[they move faster than Manabu can process, even though he's desperately trying to. things are just hitting him in irregular intervals, not giving him a chance to properly compartmentalize and cope: the operating table, the drugs, the doctor's voice, the blood, the barrier, the crumpling of bodies, the architecture, the florescent lights, the slam of doors and busted hinges, the glass, the rush of wind--
he gasps involuntarily when they crash out into the night, and it's enough of a sensory shock to give him something to grab on in the midst of the spiral. though he still shakes, his wide, unblinking eyes are more alert than horrified as they flit focus along manmade light fixtures in the dark.]
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ninetydegrees
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on 2024-03-06 05:00 pm (UTC)he gasps involuntarily when they crash out into the night, and it's enough of a sensory shock to give him something to grab on in the midst of the spiral. though he still shakes, his wide, unblinking eyes are more alert than horrified as they flit focus along manmade light fixtures in the dark.]
Where...? [where are we?]