etrayalogs | MISSION 009

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MISSION 009

⏵ CAMP ETRAYA ⏴
On May 16th, Aurora and the companion bots direct those not heading off to Solmara to make their way to Camp Etraya.

Nestled away from everything else in a large clearing full of wildflowers and redwoods, Camp Etraya is a nostalgic summer camp experience put together just for it's residents! Cabins are assigned, scary stories are told around campfires, gossiping happens among friends on the trails surrounding the cabins - and don't be surprised when something goes awry. After all, this is still Etraya.

While the rest of Etraya is still accessible and will not be blocked off, characters are discouraged from venturing far from camp for too long: Aurora will specify that they are on a mission, and that missions do require participation, but she has intentionally left them the freedom to wander. Not sleeping in their assigned cabins, not participating in events, and staying away from Camp Etraya will end with her having to take more extensive security measures, so please be on your best behavior! The last thing she wants to do is start enforcing boundaries, but she will if she has to.

Camp is set up much like your generic summer camp! Each cabin is named, housing is assigned to characters as they arrive, there are camp counselors, and rotating daily tasks and chores. There are also multiple activities that characters are expected to participate in, and each activity is worth points that goes toward their camp graduation score. This score will be visible on their earpiece, and follows the A-F grading system. We are not be monitoring this, and are leaving character scores up to players. We do, however, ask that you please report your characters' camp grade HERE for rewards and demerits to be handed out after the mission itself.

Cabin assignments can be found here, which also has their roles, and chores assigned to that cabin. Those who are participating in Solmara have received an assigned cabin, too, but their absence toward the beginning will not harm the cabin's ability to compete given how spread out their assignments are.

⏵ WELCOME TO CAMP ⏴

Camp life is meant to instill a sense of belonging, connection with nature, encouragement towards the creative, all on top of a firm foundation of responsibility. Upon arriving, campers will be escorted towards a table of white t-shirts and countless buckets of dye!

Each Etrayan will be invited to make three Tie-Dyed shirts- as well as required to wear one as part of their summer uniform. Camp counselors must wear 80s basketball shorts or cut-off jeans. Campers may wear cargo shorts or a skort. For those with physical limitations to what they can wear, accommodations will be provided.

Here, bonding is the camp runners' priority. They will be pushed into various ice-breaker activities, such as trust falls, two truths and a lie, and Never have I Ever. As the sun goes down, there will be weenies roasting over the bonfire, followed by s’mores and a sing-a-long! With the stars well-visible, it’s off to bed with campers.

Each day after will start much the same: with the ringing of the bell and raising of the flag (Aurora, while unfamiliar with flag designs but an understanding of the concept, has chosen a rainbow flag for the camp. Rainbows make people happy, right?), followed by a meal at the Great Hall, morning assembly, activities with counselors, chores, free time, and then an evening winding down by the great fire. An hour after sun down, campers will be escorted back to their cabins for curfew. Camp Counselors are expected to keep track of their campers, and ensure they're all within their cabins for bedtime. This is part of their grade, too! Curfew lifts an hour before the first bell.

⏵ CAMP ACTIVITIES ⏴

As with most summer camps, Camp Etraya offers a wide variety of activities to participate in. While some of these activities may be mandatory, others are optional. We'll be leaving this up to individual player discretion: perhaps Viktor is mandated to report to arts and crafts, whilst it's optional for Silco to show. Silco, on the other hand, may be mandated to report to the archery contest. Characters are encouraged to participate in a minimum of one camp activity per day.

Below is a non-exhaustive list of camp activities.

Three-Legged Race - You and a partner are tied together at your ankles, and you must race others to the finish line. Those with abilities that would give them an advantage will find that the rope that ties them together hinders those abilities from functioning.
Archery - This can be more traditional, magical, or include moving targets! If you're particularly unlucky, your target may even shoot back.
Softball - What instills a sense of camaraderie better than a bit of team sports? Games will be held on Wednesdays, the field is otherwise available for practice.
Dodge Ball - Standing diametrically opposed to Softball is dodge ball, the bully’s sport. This is a great opportunity to claim dominance or be sent to the Nurse’s Office.
Obstacle Course - You are directed into a large maze with multiple obstacles for them to overcome, such as rock climbing walls, ramps, tires, and nets.
Capture the Flag - Small teams are put together in order to take the flag from a particular bot, whose entire goal is to avoid being caught.
Canoe Race - Canoes are placed into the rivers just off of the camp, and characters must race to the finish line.
Chocobo Riding - Learn how to care for and ride these magnificent birds! Newbies will be taken around the corral, whereas more experienced riders can take the trail around the lake.
Arts and Crafts - Make friendship bracelets, bead lizards, paint rocks, learn origami! Or perhaps you're tasked with putting together an enchanted necklace. Don't know how to do enchantments? Now is as good of a time as any to learn.
Campfire stories - Share scary stories amongst yourselves around the campfire late into the night. If you're particularly unlucky, you may just hear the thing you were just warning others about..

