"It's...who-knows-when, I'm who-knows-where. My name is Will Graham."
He's stopped drawing the clock, now just repeating this to himself occasionally. At the very least, he doesn't want to lose that last piece. He's been here too long, and he suspects he's had a complete detachment from reality. He wonders, sometimes, if he's strapped down in a hospital bed, in some psych ward. Does Alana come to visit?
He sits at the booth and reloads his gun. He considers raising it to his own temple, but- no. He can't fight his survival instinct that long, even if he's doing something awful in reality. He just has to trust Hannibal will get through to him eventually.
As he finishes checking his gun, the jukebox turns on suddenly and Will immediately stands and holds the gun ready. The song isn't one he recognizes, and he approaches cautiously, hoping to unplug the damn thing- as if that's likely to make a difference. Before he reaches it, something pounds on the door, and Will whirls to shoot.
He barely manages to stop himself, finding it's not Hobbs for once. His hands shake as he replaces the gun in its holster. He holds up a finger and rushes forward to unlock the door. "Smash it," he implores, over the music. He's seen the metal weapon the other man is carrying.
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He's stopped drawing the clock, now just repeating this to himself occasionally. At the very least, he doesn't want to lose that last piece. He's been here too long, and he suspects he's had a complete detachment from reality. He wonders, sometimes, if he's strapped down in a hospital bed, in some psych ward. Does Alana come to visit?
He sits at the booth and reloads his gun. He considers raising it to his own temple, but- no. He can't fight his survival instinct that long, even if he's doing something awful in reality. He just has to trust Hannibal will get through to him eventually.
As he finishes checking his gun, the jukebox turns on suddenly and Will immediately stands and holds the gun ready. The song isn't one he recognizes, and he approaches cautiously, hoping to unplug the damn thing- as if that's likely to make a difference. Before he reaches it, something pounds on the door, and Will whirls to shoot.
He barely manages to stop himself, finding it's not Hobbs for once. His hands shake as he replaces the gun in its holster. He holds up a finger and rushes forward to unlock the door. "Smash it," he implores, over the music. He's seen the metal weapon the other man is carrying.