No sleep. For all the hours that transgressed through the night, his consciousness was unsullied by the burden of exhaustion, and was very much alive. Several hours of boredom, doing nothing but contemplate through the night, for wandering outside assigned quarters was forbidden for students. An unfortunate consequence, much like how being made of a unique metal left him unable to pursue a cure for his missing arm should his research come to a conclusive end. Much like how his senses were deadened. But it did leave much time for thought, as maddening as it was. An artificial island. From where would these resources come from to create an island this large in the middle of the ocean? Where surely the waters were so deep, where currents would likely carry away segments of rock and sand and gravel. Mountains off in a distant land, perhaps? Highly doubtful, but an amusing thought when contemplated - taking pity at the idea of some eager explorer seeking a spirit-journey and stumbling upon what would have otherwise been a beautiful scene, a giant chunk of a mountain eaten straight from it.

But such thoughts were a waste of time. What he did focus on was obtaining his work. There should be a non-written source that ought to include where the warehouse is, where supplies and whatnot were stored. If given that knowledge, he should be able to arrive there and figure out a way in. The problem lies, though, in the ability of figuring out what was his. He couldn't quite read anymore. This was not typically a problem with computers - electronics have an interesting way of communicating with one another, and he had developed a fair muscle memory of a computer's keyboard. But in any case, it was finding it that was an issue. He didn't have any associates in the academy - cruel irony, as he would have had a fair few should this "accident" have never occurred. Making friends with children was not his idea of a great time, but he had to use the resources available - regardless of how petty and irresponsible they were. But they were innocent youth, he ought not be so hard on them, right? It was a tricky grey area for Peter, and had mixed feelings. Mixed feelings on a matter were as good as no feelings. He had to find one that could sneak in there and not get caught... and Peter Brooke isn't too hard of a name to read. He doubted that these kids would be so easy to do such a favor for Peter at the risk of their own necks.

Time being the curious thing that it is - where the night itself felt like a hundred hours - it similarly felt as though a mere hour had passed since his contemplation up to the point where the alarm was booming obnoxiously for one excruciatingly long minute. Its sudden stop prompted Peter to stand up, eager to finally leave the room. While he didn't enjoy the idea of mingling, it was a mission he had to complete: find someone who can get in for him. But there was also the matter of when it will get here. An unfortunate wait, yes, but it did leave him time to find a person with the desirable skillset to get in. Perhaps "bond" with them. Peter preferred the idea of compensation, as business was more logical than favors. Though it couldn't be in much money, clearly, since he was hardly funded to begin with. He was still a doctor though. He could provide a long-term I.O.U. He did acquaint himself with one of them though: Samuel Clarke. The boy was rather open in telling Peter about his invisibility, which of course is a useful trick for the job. Sam was high strung it seemed, though. The few moments of silence from last night had to be an indicator - he doubted the two of them were "close" enough for Sam to be doing favors. He was a teenage boy, after all. He had his own, albeit simple, agenda. He'd resort to Samuel later, if he could not find someone else. Speaking of Sam, Peter would be prompted to look silently at the sleeping boy at the inevitable moaning and growling that would come from being abruptly woken by what had to be the worst (albeit effective) alarm ever created. At least his old drill sergeant had his own charm. This alarm was just cold.

Needless to say, Peter left the room without a word. He was not interested in the classes he'd have to partake in - as far as he was concerned, today's schedule was all about studying everyone's behavior. Don't overlook a single soul. Blending in was neither a concern. There was no such reason for him to do such a thing and doing so would be irrational. He took an extra step and his vision and hearing crackled to life. Larger students were usually older students. He was organized to be assigned alongside the older students, so those were the people he'd follow. One such person was an older student. Judging by the texture, had facial hair, a fair amount of it. But what had to be the most peculiar thing was an alarming similarity: one arm! So there were others like him here? This child, like he, had a single arm! It inspired something of a stronger, more resolute sense of obligation to finish his mission. It would be people like [i]him[/i] that'd benefit from his research! Peter continued to shadow him until... what? This was the cafeteria, where the banquet was held the previous day. Were there not supposed to be classes for these kids or something, or... this is what he gets for not paying special attention to the schedules. He was too wrapped up in thinking about getting his own stuff back and conceited over being a student, he forgot one of the most important steps: research. Study. Sheesh, it [i]has[/i] been many years since he was in school, hasn't it?

So, what would be normal? Sitting at the same table? Sure. So Peter followed up from fifty feet behind and circled the table and sat down - not across from Chris, nor next to him. It was an appropriate diagonal positioning. Surely, nothing conspicuous. Another pulse of static revealed finer features given the shorter distance. But he noticed something amusingly coincidental: his missing arm was the same as his. Two missing right arms. The irony of it didn't escape him. Let the doctor who's seeking the cure suffer from a "power" that eliminated his ability to help other. Let the down-trodden young man be the one with the capability to do more to help in aiding the cause, setting aside the know-how required. But there was something else. A twinge in the eye. Perhaps this boy had come to terms with a missing arm more easily than Peter had.