alternative employment }} +habbinalchau
This was a poor decision. This was a terrible, no good, very bad decision that rang sharp in his lungs and tore apart at the fabric of his conscience, fraying it and burning the fibers into something akin to his ashen countenance. He hadn’t slept in days. He’d been evasive. He’d kept Herc at arm’s length and he’d kept the resignation papers he took from the man’s desk well-hidden, waiting until the right moment to turn them in. Today had felt like a good moment. Today had felt like he would just leave it like a suicide note and disappear, and he damn well almost did it. He got as far as the door to the Marshal’s office before he chickened out and shoved the papers into his bag, instead favoring a hasty retreat to the door and out into the muggy Hong Kong air.
He was wearing nice clothes. He wanted to make a good impression when he set this awful idea into motion, and so he pulled his bag close to his side and tugged at the fabric of his maroon herringbone blazer, eyes downcast and lips pressed into a thin line. The farther he went from the Shatterdome, the heavier his heart felt; he knew he would be coming back that evening, but after that, he was unsure. It all depended on how this meeting went.
Once upon a time, he would have lost his mind if he’d had to leave the Shatterdome. He’d have done anything to stay in his lab, in his safe little ecosystem that he had built around himself, and he would never have dreamed of abandoning it. The lab was his safe place. It was the only home he had. And that dependency was what got him in this mess in the first place—he’d been so attached to it that he’d killed an innocent woman over it. Or rather, he’d let his psychopathic companion do it, and then went over to his house and willingly ate part of her in some fancy-ass French dish he couldn’t remember the name of.
He’d thought, at the time, that eating her would confirm her death and that would erase his guilt. But he was wrong. Now the Shatterdome was haunted, and his lab was especially tormenting. Once his haven, it was now something akin to hell that tore at the very fiber of his being and made him sick to his stomach. He’d had six episodes this week. Six. Twice, he had two in one day, and all of them were because of the stress his lab caused him. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, or drank, or slept more than an hour. He’d nearly forgotten to take his medication that morning, he was so out of it.
He sort of wished he had forgotten. He deserved the agony of rejected organs for what he’d done.
The ecologist did not take long to get to the Bone Slums. His fingers trembled as they twisted into the strap of his bag, pulling it closer, ever-conscious of pickpockets. The bones of the Reckoner loomed over him, illuminated by the lambs suspended in its hollows and casting him in its enormous shadow. He suddenly felt terribly, terribly small.
“I fucking hate this place.” He pressed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath. Being near the Reckoner, when he was so unstable, made it nearly impossible to keep himself from breaking down. But he had to. He had business to attend to, and he had to stay strong. A weak mind on the path he journeyed would spell complete and utter disaster, and he knew it. So today he had to be stronger. Today he had to straighten his back and rub the fog of sleeplessness from his eyes, tighten his tie against his throat, and keep walking until he reached the one place in Hong Kong he swore he’d never visit again.
. Quietly, he stepped in to the building, and his eyes traveled across the golden logo on the floor. His fingers trembled harder. Blue eyes trailed slowly across the room, until they settled on the red-coated back of the man he’d come to see. He felt like he was going to be sick. "Do you remember that offer you made to me ages ago?" The phrase broke through the din of work, and suddenly all was silence. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “I think I’ve… I’ve finally got an answer for you.” He spoke loud enough to be heard, but was careful to keep the tremor from his voice. His eyes flitted down to the floor. To his nice, polished leather shoes. A gift from Dr. Lecter.
He forced himself to look up, and he saw his reflection in a familiar pair of dark glasses. "And that answer," he said, swallowing, “is ‘yes’.”
