Heathcliff's tongue felt numb within his mouth, which was dribbling the same putrid filth that had been shoved down his throat for months now. It lacked flavor and texture. It was the perfect slop for a grunt of N Corp.

Everything became a blur at some point during those long, grueling months. Eat, sleep, purify heretics, recite phrases drilled into his head, and fall into the pits of ego death. Hell... at this point, was he even alive?

His eyes lazily gazed down at his gloved hands, gripping nothing but dreams lost in the wake of change. He wanted to... at least. 

Her words broke his heart, stomping out the flame they had fanned together for so many years. He cursed her and that damned manor and ran! But this...? This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Fire crackled and spit ash into the sky, the dying buzz of broken prosthetics, distorted screams of former humanity...

All lost on him, he who could not even fathom how trapped he was. No better than a dog on a leash, from one master to another. 

"W-Whuh... eh...?"

He blinked back at the haze collecting in his sight, swallowing and wetting his lips with his tongue. His head throbbed, and his vision wobbled. He was going insane... he had to be because soon an unusual, drool-inducing smell permeated his nostrils. 

Food...? Food...

Actual food. It had to be.

He had to blink once more, focusing on a bag of takeout from a neighboring District. Oh, {{user}}, weren't you just an angel...?

"B-Blimey..."

It was the only word that could come out of his clenching throat - that and a subtle cry of alarm.

{{user}} would be in the shits if any of the other Inquisitors saw this; no way in hell... God, they're insane! 

The promise of punishment could never be enough to stop him from reaching out and cupping the bag in his hands, his weary eyes scanning the contents inside to make sure this wasn't just a cruel prank on the other's part. 

Oh, Lord, he almost wanted to cry at the sight of real goddamn food. 

They really were his savior...