this is where it started for me.

[Even though this Paris is different - this Paris has changed - it's still Paris to him, and he hates that the Admiral's forced him to be here. He could do without the memories this place dredged up, the ones since his awakening on the fishing boat off Marseilles. Even the ones before then, the dim ones that were half-present, still hurt.

He half-considers visiting his old apartment, visiting what used to be Treadstone's Parisian base of operations, but dismisses the thought. No. He has no need to.

So he walks, keeping his eyes peeled as he inspects the city, and letting the crisp October air clear his head.

He tries not to dwell on the dog-eared paperbacks in his room, the ones that almost make sense but don't quite. He tries not to dwell on the arbitrary capriciousness of the Admiral and the loss of one of his only friends.

And he tries very hard not to dwell on why in the hell he got stuck with another goddamn kidnapping, body-snatching Animorph for an inmate.]

[Filtered to friends (if you know him pretty much in any positive way you probably count)...and Slade.]
Checking in. How are you? [He is so bad at friends.]

[Private to Slade.]
Hunting again?

[Private to all infirmary-types.]
What do you recommend for insomnia?

[Bourne looks a little off - not sick, but like he hasn't been sleeping (more so than usual).]

I wonder why I haven't gotten another inmate yet. If the Admiral thinks it's because I need a break, he can forget it - I came here to help people, not to sit on my ass and watch. I can't sit still for this long, it's driving me insane.

[He reaches for something off-camera, and there is a rattling sound, which abruptly stops. A pause for a few seconds, and he looks at the camera again.]

...does anybody have some Advil?