New place. Informational leaflet refers to it as Radial Island. No instructions have been given for the
You can’t write like this. The pen slips out of your fingers and you lower your forehead to the cool touch of the desk. They didn’t deign to let you have your previous diary - or maybe you lost it somewhere on the way - you had to track an empty notebook down yourself, if just to have the peace of mind that you have somewhere to write. It’s exceedingly hard to concentrate right now, however; and if the doors are unlocked, and you are not being penalized for leaving the house, you might as well leave the writing for a little later and take in the new layout.
Feel it for yourself. See where the hiding spots are, and if you can find the objective. Nobody you see immediately out the streets is as tense as you are -- you quietly follow a small crowd out of the residential section and into a part of the ward bustling with life, shops lined up along the pavement. You start to regret it as the chatter fills your head, loud where your throbbing mind would have calmed down quicker within the quiet space of your room.
Then you see her. Your legs move on their own accord. Your head quietens, just a little, in the warm sort of relief that fills it up as you come close enough to take her in.
“Ms Woods,” Your words have a slight ache, a breathlessness to them as you speak. It’ll subside, eventually, but for now you have two different problems battling for your attention at once and it shows. “I’m glad to see you’re alright. Do you remember anything that happened after the Arms Factory? I’m -- I’m afraid to say I don’t.”
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