Slowly drifting back into the realms of consciousness, Smoke shuffles on the uncomfortable surface of which he had spent the night - the bench in the men's locker room. He has no quilt with him, and had to sleep in his clothes, but at least the shower room is nearby. The only change of clothes he has on him is his gear, still in his gear bag, which is tucked under the bench into the compartment. He could take some merchandise from the various stalls around the place but that would make him feel cheap.

Although he did willingly spend the night in a men's locker room, since his apartment burned down.

Smoke sits up, his spine creaking and cracking to the pleasure of actually being used. He's going to have to deal with the fact that he has nowhere to go until he finds another place. Although Smoke had made that deal with Shane last night, about being able to search for whoever did the dirty deed. Closure, didn't he call it? had also let him camp out in the arena for as long as he needed to, as well as the freedom to do whatever the hell he wants.

'Freedom' is either the best or the worst way to put it, when you consider that while Smoke has the entire arena to himself with unlimited access thanks to an agreement made with higher power, you also have to realise that that same higher power has insinuated a debt that is to be repaid as 'thanks' in the form of doing things in return, namely taking down Dean Moxley McGovern and Liz Hathaway. Or Smoke would assume, because he doesn't actually know.

It also doesn't help that the higher power has gone completely off the wall, and is probably running down the street in a cow costume kicking little kids and punching midgets screaming "Get some more sunlight you under-grown potatoes!"

He stands himself up and rubs his eyes, so much happened last night, and it all happened a little too quickly, considering what went on. After taking a quick shower, he leaves his stuff back where he slept, eventually deciding to grab a Gilmour shirt of a merchandise stand, because there's a lot, and they probably won't miss the odd one that goes missing.

See, the thought of that is just a lie to himself, saying that he's still a good guy, despite his... deal.

Speaking of which, after having some toast in the canteen, Smoke decides to try and begin his search to find out who had stole his apartment key and burned his apartment down. He thinks the best place to start is by looking in the phone directory, a storage of all the staff phone numbers somewhere in the building. He thinks using that, he can identify the unknown number on his phone, and maybe finish his search up early.

Good. I am not going to be Shane's lacky for long.

Smoke heads to the reception, thinking most likely place for a list of numbers, especially considering that they are always ringing him about the company.

Arriving there, he is met by a security guard, who is standing beside the door, waving and blowing on a cup of coffee, trying to stay awake toward the end of his late night shift, which can be assumed by the view of the sun rising from the windows. The guard notices Smoke walking up to him and halts him, literally putting his hands out.

And what'ya think you're doing here? You're not supposed to be here until Wednesday, now scram.

I have permission from Shane to be here. If you have a problem take it up with him.

Smoke squeezes out the way and puts his hand on the handle of the door. The guard puts his hand on Smoke's shoulder.

Well, whether you're here with Shane or not, I can't let you pass in there. Authorized personnel only.

Smoke sighs, annoyed by this hindrance, even if only a slight one.

That permission extends to all areas of the arena. Like I said, feel free to ask him.

Smoke turns the handle but the guard tightens his grip.

Do you think I'm dumb or something, boy? I'm not letting you pass through there, regardless of what lies you tell me.

Smoke lifts his hand of the handle and quickly turns, looming over the guard.

Lies? Lies, huh? You think I'd lie, 'boy'?! You think I'd tell a small fib so that I can be a little rebel and go against the system, huh? Well let me pull a big shocker to you right now when I say that if I wanted to go through here without any permission, I would pin you against the wall by your throat, until your face resembled a giant, swollen blackberry. And now I'm contemplating doing that anyway.

The guard gulps, but remains adamant.

I'm not going to let threats stop me from doing my job.

Smoke grabs and turns the handle, still glaring at the guard.

If you're smart, you would.

Smoke opens the door a crack, and the guard springs into action, grabbing a tranq gun from his belt, and fumbling to take aim. He locks on his target, but Smoke is quicker, as he is able to dive in the room and behind the door, which he closes.

The guard, with 'gun' in hand, edges closer, slowly putting his own hand on the handle. He turns it. He pushes the door open ever so slightly, and slips right through. He paces around the room, side-stepping so he can quickly turn if need be.

C'mon, boy. It's not worth being drugged over.

C'mon, 'boy'.

The guard sharply turns to Smoke, who had been hiding behind the open door. Smoke edges over.

The guard lowers his weapon, but Smoke is able to smack it out his hands as he takes aim. Helpless, the guard can only scream as Smoke runs at him and clenches him at the throat, continuing momentum and striking him against the wall, slowly raising him as the blood falls from his head, and the breaths escape his mouth.

It's not worth dying over.

The guard claws and scratches, at the walls, at Smoke's arm, anything he can reach, as he clings onto consciousness.

Do I have permission now?

The guard slips into a pained slumber, draping over Smoke's arm. Smoke, however, is yet to release the hold, making sure his target is truly out. After a few seconds, Smoke lowers him to a seated position on the floor.

Stay.