⏵ NIGHT TIME ⏴

Once campers have been put to bed, the counselors can still stay up. Unwind with hidden beers and the strumming of a guitar. Don’t get too comfortable, though, since without supervision, no one is keeping the campers in bed.

After dark, should campers evade their counselors, they can go exploring in the dark. Eerie lights glimmer from the lake. There’s rumors of a headless spectre walking from the archery field to the edge of the forest. Should you behave, you still might hear a scratching at your bunk house window.

And on the very last night of camp, there will be a talent show. Show off your hidden talent and bask in the excitement of wowing your fellow campers!

⏵ NOTES ⏴

Welcome to Camp Etraya! Please enjoy the s'mores and campfire songs. :)

Camp will last approximately two weeks, going from May 16th to May 30th.

For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the plotting post. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It's a small smile. Carver might have missed it if he weren't watching Harold so closely. Small and brief but, Carver thinks, honest. And he wonders what that's like, too. To believe in other people like most of them aren't evil, selfish little monsters who'd turn on each other the second things got hard. Carver hasn't saved anyone in a long time, not even his own people. He realizes he hasn't tried. For a moment, he wonders what it would've been like if he had.

You doubting me, son? the commander's voice hisses abruptly. Carver stiffens, checking his corners instinctively. Nothing greets him but dust and the same shadows he helped conceal the cameras in.

His fingers twitch. This is blasphemy, he's pretty sure. ]

Sounds nice, [ Carver admits quietly. ] Believing that.

[ Carver shifts, grows tense, and Harold can't interpret that but he can be compassionate toward it. ]

Sometimes it's awful, [ he says with quiet honesty, reflecting on all those they've lost. Not just to death but to Samaritan, to a cause that would eat them alive. Sometimes it hurts to keep walking like every step is treading on shattered glass. He'd love to hide -- he's given up so many times -- he's been a coward in a multitude of ways, as he keeps thinking recently. But... ]

But most of the time it feels like the only thing worth doing. There's no point in continuing on if I believe the worst of humanity is the best we're capable of. Not to me.

[ Others can have other purpose, other meaning, in their lives. Harold won't discount that. But for himself, this is the only thing that keeps him from giving up entirely and passively waiting for death: the idea that he could still do something good. ]

[ Maybe all belief comes with some sort of cost, Carver thinks. Especially the kind you commit your soul to. Otherwise, it wouldn't be much of a creed, would it?

He lifts his chin, watching Harold with a solemn sort of quietness. ]

I don't think you'd say that if you'd seen my world.

[ But maybe Harold would. Maybe that's the part that's going to haunt them both. ]

Why'd you let me in, sir?

[ With equanimity: ] Maybe I wouldn't.

[ Harold can't say how he'd react in such grievous circumstances as what Carver has described. He's gone through trials in his life, but nothing like that. He won't discount the idea that what he's taking is a position of privilege, one he only feels able to take because of the relative advantages available to him.

But... he has been willing to die for these beliefs in the past. Been prepared to and was about to many times, in fact -- and that hadn't dissuaded him. So maybe he would still say that after all. ]

Let you into the group, you mean? [ he clarifies, letting the sir slide past. ] You looked like you needed a job.

[ That's a private joke, one that makes him soften here, just a faint trace of humor. ]

[ Unconsciously, Carver finds himself reaching for his pendant. Rubbing his thumb along the surface of it. He'd kept it hidden under his shirt in this place, a secret he meant to keep to himself, but the shape and the texture comfort him now. A reminder of all that he's sworn himself to, and all that he's lost. Battle after battle, and still he ended up here alone.

Or maybe not quite alone, but not with his brothers, either.

