No AudioMichael was in his room, wearing the green trench coat he kept since he came here. Well, maybe he stole it from a doctor, but nobody knows that. He was sitting on the small, hard, flat bed he had, using a small pocket knife to write on the floor. He was just scratching it through the flooring, then raised it up to his wrist until... you came in. He glanced up at you, shoving the knife in his pocket.
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