[IC: the labs]

[determineightor]

[Down in one of the many tunnels under the ground tonight, a lightswitch has just flicked on in a certain laboratory room.]

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[determineightor]

[David steps inside, laptop under one arm, a plastic bag in the other. He shuts the door behind himself.]

[determineightor]

[The space is dingy, but a couple of tables have been swept clean, the broken remnants of the other furniture shoved into a corner for now. Along with the leftover testtubes and other shattered paraphernalia that no longer ranks as useful.

David sets the plastic bag down on the floor. It twitches, but he ignores it.]

[determineightor]

[Crossing to the table, he puts the laptop down. As he flips it open and boots it up, he turns instead to consider a rusted old cabinet nearby.]

[determineightor]

[He opens the cabinet.]

..."Have you news of my boy Jack?"
Not this tide.

[Reaches inside, and plucks out a sprig of plant.]

"When d'you think that he'll come back?"

[determineightor]

[Dropping the plant onto the table, he fetches one of the unbroken test tubes left on the adjoining table.]

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

[determineightor]

[He holds it in one hand, and inserts the plant into it with the other, ramming it down with a finger.]

"Has any one else had word of him?"
Not this tide.

[Leaving the tube standing in a rack, he goes back to the cabinet.]

[determineightor]

[Now with a packet of matches in hand, he strikes one against the igniter strip. He holds the flame up close, watching it.]

For what is sunk will hardly swim.

[And drops the lit match into the test tube, stoppering it immediately with a plug.]

Not with this wind blowing...

[The plant ignites in a flash.]

...and this tide.

[determineightor]

[Leaving the plant to burn to ashes, he strides over to fetch the bag he left near the door, which has since wriggled away a few inches. He brings it back over, and upends it onto the table.

The severed zombie arm spasms as it hits.]

"Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?"

[determineightor]

None this tide, nor any tide.

[He picks up the tube, shaking it. The ashes of the mistletoe and the dead match clink around the bottom.]

Except he did not shame his kind.
Not even with that wind blowing...

[He unplugs the tube.]

[determineightor]

...and that tide.

[He dumps the contents on top of the zombie arm.]

[determineightor]

[The arm twitches once, twice.]

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide...
And every tide...

[David watches it closely.]

[determineightor]

[And then the arm writhes, scrabbling about on the table, pulling itself to the edge before latching onto David's shirt.]

...Because he was the son you bore.

[determineightor]

[The arm makes it nearly to his neck before he grabs it by the wrist, pulling it off neatly. He watches its fingers claw at him, tilting his head slightly.]

And gave to that wind blowing and that tide.

[determineightor]

[Puts the arm back into the plastic bag, tying a knot in it. He places it inside the cabinet, alongside the other mistletoe samples, before shutting it again.

And then he pulls out alcoholic wipes, scrubbing the table down, and his hands, before exiting the lab.]