He slept like a log. Sort of for. There were nightmares in his sleep, but upon waking he couldn't remember any of them, just a dreadful feeling. And that his mother had featured. Through those 6 hours of (debatable) rest, he groaned few times, shifting around and trying to find more comfortable position. As end of his sleep came closer, tossing and moaning became more frequent and, finally, he sort of crashed into wall and woke up with a start, breathing heavy. Wild eyes shot around the room, as Ryan tried to piece together where he was.

As his gaze stopped against her form, he muttered "damn", everything coming back to the man. Morning light filtered through dirty windows, gray tone of it and long shadows stretching out giving everything an eerie sense. Slowly, he stood up and stretched. There was ache in most of his bones, but his left arm was not burning up anymore. Current pain in it he could stand. And although he wasn't rested, he knew he could face another day and pull some of his tricks. Glancing at his wrist, he noted it said they were stuck here for about 5-6 hours more. Then there would be lengthy retelling of his experience to some white-collar robot, hot shower, full meal, decent bed and gnawing guilt.

Man rubbed his chin, noting stubble there. Two days of not shaving meant something, even though thanks to something in his genes, he wouldn't be able to grow a good beard even if he wanted to. He looked at the vanity table, now seeing that its mirror was cracked and walked over, leaning down to have a look at himself. As expected, his hair was a mess, stubble on his face. Icy eyes stared back at him and he noted circles under them. Ryan's pale skin was now more ashen than anything, except for the ugly mark on his right cheek with its reddish purple edges of the shallow gash, sickly color seeping further up and down his cheek in few thin lines.

Tentatively, he touched one corner of it and winced as throbbing sensation entered the wound and then moved further up half of his face. This couldn't be good. How could it get to this point in matter of 6-7 hours? It had to mean it was infected. And considering the situation he had gotten the scratch, those had to be worst news he had had in past week. Ryan's jaw tensed. What would happen in next 6 hours? Would he already be rendered to the level of the moaning creatures he had slaughtered last night? No, it couldn't be so fast. No way in hell.

He sat down again, realizing he had been staring at his double reflection for too long and dragged his bag closer. Quick inspection told him that Sophie had touched it, too, but somehow, the thought of her having a gun suddenly didn't seem so awful. Besides, he could always pull the same invisibility stung and get it back, nor it was in her interests to kill him. What worried him more was his journal, but it looked untouched so he let out a soft sigh of relief. It was something he didn't trust to leave back at Zofies and always carried around. At first it had been his personal recovery log, after augmentations, but quickly it had become so much more, a way to jot down his thoughts and observations, vent some hate, when he could muster energy to feel it.

So, if Sophie was awake, he didn't bring bag touching matter up and he again gave her food and canteen, eating remaining fruit himself (even if she was asleep, he'd eat) Each bite felt stale in his mouth and Ryan took extra time to chew it up and swallow, although his stomach wanted food. His thoughts spun around different possibilities and mostly the fact that he just couldn't catch a break these days. Hopefully, Sophie wouldn't have some smart ass comment. He really wasn't in mood for cracking jokes. Instead, he felt like cussing at himself for preparing so poorly for this assignment. He was more out of the game than he had originally thought. Then again, this should have been simple swoop and grab, with no overnight stays. But he should have prepared for the worst... Had he not, because he still didn't really care what happened to him?

If he was honest with himself, he wouldn't worry for the scratch much. About most physical harm, really. Only the fact he might turn into groaning, brain eating thing with no will of his own disgusted him. Something in him protested against that firmly. Did he value his will that much? Corners of Ryan's mouth quirked slightly, bitterly. It's not like he was using his free will a lot past few months. He glanced at blonde, young woman, before continuing to stare at the wall. Well, if his situation got much worse in next 6 hours and he felt his mind slipping away... He would take her gun, take off her collar and shoot himself.

But that was exactly the fatalistic thinking - or lack of thinking - that had gotten him in this mess initially. He didn't have much to live for, not before Zofies and not after, but it didn't mean he couldn't make something out for himself. He couldn't let his view of life actually cost his life or sanity, as it had already cost his arm, in a sense. Resisting urge to groan in frustration about his own thoughts, Ryan sighed softly.