Damien had found it hard to sleep this time. Slightly better, but.. there were still the memories of Hell, of the Cage. And all that happened in it for all those years. It would be foolish of him to think any one of them who lived it would come away from it fully alright, least for the current time. However, he didn't know if, among all they felt.. if anger was one of the lingering emotions. Maybe it was just him. Or maybe others had it, but stuck in the subconscious. He knew it would be bad to keep it in. So he would occasionally be gone on some days, sometimes over a period of hours, and not telling anyone where he was going or what he'd do. But as it was said in a post by Cage survivors once, there may be a need to to scream. But him. His need, well, it called for more. He had to destroy things. A hunt wasn't always available, so he'd go to condemned sections of town, or to junkyards and just.. let go. Let loose. Release his angry feelings and let the destruction begin. Not always by hitting stuff himself. He would think on it, and it happens on its own. And always only when he made sure he was alone.
He was now rising up from slumber in his room and making his way down toward the kitchen. Sleep was apparently not an option just yet. Maybe a snack. He stepped into the room and glanced to the fridge. He moved, then hesitated. He could swear he felt.. something. Or someone? A presence? He did have a sense of that kind sometimes. He glanced around and saw no one. Except one thing that he hadn't put there himself on a table. Alcohol. He touched the bottle, noting it felt a little cold. So it was recent. "It's okay," he spoke quietly, seemingly aloud to himself. "I know I'm not alone here. And it's alright. Really, you can come out if you want to.."