The instructor does not likewise pretend he enjoys his job. Ant's cheer is in fact kinda grating.

Yay! That's wonderful. What are they learning today. Is it maneuvers. He loves maneuvers.

(He hates maneuvers.)

How'd he guess.

Sigh.

Ant puts the vehicle into drive, checks his mirrors, then indicates and sets off.

His instructor has criticisms! They're not super constructive.

Thank you, instructor. (Maybe he should look into getting a different instructor.)

Maybe at some point when he's not driving, but for now: eyes on the road.

Of course he wouldn't dream of using his phone while driving to look up instructors with less awful records to whom he must pay an extortionate amount to learn to drive. Of course.

Mostly because of the using his phone while driving part. Later, while not driving, he will totally do that.

And he gets a sudden, splitting headache—

—a young man, in the eighteenth century, having fun drinking and whoring—

—a monster torturing a young girl into insanity—

—that man again, in the present, living on the streets, homeless—

—and pain, so much pain—

—physical, a huge migraine—

—and emotional, so much remorse, so much regret—all those lives, all those people, all that pain he caused, the horror, the understanding that he enjoyed their pain, he saw the life slowly drain out of them as they begged for death and would only be granted it when he wanted—

– and he completely loses control of the vehicle, breathing in sharply and eyes going wide and he – that's – he's –

He's completely overwhelmed.

By the time he comes to the headache is still there—and so are the echoes of the emotions, not his but somehow his—and his instructor has managed to make sure they only crashed a little bit.

He's on the phone with someone. "—he just woke up. Kid? Kid are you alive?"

He doesn't seem to pay attention, not right away, but then realizes he's being addressed: "Uh – uh, I, yes?"

"Yeah he's talking—you break anything?"

"The – vehicle? Or?"

"You, a bone, something."

Pause. "Oh."

He sits up a bit. "I don't think so?" But he starts carefully checking himself over anyway.

Nope, nothing broken.

"I don't think so," he repeats.

He repeats this to whomever he's talking to on the phone, they talk for a bit longer, and he hangs up.

"Wait here," he says, and then crosses his arms and looks straight ahead. At the wall.

"I wasn't really planning on moving."

Instructor stares resolutely at the wall.