[ BZZZZZZT!!! And the video jilts on to see Cecil glaring at the ceiling and looking like he hasn't slept in a few days. Of course, he rarely ever sleeps, to so see him this disheveled is kind of odd. He doesn't move; he's just holding his communicator and glaring. It shuts off after around a minute. ] [[ooc: he might respond if you call him a few times.]]

 How time?..  Нет смысла... какое отношение имеет смысл отношений? Никакого... Можно любить словами, можно быть ситуацией в процессе, заделом в определенности... Никогда не будет смысла межрассудном проявлении очередных вопросов. Как можно характер изменить из ситуации сложенности некого алгоритма? Может быть изменить? Паритет. Альтернатива. Сюжет.

"Бардак в моей голове, А мне все равно..." (с) Найк Борзов День вновь сменил ночь. День принес плоды, знания, вынес пользу, доставил холопоты... Ночь впереди - беспокойные сны? Нет слов, никакого больше рок-н-ролла

[ Back at the hydroelectric plant. Cecil's dropped the communicator, and it bounces and turns on. He's sitting on a generator, wrench in one hand, eyes staring at the sky idly. His hands are covered in...on the ground, as if thrown almost. A few seconds pass, and Cecil's grip finally fails; the wrench falls to the ground as well. Nothing perturbs him, and a few seconds later, the comm cuts off.

The nights... are long. [ His voice is soft and light, almost as if not talking to the communicator at all. ] Two moons... Dark sky, moon s lighting the sky, a soft bed. A blanket, for warmth. Eyes closed, and you're swallowed, engulfed in a darkness you've grown used to calling 'sleep'. I... Each night is suffering. I am finished. [ And with that, he drops the comm, and it times out. ]