Rogueâ€™s eyes opened slightly to watch the man as he entered the room then left as silently as he came. He heard the man do a few things before leaving the shack. He slowly sat up and got out of the bed. His wounds stretching and opening again. He frowned slightly before leaving the room to see what the man did. Suspicious until the end for they always turned their backs on him, no one was an ally. He saw the food and a piece of paper on the table and looked at it. He frowned and placed a finger on the letters, tracing each individual one until he remembered somewhat what they meant. Smudging them slightly and getting lead on his finger. He noticed the pencil and picked it up. Staring at it in longing and hate. Longing for the life he left behind, and hate because heâ€™d never have it ever again.<br/><br/>â€˜Wat uR NaM?â€™<br/><br/>He wrote below the manâ€™s message, wondering if it was worth it. If the man would get bribed or threatened like all the others and turn on him in the end. He took a few pieces of the bread and left the rest. Going back to the bedroom, he sat in a corner on the floor. His wounds killing him and hating him for doing so. Pain radiating through his body. He curled up and nibbled on the bread, falling asleep after eating half of a chunk, shivering in his corner. Feeling safer in the corner than the bed, no matter how uncomfortable and cold it was.