#paranoiaarc

‘... Nothing ventured…’

When he came to, he found himself staring at the files on his desk. Researching a few cases for weeks without any real results. It was a wonder that Xylia or any other of his supervisors had checked on his progress.

“They're all busy on the Boralus movement… “ The wolf concluded with a mutter, talking to no one in particular. With a soft glance around, he could see other staff members cleaning up from a hard day's work. It troubled the worgen, as he felt as though he had only just spent a half hour at his desk from the morning. The day was spent, and he had nothing to show for it. Except that of the files on his desk of scattered files and  profiles that pertained to his case work.

Only it did not.

With another look down through a strained focus, the collected data sprawled out over his desk were not of cases or suspects, but familiar names and internal articles pertaining to them: his name and records, Tristiana’s, Jessica’s-- There were also a few others that pertained to Gilneas. Prior profiles  that would not share a cross reference had he not had them on his desk. He hadn't the slightest clue how they ended up on his desk. In the far recesses of his mind, the part that gave him insight to his gut feelings was not there. Instead there was another thought.

Another thought that was not his own.

‘...You dwell in the lion's den, encapsulated by its lies....’

A clear thought that even by the sound of repetition did not sound like his own. However, at the same time, they were his thoughts. They were his suggestions. Briefly a hand reached out to rest on the pile of information with splayed digits kissing the paper folds. The sensation of touch pulled the worgen back from his daze.

He leaned back in his chair. He couldn't betray his current service to the alliance over a misplaced intuition, could he? No. It wasn't even plausible. With a shake of his head, the wolf blew out his candle on the desk, waving a goodnight to the lingering office staff who worked diligently on their own. With his traveler bag slung over his shoulder, he marched out of the headquarters into the winter's night air. All he needed was a night's rest; a solid night's rest. None of this sleeping for only four hours bullshit. Just, sleep.

It didn't occur to him until he stopped by his usual lamplight for a smoke that all that sensitive information was unceremoniously dumped in his bag at last second before leaving.

Wake up - Quick dress - Cardio - Training room.

It was a routine the wolf had fallen into since his run in with ‘Abehl’ so many months ago. It took many plateaus and dietary changes, but slowly Weston was able to transform his body. He was no longer the keeper of a lazy-worgen figure. His body hardened and sculpted, especially along his arms, abdomen, and chest; target areas he focused the most that sports the most drastic of changes. He’d become a much larger specimen, and it took much to get the worgen figure to something not fit for his physique, so it did it take as much time in reigning his figure back in.  

On one morning, still too dark outside from the lack of the winter sun, he found himself in a state of restlessness. The worgen laid on the floor, hands behind his head in the training room as he pulled himself to a sit up, and then slowly fell back down. His actions were on a slow repetition, having nowhere fast to go. A slow burn as his mind drifted elsewhere.

Sleep had eluded him much of recent, perhaps getting a few hours but spending most nights tossing and turning. It wasn’t from stress, which had kept him up in the past however. Dark undertones with added anxiety plagued his mind, both of which the wolf didn’t have much in the way of coping mechanisms for. Sleep only brought words-

- no, not words. Phrases.

Thoughts. Ideas flooding and haunting his sleep that were both his own and not. And actions that were his, but not only his alone. It was difficult to discern anymore if he was abiding to such cosmic dread, or if he was making up his own mind.

Coming up onto a sit, he rests his elbows on his knees, huffing from his workout. He still couldn’t believe that he would be one to steal sensitive information from the agency he worked for. But is that not who he had been in the past? A secret thief. The more he thought about it, the more he felt the room slip away from his blurring vision.

It took a moment for him to realize he was just sitting on the floor, staring at the stone walls of the training room, only drawn back into his surroundings with a clank of weights at the opposite end of the room. He needed his mind off it; Of the haunting. Of the nothingness that ate at him. He was starving and full simultaneously.

With a hop, he brought himself up to a stand. As more people filled the room over time, he could hear more voices. More distant conversations that he could not make out. Figured he had his work out in for the day, and decided to leave. On exit, the conversations behind him dissipated, but whispers lingered. Methodical whispers, not addressed to him. But he could hear them more clearly than the conversations that were had in the training room. The sun had just begun to peak over Elwynn, and cast rays of morning light over Old Town as he walked. As the light filled the streets, the whispers trailing him quieted. A realization washed over Wes as he looked back toward back over his shoulders, catching the eyes of those passing by and going about their day.