Schuldig folds Crawfordуs well-written, well-read parting letter away and makes another unanswered call to Nagiуs service. His personal demons are loud tonight; screams from the collapsing warehouse, gutteral combat direction, shouting matches in cheap hotels. He ponders his destination, fingertips touching faint and faded marks on his throat, footsteps taking him toward familiarity without resentment or burdens from the past.
The green eyed man in the hospital robe and slippers looks up curiously, then smiles, "It's you,с as the curtains part and Schuldig slides through his window. рGaijin, let me tell you who I think I am, today!"