Dennett also couldn't sleep well, and it was also because of the Arena. He's already died twice and he had to say the second time wasn't any easier than the first. But what was he going to do? Die for a third time, or would he actually have to kill someone?

A doctor, killing. It went against everything he'd devoted his whole life to.

And he still hated heights, but he found himself on the roof, anyway, hoping the distance from the city and the silence would give him some kind of answer.

Instead it gave him a...? He looked down at his mug, shocked. "They wouldn't...would they?" Seriously. He could NOT be hallucinating a giant turtle. Not without serious chemical aid.