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“Do you want us to leave too, Anders?” you ask, leaning closer to the madman, “We can leave right now if you want. All you have to do is tell me everything you told the girl.”
“Why would I want you to leave?” Anders asks in response, sounding mildly curious at best.
That... wasn't the response you were hoping for. Perhaps it wasn't the girl he wanted to get rid of, but the “bird” he claimed was with her. You're still trying to figure out what he might have meant by that. Ariel? Except, you can't imagine a possible scenario where she'd be able to come out here with only her hunting hawk – now dearly departed – for company.
It occurs to you, then, that you're trying to seek rational answers to a madman's words.
“You want me to leave, Anders, because I could throw open those windows and let in all kinds of birds,” you threaten, gesturing vaguely towards the large windows, “You don't want me to do that, do you?”
At first, Anders doesn't seem to understand what you're saying. It takes a very long time for your words to sink into the core of his being, a look of dismay gradually creeping into his face. “But I don't know,” he whines, “I don't remember, I don't WANT to remember.”
“Try to remember,” you urge, rising to your feet and looking towards the remember, “Try, Anders.”
“She asked about... the expedition,” Anders answers, screwing his eyes shut, “She wanted to know what HE did.”
“He?”
“That white devil,” he whispers, trembling on his bed. Elle reaches towards to place a hand on his shoulder for comfort, but you curtly shake your head. “She said... she said that something was coming,” he continues, “The white devil called out, and there was an answer. But it wasn't the answer he was expecting. He invited them in, and she wanted to cast them out.”
“We did... terrible things,” Anders mumbles, looking down at his hands as if picturing them stained with blood, “We cut them down like beasts, shot them like wild dogs. Blood and terror, they could smell the blood and terror. It's what feeds them, nourishes them...”
“What are you talking about?” you press, dropping back down into your seat and leaning forwards until your face is almost touching his, “What ARE they?”
But Anders flinches back from you with a scream. “The devil, the white devil!” he wails, his voice echoing through the room, “The great white devil!”
He's still wailing when the cell door flies open, and a burly guard pulls you back from his bed. Darwin brushes past, pausing only to cast a look of disgust in your direction before sinking a syringe into Anders' neck. His struggles ease, and his cries fade to soft whimpers as the medication takes effect. When she's happy that he's been fully pacified, Darwin straightens up and scowls at you.
“Outside, now,” she orders, “That was not a request, Master Pale.”
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