NIGHT 54: M21-30 HALLWAY

[autophoenix.livejournal.com]

[ from here ]

It took her a moment when she turned down the men's hallway to skim the area with her flashlight. This was the part where she got confused, the muscle memory not really carrying her the whole way. He'd given her directions once, but that felt like a lifetime ago now that she actually needed to put them into practice without Bella attached to her hip. Being alone made it harder, for some reason. She hoped Bella was having more luck than she was at getting to … wherever.

On her left, the single door of the bathroom that she suspected was the same as the women's facilities, and on her right four hallways. Peter's was … she scrutinized. Second in from the door? It sounded about right. If her room was F34 and it was the closest to the door, 24 should be one row further in. So, she hung a right and headed down the hallway.

Her flashlight beam checked the numbers on the doors as she headed down. 30 … 29 … the numbers were counting downwards, which was a good sign that this was the right hallway to get her to M24.

[ bumping into sylar peter ]

Comments

M27

[darwinism]

Pinpricks of fire and ice danced across his skin, and he brought up his hand to stare impassively at the scar through its palm. The instability was coming back in full force, under his control, but just barely – like some bucking stallion he'd just managed to stable. The sense of wrongness and violation still permeated the sensation, but did he care? Could he afford to?

He felt his knees give out. He gasped for air as his hands hit the side of his desk, struggling in vain to pull himself upright again. But, as soon as he tried to put weight into his palms, he felt them flare up and he staggered back, hitting the room's other desk in the process. Off-balance, he stumbled and hit the ground, though he could barely feel the shock of the impact through the twisting, tearing, crushing agony that had become his muscles and joints.

He fought not to scream as his nose stretched and wrenched back together, as each individual bone in his fingers and toes seemed to break and reform. His vision glassed over, then sharpened. He hacked on his own phlegm as his stomach turned and his throat went slack. Rigid, his arms and legs jerked against the ground in erratic bursts as his lungs and heart shrunk, then grew.

His back arched and slammed back down. Then, nothing.

M27

[darwinism]

He rolled over and let his forehead rest against the cold floor, his body trembling in echoes of the pain. He could lie here forever.

In this room. Forever.

His eyes shot open and he inhaled deeply as he pressed his hands against the floor and pushed himself to his knees. He could already see that the scar on his hand had disappeared, but – fast, he needed to be fast. Claire might've already left, or worse, caught up with Peter, in which case this had all been for nothing.

He dragged himself to his feet using the mattress as his hand-hold, then tried not to fall over. He found himself disoriented by how he hadn't actually regained his full height, but that was the least of his worries; he looked down at himself – clothing a little baggier, but that's how it looked on everyone, and he yanked his coat off his shoulders as he realized that it'd easily give him away. Knife too, if Claire had talked to Elle – and she might've.

He shoved the knife under his pillow – painfully – and then turned to face the door. He snatched up his flashlight from where it'd fallen on the ground and put his hand on the doorknob. Here went–

He froze, and then, with a frown, slapped a hand to his forehead and ripped off the small piece of gauze that still sat there. He ran an unfamiliar finger over the incision injury, finding only the few stitches that remained. No scars, just like his hand.

Quickly, he arranged the stupid bangs over the injury and then, with grit teeth, stepped outside.

[ Into the main hall. ]