[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180328/161dbfb1e830dd8daf87025f0df6424e.png[/img][/center][right][hr][color=gray][b]Falcon's Reach | Command Center[/b]
March 27th, 2677[/color][hr][/right] [indent]

[color=808080][i]Gold Mech.[/i][/color]

As Skarsgård and Stein continued to converse, Alan couldn’t shake those words. [color=808080][i]Golden mech. Gold mech.[/i] [/color] Constantly repeating in his head. Stein and the other man were too busy conversing to see that Alan had broken out into a cold sweat. That his palms were shaking ever so slightly. That his pupils had dilated. It was good that this was unnoticed: he looked like a junkie craving a habit and having Stein or Percy believe that he was [i]that[/i] kind of waster wouldn’t help anything. No, it’d make everything worse. 

[i]After all, this was the proof he needed.[/i] 

He’d seen that Golden Mech tear apart his friends, burn his home and nearly kill him as well. He’d replayed that mission over a thousand nights in his head when he couldn’t sleep. Constantly remembering, unable to forget or forgive what had happened. Alan began backing towards the door of the room. [color=808080]“Hey, sorry-“[/color] he interjected, stumbling in his words for a moment.[color=808080]“Where’s the bathroom around here? I just—”[/color] he stopped, trying to focus. [color=808080]“Just need to visit the little pilot’s room for a sec.” [/color]

Skarsgård raised an eyebrow and nodded. [color=AA8483]“It’s down the hall and to the left.” [/color] The bonds of fellow wasters at least had that trust between them. Alan quickly exited the room and stepped quickly and with purpose towards the bathroom. He opened the door, and quickly knelt down making sure there were no feet in the stalls around. Finding himself alone for a quick moment, he exhaled loudly, and placed both his hands on the sides of the porcelain bathroom sink. He looked up to see his face in the mirror: his cheeks were flushed. Beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead. He looked sick. He felt sick. 

[color=808080][i]Pip. Dicer. Janus.[/i] [/color] How many years was it now since he’d seem them alive? 

[color=808080][i]Mother. Father.[/i] [/color] How badly mauled were their bodies by that mech?
 
He wanted to throw up. His stomach churned. But the day’s rations were so far settled now he knew he would simply be dry heaving over a toilet. He had to calm down. [color=808080] [i]Deep breath in. Hold for six seconds. Deep breath out. [/i] [/color]

Cold water splashed across his face as he tried to wash away the proof of his obsession before heading back. No need to make his companions worry, or realize what he was planning to do now. Two Rivers was just a warning. New Anchorage was the target, and the smaller settlements would be decimated first. But the largest one? When would he strike? 

He’d be there, waiting for him. He’d find him. And one of them would die. 

[color=808080][i]After that, I’ll be free.[/i] [/color]

Alan dried his face off, and made his way back to the group. [color=808080]
“Sorry,” [/color] he said, trying to play off his sudden retreat. [color=808080]
“Breakfast must’ve shot right through me.” [/color]
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