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[h3][color=662d91][i][b]Alexander Polawski[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=662d91]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Chapel (V) -> Standing outside of the Chapel
[i][b][color=662d91]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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[right][img]https://i.ibb.co/mq4JJFy/Forgive-me-father-for-this-bullshit.gif[/img][/right]
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	Alexander had stood up and walked away, simple as that. Away from Freedman and his confession which wasn't a confession, away from his friend and fellow Baby-boomer, away from the Chapel that which represented the only constant anchor in a troubled man's troubled life. At this point he didn't even think about it. His legs moved on their own accord, evacuating Specialist Polawski out of the shithole that was the jungle of Vietnam. He didn't think, nor speak a single word. He couldn't feel anything, refused to feel anything, until he felt the wet drops of water roll down from his grey hair and down his cheeks. 

	The rain. He stood out in the rain, helmet-less and without anyone to follow down a narrow dirt path. He was alone and safe, hard as it was to comprehend. 

[center][i]Come you Masters of War…[/i][/center]

	Alexander came to his senses, standing in the pouring rain and getting soaking wet. If Manny had passed him already or was close behind him, Alexander had no way of knowing. He'd simply blacked out, just like he'd done during Quarantine; like he'd done so many times before; like the first time it happened - May 20th, 1971. It had been a Thursday, the day before a Friday they would be over with their patrol. They had all been dead-tired and close to death so many fucking times. On edge, that's it. So that the blacking-out had returned, it troubled Alexander. 

	Ol' Mugsy stood for a solid minute, just trying to figure out…what? Alexander was looking for answers to a question he didn't know he'd asked. Had it been Freedman, or Manny? He…he did not know, and it scared the living shit out of him. 

	Alexander fell to his knees, one foot soaking wet to the core while the other was content being a peg-leg for an old veteran. Alexander, who had never slept as well as he did the last week and never felt more safe, was tired. Tired and scared. Scared of what he'd found in the basement of the Education Center, in the room Aeron had given him a key to. Tired of the relentless attack on his personal HQ and…and…Alexander could pull out his own hair, fingers grasping tightly at his own scalp as he tried to repel those manic thoughts. How much longer could he hold them back? When would he fail? 

	He'd already failed so many others. 

	Alexander struggled back onto his feet, steeled himself, and started walking back to his apartment. He needed to change.

[center][i]And I hope that you die, and your death will come soon.
I'll follow your casket on a pale afternoon.
I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your death bed,
And I'll stand over you grave and make sure that you're dead.[/i][/center]

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[h3][color=B8860B][i][b]Nigel Cooper[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=B8860B]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Gymnasium (K7)
[i][b][color=B8860B]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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[right][img]https://i.ibb.co/LrnKm2S/Nigel-Hadrian-1.jpg[/img][/right]
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	Nigel had gotten that kind of look many times before. The Look, capital L, when someone were either trying to decode the archaic lines which Nigel were performing of the stage that which was life, or actively thinking of him as a fool with too much time on his hands. Perhaps the Professor had been true, that buys never really grew up. Nigel was about to elaborate in clearer terms like the teacher he had been, when to his surprise Medic came to his aid in a most unusal way. 

	With knowledge. 

	[color=#B8860B]"That…that is correct. It is not often I meet others I can talk about that subject."[/color] Nigel said back to Medic, throwing his support to the scholared man after Volt's snickering. Clearly in jest, Nigel would have rebuked the haughty words against those in wisdom and knowledge. The mouth-rivalry continued between the two of them, including references to cartoons Nigel had never heard, much less read himself. In the end Nigel added his own opinion on the subject. [color=#B8860B]"Who says one can't master both the books and the battles? Fight during the day, read during the night, so to speak."[/color] 

	Nerva, the first of the Five Good Emperors. Having finished changing into proper training clothing, Nigel nodded in agreement to Medic's choice. [color=#B8860B]"I can back you on that. Peaceful transitions of power is an underrated part of a functional society. I mean, 2000 was one precarious election year here in this state, and even that was mild in comparison. Don't know if I miss that or not."[/color] Nigel chatted along, stretching out like Medic in preparation for to coming session.