OoC: BACK IN ACTION!

BiC:

Hashem sat half-leisurely on the toilet in the men’s bathroom, taking great care to keep his feet out of sight from any who snooped under the doors. A few men had come and gone, but none appeared to have tried opening the stall he was in, and Hashem was lucky when one of them was mumbling to himself about the time. When that had happened, the man said “8:44”, and it seemed as if it had been 3 or 4 hours. Stepping carefully off of the toilet, Hashem exited the stall, resumed his limp, and found his way back to the office he had scouted out before.

He deepened his limp and rushed to a cross-section in the hall as he heard footsteps approaching. Swinging around one corner, he stooped beneath a piece of oak furniture as the person passed—he didn’t catch who it was, and was thankful he hadn’t been caught.

Peering around the corner, he watched the slit of light beneath Mr. Ciatore’s door for God knows how long. And finally…it clicked off. Hashem’s heart skipped a beat, and he stood up. Concentrating on his forearm covered in flames, he focused massive sums of heat into it, and slyly pulled out his concealed blade. He pressed his arm against it for a minute or two, and then held it inches from his face. Hashem had always been pretty good at guessing the temperature, and it seemed as if it was around 600 degrees, Fahrenheit, at the moment. Grinning, he took the blade and slid it in the crack of the door and touched the blade to the metal lock which kept the door bolted, pressing downwards, willing the metal to slice.

And eventually, the heat got to it, and it did.

Turning around, he scanned the hallway for a light switch.

And he found one, twenty feet from the door he had just about penetrated. Striding over, stealthily, he flicked it off and made his way back to the door, using the faint glow of lights from other halls to guide his way.

Slightly turning the knob, he stuck his ear to the crack and listened.

Steady breathing, like he was asleep.

He chuckled inside his head, and quietly slipped in.

__________________
[These Guys Will Show You Inescapable Doom]

"Maybe it's the sum of a million coincidences we don't quite control that brings us to a particular place
at a particular time, or maybe it's the choices we make, the actions we take. If there's one thing I've learned in 85 years, it's
that what we want doesn't always matter. But then again, sometimes it's all that does." - Mick St. John