[ It's a feeling of uselessness, coated with a thick layer of numbness. Darkness and nothingness that comes with being trapped inside. It's nowhere near as bad as it used to be now that they cofronted more often, but that doesn't mean he doesn't squirm uncomfortably under Marc's skin. A distant sort of sensation, writhing with stress. ] Right. The stabby fellow. [ Not the best descriptor, but noth times they had established it to not be either of them it had been the one, even if Steven had been unsure at first, he had no reason to doubt Marc now. ]

Not my phone either. [ He adds helpfully, as if it isn't painfully obvious the sleek black thing isn't his old phone with it's clumsy hieroglyphic case.

There's a flinch, something sharp and sudden and maybe he looked too long or thought abotu it too much, but the voice in his head is quieter. ] A few days? How-- how much time have we lost? [ There's no way for either of them to know, but he asks anyway, feels that familiar sense of madness creeping in at the edges. ]

Who-- I have no idea who these people are. [ The pockets have little to offer, a key or two here or there, keys that could belong to anything, cuffs soaked in red on the floor, already nearly dried and glued to the tile. Steven's breathing is loud. ] We shouldn't-- we need-- we ha-- we have to go, right? Marc? We have to go Marc, we have to-- there are a lot of people in here.