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Rather than head to his bunk, Richard made his way to the gym to exercise - how he typically spent his free time. Rachel, whenever she finished with Uso, could always call him over the PA if he wasn't back in his bunk by the time she came looking for him. Richard would check again in an hour or two if she didn't call. Though he personally didn't see the importance of documenting the visions of a mad man, SOUL had, for whatever reason, taken an interest. It didn't bother him, it was no great ordeal to report to them whenever he saw something. To be fair, the sights were always oddly vivid and were never exactly the same. Always bloodstains, always white phantoms, always faceless ghosts living out their final moments, but the phantoms would be doing different things, and the ghosts in the bloodstains were never exactly the same, the deaths were always slightly different. It was like they were real beings. Maybe there was actually something to them after all. Or, more likely, Richard was just a little more insane than he thought.

Richard shrugged it off and continued his workout. It wasn't his place to judge the importance of the visions, that was Doctor Miles' job. Hell, she might even actually tell him what was so important about it.

Not long into his workout, the announcement came over the PA. Richard acknowledged it with a sigh. Written reports were always a hassle, Richard could never decide what details were important and what details were unnecessary. As a result, the reports always ended up being either very simple or convoluted. Regardless, Richard decided that he would write the report sometime after speaking with Rachel.

Eamon proceeded to the labs irrelevant of Dr. Miles' preoccupied-ness. Damien was right. Eamon didn't want him to be right. God dammit he didn't want him to be right, but he was right. This wasn't how he had pictured it. The only other addiction he'd ever had, and apparently every goddamn addiction in the world otherwise, had gotten better with time. More or less. The temptation never went away, but it just became so much simpler. This wasn't that way. He couldn't do it this way. Why not? Why couldn't it just be simple?

Thoughts for another time, Eamon decided. It wasn't simple. But he had a job and he'd failed at it today, and he needed to not have that happen again. Two casualties... not bad, compared to the norm, but they could've been so easily avoided. At least it was only really one now. And... somehow Eamon knew they'd get him back. It was foolish. An assumption. Irrational, illogical, not provable - but he just knew it. They'd know for sure soon either way, he figured. There'd be more Phantoms or there wouldn't be, and that'd be that.

Oh hey look he had arrived. The intercom was still in the same place. ...Not a surprise. He indicated his arrival and waited for a response.

Eamon blinked back. "C'n I help ye?" he asked. This was... well, this was concerning, in full honesty. This was not a Black Phantom. This was not a Blue Phantom. This was... uh. Well. Uh, s**t. It looked an awful lot like Eamon was wrong.

The thing didn't respond to his words at all. It placed a hand to the ground and a faintly glowing pink sigil appeared on the ground. It then pointed at the door.

Eamon stared at the sigil. He then stared at the door. Sigil, door, sigil, door... the door was a sigil? No, the thing, it wanted something to do with the door. It wanted to... well, it had looked for a handle or something, right? It wanted in, then, but it couldn't just pass through the wall. "Y'want in, righ'? Uh, point away from tha door fer yes I guess?"

Again it didn't respond to his voice. It pointed insistently at the sign that had formed on the ground.

Hmm. Well, it wanted him to interact with the sigil somehow. There were a few ways. It didn't say anything he knew how to translate. Licking it wouldn't do much good, it didn't make noise, and it wasn't smelling of anything. So touching it was probably the best choice here. Eamon moved to it, bent down, and did so.

Door? The idea forced itself into his head - it was not the word, not an image, it was the raw, uninterpreted concept, and the implication of it being a yes-or-no question.

Right. Eamon didn't need to check that after all, his first impression had been completely correct. But apparently the thing couldn't hear him, it refused to react to his voice. How could he return the communication? He wasn't about to let some mysterious phantom through a door. Well... but maybe he should? Damn. Eamon held up a finger and drew a simple "Y" in the air, then tilted his head to the right slightly and gave the thing his best inquisitive look.

The thing blinked at him again and walked back out where it had come from.

Well, that was a... brilliant success, Eamon supposed. Infiltrator turned away, hooray, birthday cake incoming. He pushed the button on the intercom again. Why hadn't anybody goddamn well answered already?

After a little more than an hour, Richard decided it was time to seek out Rachel once more. It wasn't long before he stumbled across Rachel and Eamon.

"Are you done with the zombie, Doctor? I still need to talk to you." He said simply.

"Stow th'goddamn attitude," Eamon grunted. "If ye've got s**t with me say it te me. I'm here t'set up a feedin' schedule per Damien's orders. If yer busy now I can wait out here till yer not." The seating here wasn't the best, but Eamon didn't find himself caring much. He was still intact enough to worry about it, but not enough to care. That was a good sign, he supposed. Better than not being able to worry about it.

Eamon grimaced. Some thoughts raced through his head. He did not share them. He controlled them. It would be unwise to do otherwise. It would be unjust to do otherwise.

"Weekly is excessive. When yer ready to discuss this, we'll discuss it. I wasn't order'd ta take anythin' ye handed me." In the back of his mind, he realized he'd need to see this eventually, but he wasn't going to just bend over for Dr. Miles to make some misguided point. He could always see it later. He suspected there'd be plenty of other opportunities to see it in action before it became a problem.

Uso was silent throughout the conversations of others: it wasn't his business, and he sure as hell wouldn't want some punk kid intruding on his discussion of diet. As soon as the door was open, Jake practically skipped through, rolling his shoulders, punching his left fist into his right hand, and grinning. Playing with that little flame in the lab had been mildly entertaining- a little more so due to the theatrical nature of the demonstration- but really getting some heat going!... He just couldn't wait. As soon as he was in the blast room he made is way to dead middle, turned to Rachel Miles, and shouted across the room, "Alright, get the flamethrower! Let's wreck s**t!"

"Does tauntin' me make ye happy, doct'r?" Eamon asked flatly. "I'd prefer t'start at four weeks. Three if ye won't take tha'." This was... twice now? That the doctor had made what should've been simple unnecessarily difficult. She still wasn't actually addressing the problem, whether that was his carelessness or some other issue, which clouded the conflict and made everything - well, unnecessarily difficult. Evidently he'd just have to play along with her game. Or he could go with his former plan and let her handle the whole commanding deal. See how she did. If she was successful, well that was that much pressure off of him. If not, his point was proven. Tempting. But probably not worth the associated risk in terms of life.

"I"ll ask ye once more: If ye have somethin' ta say t'me, say it. I'd be nice if ye could keep yer personal interactions out o' your work." A high task for anyone, but something Eamon generally prided himself on, something he'd learned during command. Perhaps she could be convinced.