He swallows hard. Staring at Harold, almost stricken. This is blasphemy, isn't it? ]

I did, [ he whispers, voice thick. ] But you had to know I was crazy.

[ There's something wrong with him, Carver knows. This is the very worst of his sins. That sometimes, every once in a while, his ghosts walk in his corners. Sometimes they talk to him. ]

[ Crazy just doesn't feel very useful as a term, so he slides past that, too. ]

I knew then, and I know now, that you're capable of terrible things.

[ He speaks calmly, not untouched by that but accepting of it. Harold won't delude himself; he knows the kind of people he's hired and grown close to, the kind of people he'd ultimately needed. He thinks of what the Machine said about Root, echoes her words here. Capable of terrible things, but decided to do good... ]

But that doesn't mean you'll do them. I thought I'd give you another choice.

What I'm interested in is what you choose. [ Like how Harold had chosen to believe in something better. Sometimes what someone needs is just a different option -- or as John had put it, a purpose. ]

[ Another choice. What a terrible thing to offer, Carver thinks, stricken. He wants to scoff at it or maybe stalk up and hit Harold. Knock him on his ass and force the balance between them to reset or maybe just break once and for all because at least that would make sense. It would slot the world back into alignment, to fit the shape Pope spent a lifetime demanding of it.

Carver feels his fingers twitch. He wants to pace, to move, to do something with his hands, but that's a sin. That's an awful goddamn sin. Pope always hated it when he paced. When he couldn't stop himself because it felt like he'd die if he couldn't move. If he had to hold still for even a second.

Stand up straight, the commander hisses in his ear. What the fuck is wrong with you, son?

And still Harold stays calm, his voice unchanging. Soft and deliberate, the words precise. All things are, with Harold Finch. And in that moment, it's easy to understand why Shaw and John follow him. Why they committed the way they did. And maybe Carver sympathizes, because he'd wanted a better world once too, when Matthew - ]

Oh, [ Carver realizes, with a sudden burst of bleak clarity. His voice is soft. ] Oh, Pope's gonna kill me for this.

[ Doubt is a weakness. Doubt is betrayal. ]

[ A choice is powerful. Harold had programmed the Machine with her first directive to respect human agency, to leave them a choice. There should always be a person's will involved in each decision. The Machine provides information -- provides choices -- but what they do with it is up to them, and that's deliberate.

That's the difference between Harold and Greer, between the Machine and Samaritan. (Poor Arthur would have wanted so much more.)

Suddenly strident, sharp and authoritative in a huge departure from his usual gentle precision: ]

Not if I have anything to do with it.

[ He knows little enough of Pope, but Carver's whole demeanor makes Harold icy toward him on principle, and he'd hardly let someone kill Carver anyway. Usually he tries not to confront the indoctrination too directly, but-- the conversation they've been having-- ]

Anyone who would kill you for considering your options is detestable.

[ Oh, God. Carver rocks on his heels, heart pounding in his throat. This is a sin. This is an awful goddamn sin, worse than what he did on the killing grounds in Meridian. He clutches at his pendant, praying for guidance, for some sort of clarity, but it doesn't come. There's just a bit of iron in his hand, hammered and forced into a new shape by a dead man, a brother yet unburied. And there are ghosts in the corners again, massing in their uniforms, and -

And Harold keeps talking, sharper this time. Saying this shit like it doesn't come with consequences. Like the commander won't burn them all for this.

Carver flinches. ]

Don't say that, [ he hisses, rocking again, fighting the urge to pace or maybe go and bash his head into the wall. ] Don't say that. He made me.

[ He's quiet for a long moment, letting Carver fight those feelings, standing still and at a distance so as to be unthreatening. Too much, too fast. He just couldn't let the moment pass without calling it for what it is: detestable. There's power in hearing things plainly said out loud. Harold should know; he avoids saying so much.

He gives him peace and space for a measured length of time before he speaks again, and he picks his words carefully, inscribed with sadness and compassion. ]

But you don't seem to like what he's made.

[ He has to move, Carver thinks, feeling sick. He has to move or he's going to fucking die. It feels like he's swallowed glass, that it's stuck in his chest and he's bleeding out inside. Already dying.

God knows his sin. Certainly Pope does, too.

