Motel California

Alex hadn't come back to his room since Sunday, he had left in the morning as usual for a day of lounging around the hotel, except, after night fall. Alex wasn't seen. Nor all day Monday. He wouldn't answer calls, of course that was because his communicator was under his pillow in his room. The gun was accounted for to. The only thing missing was him. His zippo he was always flipping open and closed was on the fence he could often be found bouncing across on Sunday but that was the only sign of the dark haired man.

On Tuesday afternoon he just walked through the doors like he had never left, well mostly. His face was covered in blackness like charcoal smeared all over him. His shirt was ripped at the side like it had been snagged on something. He was filthy. He walked past the info desk and went right to his favorite chair in the lobby and dropped down into it. He didn't care at all that he was filthy. He just sat there wide eyed.