It's been more difficult to acquire food lately. Not that it had ever been particularly easy - a station filled mostly with synthetics meant that any food was in the same area as prisoners and organics under her sway, neither quite the easiest beings to avoid or confront. But things were tightening, as if a noose that had been hanging around his neck for an eternity finally remembered how to close.

The slow depletion of his rations means that Rattmann is forced to be more bold with his movements than he'd like to be. There's danger all over, but he can't be of use to anyone if he starves. Even his shattered mind recognizes that.

So far things have moved smoothly. He'd been in and out without setting anything off and was nearly back to the vent he'd emerged from, arms and lab coat filled with nonperishables. Maybe this would be ok for once.

The small hope bubbling up keeps him from checking what's around the next corner as thoroughly as he usually does before proceeding, something which he'll likely regret in a moment or two.