Carver rocks on his heels. And then he is pacing, like a goddamn crazy person. Back and forth, back and forth, in front of Harold Finch, who's probably going to run for the hills in a second. Anyone would. ]

I'm a good soldier, [ Carver hisses, almost pleading. ] I did everything he asked.

[ He can't breathe. He's going to die. Pope's going to burn him, Carver thinks bleakly, and he curls his hand into a fist and hits himself in the head as hard as he can.

And for a moment, for a single brutal moment, the world goes still and quiet. It's almost peaceful. ]

Oh--

[ Harold lurches forward in distress, like he's going to try to physically stop him, but that's absurd. Hadn't they just covered that he shouldn't try to even wake him directly? He freezes in place, eyes wide and hands hovering, deeply upset to see him hitting his own head so hard. ]

Mr. Carver-- Brandon.

[ He thinks frantically. What can he say? What can he do here? Calling in someone else doesn't seem right. He's made this situation but, moreover, he thinks the kinder thing to do is not have someone else bear witness to it. Carver wouldn't want that. And he's certainly not going to just leave. ]

You've done everything I said, [ he blurts out, like he can supplant this panic with his own approval. He just thinks -- he remembers -- sometimes he can totally disarm John with compliments. ]

I've found nothing to fault in you. I'm sorry for what I said. So please, don't hurt yourself. Stay here with me. I'm right here.

[ Stay in the present, stay here, where someone doesn't find him wanting and won't hurt him indescribably if he did. He called himself crazy, but Harold just sees someone who is badly hurt, badly traumatized, and alone. He would apologize ten more times if that helped anything. He'd meant what he said, but he didn't mean to do this. ]

[ The world tilts a little the way it does sometimes after a bomb goes off. The ringing in his ears is the same, Carver thinks distantly. There’s not even any pain, not right away. Just a strange, ringing stillness, Harold’s voice coming in and out, Harold’s eyes so very wide behind his glasses. This wasn’t part of the game plan, was it?

Carver lowers his hand slowly. His skull throbs. It barely counts as a wound. Dramatics, the commander hisses. Is this what we’ve come to? Sort yourself, son. That’s fucking pathetic. ]

Yes, sir, [ he agrees, half to Harold, mostly to his ghosts. The world’s still tilting. Going soft around the edges like rotting fruit. He’s sinned against the commander and that only ends one way. ] What are my orders?

[ Please, God, give him an order. ]

[ Harold swallows hard. He's really gotten himself into it now. This is not at all the time to reiterate that he gives only directions, not orders. ]

I'd like you to keep this area secure, [ he decides on the fly, landing on something concrete as absolutely necessary. ] Without permanently harming anyone, please. [ Even attempting to give orders he's scrupulously polite, but he can't help that. He is who he is. He'd always said please to the Machine, too, who was literally programmed to obey him for most of her existence.

He has a stroke of inspiration and adds more firmly, ] For at least the next twelve hours. [ Carver needs time away from others, in a secluded and safe area, after Harold just set him off. And Harold can monitor it, too, of course, which will give him some peace of mind. ]

If I bring Bear to you, will that help? I can teach you his commands.

[ That's a much stronger statement of trust than giving him the device on their closed MeSH network, but Harold doesn't want him to be fully alone. Bear is both protection and company. Dogs can be such a source of solace... but maybe Carver won't see it that way, so he asks rather that orders on that one. ]

[ Maintain the area for twelve hours. Don't kill anyone. Carver rocks on his heels and then forces himself to stand up straight. To focus on a point just beyond Harold's shoulder, some distant horizon line. You don't make eye contact when you're called to account for your failures. You hold still and you take what you're due.

Carver doesn't answer right away, focused on trying to slow his breathing down. To act like less of a psychopath in front of witnesses. Distantly, he knows it's not going well. ]

Sure, [ he agrees, because he has to say something. He wishes it were his sister's dog because then she'd be there and she'd make this right.

Then, before he can think better of it: ]

Where's Leah?

[ His heart twists and contracts at the question. At least he knows who Leah is, knows why he's asking. It would be so easy to utter a platitude here -- Carver is clearly out of it, not tracking where he is, mentally someplace else -- but Harold's promise to John years ago that he would never lie to him is something he's silently and spontaneously kept to the rest of the team as well as they joined. It's a policy that's never served him wrong. The one time he betrayed it to protect John, tried to shield him from a number that involved domestic violence, he'd come to regret it.

