Move your sorry ass!

Martin struggled to his feet and ran in a semi-crouch, hacking smoke from his lungs, feeling blisters rise on his skin, blinking his eyes, trying to keep his bearings and—

—he slammed the top of his head into the cement wall of the gym near the backboard and was unconscious before he hit the floor.

He was still unconscious fifteen minutes later when Bernard, making his last rounds before his shift ended, found him there after checking Martin’s room and discovering it empty.



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