THE EPS
The metal walls reflect a distorted image of Vidalia Owens and Ciccioto, their hands locked together. Turner notices this out of the corner of his left eye. He laughs to himself for a moment, The 'HERO' really has no clue what he is getting in to, before wiping a mix of dust and ash from his coat.
His palms are black, his arm bruised. But this fact doesn't upset him, not in the least.
He licks the side of his lip, cleaning off the dried blood, which was a gift from his quarrel with the man once known as Doe. The taste, as disgusting as it might be makes Turner smile (as only he could).
Blood. Life. Reality.
Turner quickly descends a level into one of the many kitchens. The doors hit their stoppers with a thud as Turner rushes into the room. He pulls a drawer open, almost taking it off its hinges. He has found his goal.
A sharp knife.
Turner throws his old fedora on a counter and removes his coat. He rolls up his left sleeve and tightly grips the knife in he right hand.
Turner digs the knife into his arm and slices across his shoulder, stopping before the mussel. He does the same in the opposite direction, creating an X which is slowly hidden under a layer of blood.
Turner grins his teeth at the pain. His eyes light up with life.
For the first time in a long time he has felt something, anything.