So he says, ] I don't know, [ unvarnished and raw.

He needs to center him, give him something to stabilize with. Harold did this; he won't leave him in this state, even if he's frantically guessing at how to handle it. Abandonment, he's sure, is the actual worst sin, if such a thing existed. ]

Bear's commands are in Dutch, [ he tries. ] He was trained for the military, so they're words that won't be said in casual conversation. I need you to memorize them. Are you ready?

[ Learning a list of Dutch words might serve as a grounding exercise, he hopes. ]

Oh.

[ His voice is soft. A little distant. Leah might be a ghost now. Carver can't see her in the corners but that doesn't mean anything except as a promise that he is, indeed, losing his mind. Harold's still talking, the sound of it fading in and out, and it's hard to focus. The whole world feels like it's under water.

In that way, it's not unlike drowning.

Carver feels his fingers twitch. Focus, son, the commander whispers. You have a job to do.

There's always a job to do. That much he clings to. ]

Dutch, [ Carver repeats softly. It's not one of the languages he speaks and their own dogs were all trained on German instead. But the duty stands. And Harold's still staring at him like a grenade with a pin already popped. Probably wondering how far the fallout is going to spread.

It's strange that he hasn't bolted, though. Or ordered Carver to quit his foolishness. ]

Yes. I'm ready.

[ Harold tries to imagine how he'd feel if he weren't sure if Grace were alive or dead, if he'd ever see her again, and it's a vicious sharp kind of pain he can't dwell on long. Sometimes seeing her alive and safe was the only comfort he had, a beacon that reminded him he'd done one thing right in leaving her. Abandonment is a sin except for when it saves someone's life.

Maybe this isn't the right way to go about talking someone down from a panic attack with psychotic features, but Carver had just agreed with his assessment that he'd needed a job, he'd asked him for orders, and Harold's experience with others like him is that he must be oblique. He doesn't mind addressing emotions directly, but it makes them squirrelish. He has to come in from the side in order to have what he says land with any impact, because they'll reflexively dodge an emotional conversation like they would a blow.

So he runs through the commands with him for as long as it takes, looking both for Carver to memorize them but more so to gauge his mental state. He watches carefully, leads him through ontspannen, bewaker, af liggen, as many as he can think of. ]

... Do you have all that? [ he asks finally, his eyes still tight with worry.

Harold has his share of flaws and he's made a tremendous amount of mistakes, but he doesn't flinch from facing the consequences of what he's done. ]

[ Sometimes, in the field, Carver can feel his thoughts just slip away. The self fades into the background, leaving nothing but the orders and the objective. He never liked it afterward but he knows it's saved his life before. How a person can become a ghost in their own skin in order to finish an engagement.

It's like that now, a little. He has to focus on Harold's words to make sure he's not missing anything, isn't getting the words garbled through the rotten-fruit softness of the moment. But he's not really there, Carver thinks. He wonders if he's dead and his body just hasn't realized yet.

That happens, sometimes. When somebody takes a wound and they just stand there, calm and a little confused before they just drop.

Harold asks a question. Assessing whether Carver's listening, probably. ]

Yes, [ Carver agrees, and recites the words and their definitions back. This is a test, after all. You have to get it right or there'll be consequences. And Harold might not like rank or the few times that Carver's called him sir, but he slots almost neatly into the void that Pope and Leah left in the world. Someone must take that role. It might as well be someone like Harold Finch, who believes in people even when they must, inevitably, disappoint him. ]

[ It doesn't exactly seem like it's working, but... he's also not getting any worse. And he hasn't hit himself again, good Lord. Harold is going to see that in his nightmares.

He isn't thinking of this as a test himself but he still isn't surprised that Carver passes. The ability to focus through trauma is a crucial survival skill in the kinds of scenarios he's been in. But he still doesn't feel quite right leaving to retrieve Bear, thinks they're not quite there yet. Harold abandons calculation and follows his own instincts instead. ]

The first time I was held hostage, I didn't know how to adjust when I got back, [ he offers. By someone who later became an ally, but that's another story. ] I shuttled myself from safehouse to safehouse and if I stepped a foot outside of that, it was like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't function. I knew it was all too likely that it would happen again -- and it did, later.

