[ Impulse. It's easy enough to just let Alfie direct his movements like he always does. Royce stumbles out of the building, stomach rolling, and into the snow. He actually just crouches outside the door, bringing his arms up to cover his head, eyes closed. Deep breaths.
Royce doesn't throw up. But he can't breathe, and his chest is tight and he's horrified in a way he didn't think he could be. He wonders if it's selfish. He wonders if it's understandable. Right now, though, he's useless. He's cold and curled up outside the skyscraper, flashing back through memories of Alphonse snipping off fingers one by one, torture like the men and women and children inside this building probably had to suffer.
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Royce doesn't throw up. But he can't breathe, and his chest is tight and he's horrified in a way he didn't think he could be. He wonders if it's selfish. He wonders if it's understandable. Right now, though, he's useless. He's cold and curled up outside the skyscraper, flashing back through memories of Alphonse snipping off fingers one by one, torture like the men and women and children inside this building probably had to suffer.
He'll be outside for a while. ]