Apathy and broken bones. I won't say it's the rarest of emotional combinations, but it gains a certain amount of oddness when the apathy comes from not caring how the breaks happened.
Or rather, why I've been sleep-jumping off of buildings every few nights for the last month, when my legs still don't work.
I suppose it's some form of self-served justice for one or more of my past misdeeds, so I'm not about to complain. I accept that I've done bad things, most likely hurt a lot of people. What are a few broken bones when they heal themselves in a couple hours, anyway?
Oh, and to answer that age-old question from TV, speeding up the healing does make the same amount of pain happen faster.
As I am now, both of my legs are further broken, my hip shattered, several bones broken or, I believe, dislocated, my right elbow shattered but healing, and most of my spine in various states of breaking.
And yet I only feel apathy toward it.
But I won't let it get in the way of watching what's happening in this city. If anything, it's keeping me here.
