Last chapter wasn't exactly up to par. I found it, half finished and went with it, trying my best to salvage it. I can't even remember the story behind the game of cards... IT HAD PURPOSE AT THE TIME, I SWEAR! Aha. Yeah. Nobody likes a rambler, so here's this chapter. Enjoy! And thank you, to everyone who bothers to read this story. (:

He had the dream again.

His attention had been absorbed by the grotesquely peeling ceiling since he awoke before dawn, brooding over the dream and what it may or may not mean. In truth, Robert had never been one to believe in such things as divine callings, however they were still too frequent to be considered otherwise. The room had been dark when his sleep had been disturbed, dusk soon giving way to daybreak as the first tendrils of light creeped through the window, all sense of time distorted to him. The sky was littered with puffy white clouds, non-threatening and almost cheery compared to the previous nights weather.

The same room had been present, the same forbidden door and the same breathy whispers, everything confined within the tiny white walls. It had proceeded as normal, up until the door creaked open and the buzzing subsided, allowing the seductive whispers to flood the room. On the other side of the door lay sprawling darkness, endless midnight. The stark contrast between the outer limits and the inner sanctum was like comparing good and evil, right from wrong.

But which one was right? The room, safe, hidden from the horrors that lurked beyond? Or the abyss, hungry for lost causes?

There had been figures… he remembered. Two figures, encompassed by swirling fog. They stood tall, powerful, gesturing him forth, offering him a world of promise. They had been shadows, silhouettes, faceless, yet smiles could be placed on their hollow faces. Cruel, heartless, malicious smiles. What did they want from him?

Perhaps… they want me to choose my own demise.

Pushing the covers aside, Robert sighed as he pushed himself up, finally tearing his eyes away from the roof. What was he thinking? He was reading too far into this, seeing connections where there were none. As symbolic as the dream appeared to be, he credited most of it to the lack of a proper nights sleep and the need of a decent meal. He was weary, fatigued.

With that in mind, Robert swung his feet around the side of the bed. He frowned, then. After learning that there was a strong chance he had not, in fact, been hit by a car, he was about ready to murder something. The Russian boy in particular, if he hadn't been careful. His anger surprised even himself. In the end he figured some part of him really wanted to believe it, and by believing in it, the pain (or lack there of) became real.

It provided him with a cover, an excuse, the perfect opportunity to continually hide from his problems.

And now? Now there was nothing; no guise, no façade to hide behind.

Sighing in defeat, he pulled himself to his feet. Robert half expected to tumble down, to be in excruciating pain. Not surprisingly, nothing of the sort happened. With a dismal shake of his head, he moved towards the door, stepping over the discarded cards from last nights game.

The rest of the house, he found, was as appallingly decorated as the bedroom. An old TV set was pushed into one corner, looking a little on the beaten side, a basic table situated in the middle of the 'living' room, the only other furniture occupying the small room a tattered two-seater lounge, where his captor had currently taken up residence, sleeping soundly. The kitchen was located just beyond the living room, but Robert didn't much feel like sight seeing.

Walking soundly across the room, he located his boots by the door to which he quickly slipped on. He threw a look back towards the couch and the sleeping boy. He couldn't help but twitch his mouth into a small smile. He didn't feel the least bit remorseful about up and leaving without so much as a 'goodbye'. There was no reason for his staying there anymore, no obligation. The two of them weren't even friends. Just unfortunate acquaintances under disastrous circumstances, nothing more.

After a final glance, Robert pushed open the wooden frame and exited the threshold. The frosty air outside was like a slap in the face, the wind nipping at exposed skin. Upon closer inspection, the area before him was eerily deserted. The two story apartment building was surrounded on either side by taller buildings, most likely rundown and abandoned. The buildings themselves were hidden, located away from the residential area and more lively parts of town. If the chainlink fence at the end of the street was anything to go by, along with with the discarded 'keep out' signs, then these buildings had been used for something and had subsequently closed down. Out of the way, desolate, secluded, this area was perfect for… for…

The Blitzkrieg Boys.

