keep the streets empty
Who was this man? A soldier, clearly. The weapon he held—alien in make and design—was probably a ‘toy’ in the way his wooden sword was. And yet he held it in a way that spoke volumes to the soldier. His fingers wrapped around the grip with an experienced hand. His eyes were cold in a way Corvo knew all too well. Maybe they were cut from the same cloth, the men who plied lead and spilled blood.
He didn’t know what to think about that possibility.
They who arranged this mummer’s show were fools. Wooden swords were still swords. Guns were guns. A weapon was only as deadly as the one wielding it. The two men who stood there knew that. And even if he’d been unarmed, there was this lingering suspicion that the stranger wouldn’t roll over and surrender. He had broken his wooden sword days ago beating the life from some brainless thug who thought he’d try his luck mugging him. Whatever had been left—a splintered half-blade—had went into through his friend’s eye.
Corvo wondered what this other man could do with the ‘toy’ he’d been given.
He pushed those macabre thoughts aside and listened to Kiritsugu’s questions. The assassin noted that he kept his weapon bared and his stance tense. Corvo could respect that. He would have done the same, had their positions been reversed.
"A social experiment, whatever that means. They watch us go about our lives here, that much is certain." Corvo shrugged. "There is little else I know, save that trying to leave this place is folly."
Answers here, it seems, only serve to generate more questions. Questions to which this stranger appears as ill-equipped to answer as Kiritsugu himself.
At least they are all together in their unknowing.
The thought offers Kiritsugu little comfort and the line of his shoulders remains straight, tense like water upon a pond smooth enough to reflect - and his expression, the storm.
It occurs to Kiritsugu that questions about this place will only lead to dead ends. If he wants to unlock the secrets of this prison, he will have to seek answers from above. His fellow prisoners are not, however, without insight - though perhaps in a different way. So he changes tack, allows his stance to become more open.
He starts by offering something of himself, to oil the hinges in the hopes that the gates will swing open freely. "I was brought here from somewhere else. How far - I cannot yet say." There was little to be said about this place, it seemed. Frustratingly so, more and more. "It's clear that you, too, have come from elsewhere. Have we come from the same place, I wonder?" Knowing that would be the first step in determining how great the reach of this operation.
