Cal regrets every complaint he had about the tedium of factory work, because solitary confinement is so unfathomably fucking boring he’s about to go spare. It’s been two days and the only way he can keep track of time is via meals – they don’t actually use the little slots in the doors, so three times a day a trooper or droid brings around a tray and retrieves the old one. After a single morning in isolation, Cal was thrilled for even that momentary company. He needs some daily alone time to decompress, of course, especially when he lives on a little starship with four other people and his ‘bedroom’ is open to traffic, but he isn’t introverted enough for this.
new chapter of ‘no grave can hold my body down’ has been posted! :)
