[h1][b][i][color=39b54a][center]Felix Hausten[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center]Location: Justice Memorial Hospital [/center]

Footsteps. That's all he could hear as he ran through the emptiness of his sub consciousness. It'd been a long time since he'd last been in a drug induced state of sleep. He hoped this would be the last, not a habit he was fully comfortable with making a regular occurrence. He was in pain. But it was numbed by the drugs. The overwhelming feeling of failure and disappointment hung over him. Regret. That invaded his mind. Regret and shame. How he had missed them.

he could vaguely see figures appearing before him. Those of men in balaclavas and ski-jackets. Men he had hired. Men he had put in the face of danger through his own stupidity. men who contributed to his book. That's what he did nowadays though, thats what it seemed. Death brought inspiration. What a fun yet morbid cycle he found himself in. His head was spinning slowly. The drugs keeping him caged in this dream state. He was being healed. Repaired. He begged for repair. To be able to see his future with both eyes. Maybe salvation was still in his grasp. Maybe. But did he want it? He hit his knees. Did he want it?