It was like being in the cell again, pacing between four walls, only worse.
He couldn't see a way out.
Purpose, freedom, existence – concepts bounced against each other and no longer made any sense, they only irritated him.
He needed something.
Psych talked. Talking was fine. Talking wasn't enough.
He'd spent the past hour running – not jogging, running. His muscles ached, sweat prickled against his skin, his senses were as sharp as they got. It wasn't enough, either.
The sun was only beginning to rise when he found himself in New Atlantis, staring at a very specific door. It had been a week, and other than the odd bruise here and there, the aftermath of the fight was no longer visible on him. He figured it was time.