There was blood. He could smell it; [i]feel it[/i], as if it were oozing out of every pore in him. An disgustingly coppery scent that seemed to pervade into everything around him. There was fire, too. Some of it natural, and yet so much more was a familiar hazy purple that slowly melted the surroundings into sludge. But more prevalent than anything else were the [i]screams[/i]. Both physical and mental. People screaming for their lives. People screaming for it to stop. People screaming at a monster, begging and praying for it all to end. The psychic end of things were even worse, as if being assaulted by the fear and horror of everyone around, as their minds buckled and broke from the scene before them. It was-

"400." 

As he pushed, his whole body lifted into the air, his entire muscular figure being put airborne by the work of a lone arm. He'd switched it up throughout the routine, of course; 200 per arm. In fact, he could do this stuff with a finger, but he figured it was a little early to be doing that sort of thing. Really, he had decided on a whim to spend his precious 30 minutes so early just to get himself out of his own head. Today was a bad one, he could already tell. 

With his final push-up completed, the man effortlessly placed himself back on his own two feet. Despite the grueling exercise, he seemed to have nary a drop of sweat on him, as if it had been nothing for him. Which was true, frankly. Left without much to do, he simply went back to his bed and pulled a comic book from a cubby nearby. It was about...Trueheart. Definitely a more awkward subject nowadays, but he didn't let that hamper his reading experience. 

This man was Jack Donovan. Beyond his almost disturbingly fit build, he appeared very unassuming, with his scruffy-looking brown hair and dark grey eyes and a rather slouched posture in spite of his exceptional physique. He idled away the time, reading over the whole collection of comics they afforded him. Honestly, if he felt like anything they'd managed to do lately warranted it, he might've asked about adding a few more, but...Things haven't been great lately, putting it lightly. 

His much more shallow mental musings and casual reading experience were abruptly interrupted and completely shattered about an hour later by the headache-inducing morning call (if he was being generous) of one of his....'Teammates'. His brow furrowed, his morning getting progressively worse by the minute. Sadly, though, that had become the norm of this place. He took a bit of extra time merely trying to mentally prepare himself for the day, recalling some breathing exercises the therapist had taught him. "Okay, Jack...New day. New you..." He spoke the words, but there wasn't an ounce of confidence in them. 

His lack of confidence seemed well-earned when, the moment he stepped outside, Donovan nearly got caught in the fly-by being performed by the resident Angel (even after all this time, he was still chewing on that, honestly). His rapid-fire reflexes pulled him out of that line of fire quickly...Even if there probably would've been more harm to Bezaliel than himself if an actual collision occurred. "JESUS! Bez! This place is [i]not[/i] the size for flying!" Not even a minute outside and he was already yelling. He gave a quick exhale, as if trying to push the anger out of him. It was too early to get pissed off. If anything, it was too early for any of this crap, but that never stopped them. 

When he made his approach to the impromptu congregation, however, Jack noticed the completely laid-out Sabriel. Well, he'd at least gotten his comeuppance already. In spite of everything, a small pleased smirk graced his otherwise grim features. He knew it wouldn't change anything down the line, but it at least made him feel better. Consolation prizes worked, too.