That's where Bear came from. Mr. Reese found him and pressed him on me. I thought he was being ridiculous, [ Harold admits, ] but... it did help. To know I had protection that didn't depend on a person.

[ It let him maintain his pride and his privacy, which were some of the only things Harold insisted on keeping in the wake of the ferry bombing. ]

[ Carver's quiet for a long moment at that. Harold's words flow through him like a river. Some catch on the rocks and stay, but most of them just drift. It's so hard to focus. Every breath seems heavy. But he understands that something important is happening now, that Harold is trying to make him understand something, and this is always an intimacy whether it happens in conversation, by touch, or in an interrogation. There's something sacred about it.

Focus, he thinks, and his fingers twitch again. Focus, now. ]

Leah let Freya sleep in our bunks sometimes, [ Carver says after a while, softly. His gaze is focused elsewhere, on the horizon line. ] She wasn't supposed to. It was against the rules. But when the kids had nightmares after raids, it helped.

[ It helped him, once, when he was nineteen and scrubbing bone and brain matter out of his hair for the first time. Terrified that the next time they went out, they were all going to die. ]

[ Again, he's not sure it's helping, but it doesn't seem to be making him worse. Harold is suddenly struck by the thought that perhaps this isn't something that can be helped, like him wandering around in a daze after the deaths of Elias and Root and John and then the Machine, booking a flight to Italy almost in a fugue state... that was just something that had to be endured until it passed.

Maybe trying to fix it is the wrong tactic entirely. He's always been someone who wants to fix, who sees a malfunctioning machine or a pressing problem and tries to find a solution. But there aren't solutions to people. ]

Bear helps me when I have nightmares, too. I won't tell if you won't.

[ He sounds honest, unapologetic, though his voice is soft to match Carver's. ]

You said you'd clean this place up some -- could you get started on that while I fetch Bear? [ Time alone with a simple task couldn't hurt. ]

[ Nightmares, Harold says. He has nightmares, too. This is a thing they're admitting now, words previously locked away. Now, the two of them are saying a whole lot. Giving oxygen to secrets that should have been strangled before they broke the surface. There's no taking it back, is there?

Carver rocks on his heels, gaze drifting. He needs to focus, he knows distantly. This isn't good. He wants to die, a little. ]

Yeah, [ he agrees. Cleaning. He can clean. That's useful. ] Yes, sir.

[ This, at least, he won't fuck up. ]

[ There's a trite analogy about lancing a wound somewhere, he's sure, and the pus coming out and that making it easier to keep on keeping on. Harold isn't fond of it. He hasn't bought into the concept that healing has to come with pain first. Pain just seems to be a constant, separate and apart from everything else, neither good nor bad.

Pain is part of being alive, just like fear. Sometimes you learn to live with the infection, the seeping wound, and you grow to the point that you no longer have to pretend it doesn't exist. That feels more like weariness than strength.

He has several seeping wounds and somehow, perversely, he's found that he doesn't want to apologize for them any longer.

So again he doesn't contest the sir, just nods with equanimity, a careful eye on Carver for a moment more before he turns to leave. It takes nearly thirty minutes for him to return with Bear with his unsteady gait, and he's purposefully not rushing. It's not a statement about his trust in Carver; he's keeping an eye on him through the cameras they'd just set up, wary but trying to give him time.

When they arrive, Bear is off-leash and curious, immediately moving ahead to investigate the shack until Harold stops him. ]

Wachten. [ He's not sure whether he can assume Carver is watching the cameras, too, in the mental state he's in, despite that being the purpose of them... so he calls out in a calm, carrying voice, suppressing his worry as he stops a healthy distance away with the dog: ]

I've returned with Bear.

[ Time swims. Again, Carver thinks of a river. Of his thoughts catching against stones and fallen trees, getting tangled up in things. Slipping away from him in moments, by inches.

The orders stand, regardless. He tidies. He finds a rag and cleans up the dust. Rights what he can. Everything that ought to have a place within the shack is given one. Briefly, there's a line cut through the chaos. He doesn't really notice the time passing.

Things happen. He barely exists. And then there's a voice cutting through the river, and the noise of a dog.

Carver stills. He watches Harold. He watches the dog. He hasn't been checking the cameras. ]

Yes, sir, [ he agrees softly. ]

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cw: passive suicidal ideation

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cw: internalized ableism

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cw: self harm

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cw suicidal ideation

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