Night shift

There wasn't a night suring which he had slept comfortably after he discovered how intrusive his senses could be. Laurel lived in an amplified world where even the sudden burst of laugh next to him would encourage his irritated temper stepping in.

Repeatedly over the day, he surprised himself thinking about food only. The sparse pieces of meat in their lunch weren't enough at all to quench the suffocating pain coming from his stomach.

During the night, he moved between the tents until he found the place where his nose led him. He saw the blue glow already staining the place because it was Oswald's main workplace, the torture tent.

"Welcome." He heard. Oswald still had his night shifts, the twenty or so Spanish prisoners couldn't be left alone any instant, they could plan their escape if they had the occasion to. While Baggio had to sleep, the same couldn't be said for Oswald who often came in the torture tent to grab a snack while he was on his duty.