Monday MAR 13 2006 1:43:11
Murtagh MacCaddoch
Murtagh MacCaddoch
This was a bad idea. This was a supremely bad idea. The young Murtagh MacCaddoch knew for a fact that this was a bad idea. Kicking himself the entire time, he continued allowed himself to be lead through the halls of of the strange Asylum by Chester. This did not stop him from flinching at every shadow or stifling a scream at every unusual noise. He recoiled at every body they left behind, fearful that they would wake up. While his mind was hardwired for the present, he cursed himself for being so weak to allow himself to be brought up to this point.
He hated everyone there. The only ones they kind of liked were those that kept to themselves, and left him alone. Every night as he went to sleep, Murtagh feared he would never wake up. People like Chester constantly kept him on edge, wondering if he was going to slip a knife between his ribs. He found no comfort in this enclosed hell, and with every growing day he felt more and more like he was going to explode. Not only this, by the voice that was "Myron" whispered to him constantly, demanding more and more vehemently to kill something. The babble about filling a void made no sense to Murtagh, and only sought to confuse him even further. Sometimes he was clear-minded enough to observe and maybe pick a few out that would likely kill him in his sleep, but most of the time Murtagh remained curled up in his bed trying not to sob uncontrollably. He failed occasionally. The nurses were of no help. No matter how nice they tried to be, Murtagh knew it was just a trick. They were fed up with that job they held of taking care of the crazy. He knew it, and refused to let them calm or comfort him. They set up a routine instead where they left necessary food at the foot of his bed and would take it once he cleaned the plate. No further contact was necessary, and Murtagh wouldn't have had it any other way.
Perhaps if he had stayed in the ward room instead of following Chester, he would be given his own little room. A place where he could finally relax. Those ideas were far gone now. He had reached his limit in staying in that room with his wardmates, and made one of his rare blind decisions instead of thinking things through. Now they were in a small storage room, awaiting their doom as they failed to properly path an escape route. Maximilien's words did not comfort Murtagh, who was beside himself with fear.
"We're going to die. We're going to die. I don't want to die. I won't die. We're going to die though. Oh we're going to die die die die die die die..." He trailed off, sinking into a fetal position as he felt the hairs raise on his back. Somebody was going to break even worse news, he knew it. The situation practically called for it. Then Andromeda, in her infuriatingly calm manner, announced the presence of incoming guards. Murtagh felt his stomach sink, feeling quite nauseous at the idea of being shot or beaten to death by guards. "Die die die going we're die to die die die going die guards die coming.." Murtagh whimpered, so shocked with fear that all rational thought flew out the window.
There was a sharp mental slap that brought him back to a poor semblance of clarity. The dark voice in his head demanding that he not give up now. It used a lot of words that Murtagh didn't understand, but it helped him stomp cowering just as the footsteps became audible. A new wave of fear washed over Murtagh, but even in this tense time he remembered his brothers words and slowly got to his feet, quickly shuffling to the back of the room and grabbing a couple boxes and pulling them to the floor to reveal their contents. Most of them contained hardware supplies- PVC pipes and the likes. Murtagh quickly snagged a pipe and braced himself.