayt]

It was . . . awkward, to say the least. Shin Shiden had found himself in a situation wherein he was the most useful of the two of them. Something was wrong with Exitus. He was losing control over his senses. With each passing hour, they dulled more and more. It was crippling by the end of the "night." The man literally required his sword to be a walking stick, a skill he'd long since forgotten how to put to use, and it caused him some serious problems. His senses had been reduced to that of a normal man's . . .

Seemed in no time at all, Shin and Exitus stood on the same level.

---

IV.7 The Worst Mistakes

The next time Cyril opened his eyes, he'd find himself in a rather poor situation. He was alone in a dark room, a small room with bars for windows behind him and a steel door just six feet in front of him, and he was in a chair. Not to mention, he was tied to this chair--and pretty well, too. There were a few sounds audible beyond the door, sounds of chains and movement, distant footsteps and whatnot, but there was-- sadly --little more than that. He was also without Baht . . .

[Ramlock]

Cyril waited for his eyes to adjust, finding that in Oblivion, adjusting was relative. Being in a small dark room, didn't help, but on the other hand, he must have been out for a while, and things had been pretty dark... He hadn't had any dreams, at least any that he could remember, which was probably merciful. There were a lot of things going on that he didn't need exaggerated in his head... And besides, it was hard to think of a dream which could possibly be stranger than his situation.

"God damn it... Did I look like I wasn't going to come easy?"

It wasn't the first time he'd been hit that hard, but it was harder than he ever cared to be hit again. He already felt like hell. Oblivion was wearing him down as surely as any poison or disease, it seemed... He didn't want to be knocked around on top of it, but that seemed to be the order of the day lately. This side of whatever war they had going on didn't want him dead, at least.

Looking around, Cyril would do what he could to take stock of his situation. The door in front of him was metal, the windows behind him were blocked by metal. The chair he was in offered him a bit of a chance, if he really needed it. if it was made of wood, there was a chance he could break it... But how he was tied mattered then, anyway. If he was tied to the chair, he might be able to move if he maneuvered enough to break the chair. If he was tied to himself around the chair... Well, he wasn't very good with ropes. There was no sense in lying on the ground in the midst of a broken chair because he couldn't untie himself anyway. Cyril had two important things going, here. He was alive. And his captors wanted him alive. Everything else was just a matter of waiting and adapting to the situation...

[Nayt]

Cyril would find in his inspection that he was, in fact, tied to the chair itself. It was a pretty hefty job of tying, though. Even though he was tied to the chair, nothing short of actually busting the chair into half a dozen pieces was going to be getting him out of this rope.

. . . And the chair just so happened to be made of wood and was not at all adhered to the floor in any way, shape, or form.

There was a sound somewhere off in the barely illuminated world beyond Cyril's cell, one different from the usual sounds of distant walking and chains idly rattling. This was a voice. Someone was talking, and from where Cyril was, he'd almost be able to hear it, though it'd certainly help if he could get closer to his door.

[Ramlock]

Cyril considered briefly trying to get out of his chair, but in the end, he was here for a reason. He had chosen to disarm himself, and to throw in with this group, however unfavorably he had been received. He knew nothing about the area, nothing about the politics, nothing even about the basic people and customs. If he could escape, which was itself doubtful, he was in an even worse position than before. Besides that, Maladi was currently with an erstwhile ally of this group...

Still, remaining in their custody didn't mean he had to remain clueless. Cyril would lean back as much as he could in the chair, kicking forth with his body as hard as he could to try to move forward a few inches...

"GOD!... Oh my god..."

Cyril would immediately regret this action as blood pumping or momentum made his life hell for a moment. The back of his head was raised and swollen in a terrible bump where he'd been hit, and the tremendous headache it gave him was enough to make his mouth hang open for a minute as he stared into space and waited for it to subside somewhat. If swallowing his pride was going to make his life better here, he'd do it, but otherwise, he was going to have a few damn things to say to his impolite captor...

Gritting his teeth and slowly becoming used to the feel of bump, he would continue to move forward, staying rooted if moving that bit was impossible or would risk him falling forward on his face in a humiliating position. Hopefully, the door opened outward, but if at all possible, he would move to a spot near it where he wouldn't be hit when it was inevitably opened...

[Nayt]

Cyril's shout sent a resounding echo throughout the . . . wherever he was. Through the darkness, it seemed. He'd hear it for half a second, until the sound repeated itself into oblivion. During this, and for a few seconds following, all sounds had stopped. Even the slight sound of idle chains seemed to die down . . .

Then the footsteps returned. They were distant at first, but in no time at all, they began to come closer. Dangerously closer. In seconds, the loud clanks of boots against metal were right outside Cyril's cell, and though the door opened inward, Cyril was lucky enough to be on the outer edge of its arc-- because prompted first by a rattling of keys and the clank of metal jabbed into an undersized, rotted hole, a twist, rattle, and heave, the door swung open quickly, sending into the cell a horrible stench of mildew.

What little illumination the heat lightning outside produced in Cyril's window presented him with the image of a silhouette. Standing right next to him was a man of some size, roughly six and a half feet tall and much wider than the average man. He appeared to wear bulky clothes and had long, pointed ears that looked more like horns than they did a set of biological sound receptors.

"What the hell are you . . ." he began, but his brain quickly moved to a completely different imperative in the same sentence, causing him to interrupt himself to say, whilst pointing the the middle of the cell, "Get back over there!"

[Ramlock]

Cyril didn't move once his captor had opened the door, sitting quietly and watching innocently. He had moved the chair, sure, but he wasn't really trying to escape. Hell, he was safer tied up here than he had been for weeks. Cyril didn't have any interest in escaping, but a bit of respect and dignity would be nice...

"I'm still tied up... I can't really move the chair back. I could barely move it in the first place..."

Cyril would in good faith make a small effort to move the chair back to its original position. The weaker he appeared, the better his position would be. Being unthreatening was the key to getting a bit of freedom here. And truthfully, he was unthreatening... Disarmed, locked up, and most importantly, ignorant of everything. He couldn't even begin to be a threat if he didn't know more about the situation...

"You know, you might not be the one who makes this call, but I really don't need to be tied up here. I surrendered willingly. I have no interest in escaping or anything like that..."

[Nayt]

It took a second for Cyril's weird positioning to finally stop confounding the man. This, of course, required him looking from the bottom of Cyril's chair to the middle of the room, and concluding that he'd hopped over to the corner of the room somehow.

"No interest in escaping?" the man asked.

He folded his arms over his chest. Cyril might have been able to see his grin from here. There was something sinister about this man. A little bit more sinister than the fact that he was at least affiliated with the people that knocked Cyril out and tied him to a chair in a locked room.

"Buddy, if I were you, I'd have been plannin' my escape weeks ago."

And with that, he grabbed Cyril's chair by the back and pulled it until it was roughly in the middle of the cell again. One handed, too, and with minimal effort. This guy was strong as an ox.

[Ramlock]

Cyril, obviously, couldn't do much to resist his chair being dragged across the room, and in any case, he didn't want to. There was no reason to make this guy angry... Accidents happened to people in captivity, particularly when you left someone like him in charge of prisoners. Of course, Cyril still had to work with him...

"Is there someone I can talk to? Someone must want me alive still..."

Cyril sat watching, as if there was something else he could do, tied to a chair. The idea of escape seemed less appealing when it meant having to get through this guy...