Even Robert had to smile at that. It was just so them that it was bordering on comedic. He picked up the pace then, walking in the opposite direction of the chainlink fence. The path soon gave way to the road, leading into town. Hoping it also led in the direction of his hotel, he began the long, torturous trek through the deserted area. And it was empty. No soul stirred, no animal cried out, no car screeced down the streets…

And that was what bothered him.

The previous night, Kuznetsov had come speeding towards him in a vehicle, he had almost killed him and he most definitely had transported his unconscious body in said vehicle. So then, where was it? There had been no car parked in the alley, nor on the sides of the street. As far as he could see, the car didn't exist, a mere phantom.

Robert was curious as to its disappearance, but decided not to dwell on the matter. Instead he spared a thought to everyone back home in Germany, wondering if the castle was on the brink of crumbling yet. His parents probably had each and every person in the castle sweeping the rooms for leads, any thing that might point to where their noble heir had run off to. If not, then they had probably hired the best private detectives in the country. Were they in the holding cells now, torturing Johnny for information?

… was he even worth a private slueth? His parents never were ones to just throw money away. His thoughts continued to drag on in the same direction, becoming nothing but a ball of confusion and pity and depression. He allowed his feet to carry him in whichever direction they may.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. When Robert finally pulled himself from his own little world it was to find the staircase of the hotel before him. It appeared to be evening as the light was fading, the sun having disappeared behind thick rolling clouds and the lamp posts littering the street began to flicker on. Shaking the last of his confusion off, the German noble ascended the stairs, pushing his way through the double doors into the lobby.

The receptionist, a greying old man, looked up from his crossword puzzle and fixed the intruder with a surprised glance, as if he hadn't expected his guest to return. Robert simply nodded an acknowledgement in his direction before turning into one of the corridors. His room was located on the first floor and while it was not extravagant, it was at least halfway decent, not having detected any pests or mould as of yet. Perhaps his standards were too high?

The brass handle was loose and rattled, a sure sign the lock was faulty which forsakened the need of a key. Robert would have complained, however he did not bring anything of apparent value with him, nothing that greedy thieves would find profit in. Pushing his way through the door, he closed it just as quickly, leaning against the frame. The room looked, and smelled, exactly the way it was left. The windows were shut and the curtains drawn, keeping whatever warmth was still left in the room. The bed was made-up, the floor had been vacuumed and the desks were impeccably clean.

Exactly the same way it was left.

Robert crossed the room to stand before the dresser drawers. A mirror sat atop the smooth surface, to which he casually disregarded his reflection. He felt like hell, he probably didn't look any better. A photo, a personal photo, was also situated on the dresser. He eyed it with disdain, wondering why he bothered to bring it. This too, he ignored, instead turning his attention to the other object located on the dresser, his fist curling around the small device. It felt heavier, somehow.

"Griffolyon," he murmured, staring intently at the beyblade. At this moment, he felt the bit-beast was the only one who understood him. "What should I do?"

Suddenly, he felt nauseous. Gripping the drawer with his free hand, he replaced the beyblade back in its initial position, sending his hand to his forehead. His mind was abuzz, burning, a splintering headache. It lasted a moment before subsiding, the aftermath causing a dull thump, thump to resonate through his mind, distorting his focus. With great difficulty he moved away from the dresser in search of the bed, collapsing atop the covers after finally locating it.

For a long while he lay there, listening to the steady thud, thud. He was exhausted, mentally, physically, his body craving rest. It had been almost a week since he arrived in the desolate town, there was only so long he could bide his time. However, Robert decided then and there that he would allow himself a small reprieve. He needed a clear head, a good sense of reasoning to be able to sort his mess of problems out. This could be attained through sleep.

Despite himself, he smiled. That was the most logical thought he had had all day. As sleep slowly began to creep up on him, he found himself thinking about none other than his Russian captor. What would his reaction be when he realized his captive had, in fact, made a daring escape? Robert wished he could see the look on his face when it dawned on the Russian that he would not be receiving that chamberlain, as well.

He surprised himself, sparing a thought to the obnoxious boy with his obnoxious smirk and obnoxious laughter. What surprised Robert even more, was that he wanted to be back in the small, dinghy apartment room, curled under the covers, listening to the rain.

He really was tired.