Season 11.5 [Rewrite: Continuation]

Friendship

I find his experiments quite curious. Unsurprising from a person such as me, but, a bit disappointing. It seems I have not learned the lesson that my curiosity brought upon me.

It is not a problem. I am not bound by the constraints of this world, thus, the consequences of this world are not stricken upon me.

However, you are forced to conform to this world. So take this to heart -- never stop learning.

>_<

No matter how hard he managed to wrap in these stupid covers, he was forever cold.

Aggravated, he quit the futile quest and threw the thin layer off. It fluttered to the floor without a sound, an indication to the cheap quality the scoundrels treated him to.

Even he, a police officer with a tight pension, was benevolent enough to hand over a better blanket. Distraught over the winter-cold room, mattress-inducing back pains, and the cheap clothing, he fell out of bed with a crash.

Arms and legs bent in every imaginable way possible, he untangled his limbs to leap up in a refreshing way. Spring in his step, he sauntered over as an old man to the bathroom to freshen up.

"What the heck?" He asked the world once the faucet was open.

The water froze as soon as the cold line tapped on, and he quickly shut off the line and substituted for the hotter one. Blessed, the line armored itself with the strength to gush out some form of water, and he used it to ready himself for a new day.

Curious, he checked the thermostat outside. It was broken as usual, a measly temperature compared to the one in the hall.

Turner grimaced at the poor service, but, it wasn't the biggest curveball in his life. Compared to what happened last night, a wonky thermostat ranked  bottom of the list.

"Last night," he muttered, his feet now back in the bathroom.

Turner flipped the shower faucet on, a pair of clothes on the countertop, and his mind converged on the sorry subject.

Last night was, difficult. Terrifying, honestly. Water from the showers hid the shivers vibrating out of his body, but the mental breakdown was, disturbing to say the least.

Lightly put it, Zane mentally broke. Every hidden night-terror and demon was dragged out screaming and fighting. It was the surfacing of every painful secret, from Zane's plea for mental help, his desire for a just world, to the begging for a happy family.

It also forced the destruction of naiveté. That innocence collapsed by wake of his actions, and now with a realistic view of the crimes he committed, a cruel, tyrannical, self-centered maniac emerged.

These breaks weren't knew to the officer. Turner was privy to a few of these psychotic episodes around the streets. The commissioner shielded the youngster from a good majority, but, as a first-line responder, it was hard to ignore the occasional rantings of an insane family-murdering husband.

Yet this? Turner swallowed a lump, and clean, he shut off the shower. This toppled the standards on his chart.

He's dealt with drunk bastards and drug-induced civilians. He's dealt with bullets killing his comrades on the front lines, and he's closed his eyes and smiled as he clutched onto the last words of a dying friend.

He's never met a man ready to sacrifice everything for the sake of his friends.

But he did. Last night, in a rain chilled enough to solder bones, under a gaze equal to that of the infamous Lord Garmadon.

Zane was willing to do whatever it took to bind his friends under a false reality.

That, that right there. That scared him. The unnerved resolution, the frost-flaked words spoken as soft as silver but as callous as a villain.