[A Pandora's box it is, though it's got nothing so nice as hope hidden in the bottom. For all that it was meant to be hope the whole way through, top to bottom it's a promise of horrors.]

[Stocke doesn't raise an objection; Greed'll be able to peel the cover flap open, take a look inside. The thing's full to the brim with syringes; there's some cursory padding between the ones at the bottom, in the form of fabric, but it looks like Stocke ran out before he got through with all of them. They bounce off each other lightly, the tink of glass - though it's reinforced enough, or Stocke's taken enough care, that none have broken yet.]

Bit of a waste, [Stocke agrees, shoulders shifting up in a shrug.] Not so much of one as all the human souls I have to eat to sustain it, though. [Something in his voice sounds like, 'Isn't it?' Testing on edges.]

[The Hyde doesn't truly care - it's preserving himself he's looking out for. Preserving this way of thought. The normal Stocke... he's a little too hesitant to take advantage of opportunities, too lacking in self-preservation, for this one's taste.]

[But it's a good reason for the normal Stocke to have kept with it, right?]

[He inclines his head in response to 'I'm gunna guess it doesn't take just one dose -' that's right. He's in for the long haul. And another smirk to 'Think you can handle it?'] Of course. [He was human enough through all of Specint, though he misses his magic all the more sorely now that he can't be a monster.]

Let me drop off this somewhere safe, [he jerks his head toward the bag of cure,] And I'll be right behind you.