IC: Slash finished tweaking and oiling the gun's components, and put it back together. He stretched out his arms, and slipped back into his flying pants, and flew up. Most of the employees had stirred by now, so no one was to be particularly irritated by the noise. He grabbed the tomahawk from yesterday also, and stuffed it in his satchel before flying off...he hoped there'd be some lockers somewhere to put these things, he'd ask later. He headed for breakfast in the cafeteria.
Sturg still lay asleep on the table...dreaming of grenades, and explosions...he sat up suddenly, screeching. That was odd...he'd never had a 'nightmare' before. Not surprising, considering where he was and, off course, the grenade from yesterday. He was still quite stiff, but perhaps some movement was possible. He started shaking his back to inch himself off the side of the table, and fell to the floor, onto his feet. Even that small drop hurt slightly, rupturing his chest. He slowly walked around a bit, looking around. There had to be a better way of locomotion than this. He'd heard a rumour somewhere that injured industrialists could use something called a 'weeeler-chair', where they sat in one of their chair things, and moved the wheels on it to get around, without needing to walk. He looked around. There had to be something like that somewhere in here...
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