damned_institute | Day 55: Cafeteria

A night spent inside his room had done nothing to ease his jitters. Peter couldn't stop worrying. Over Brainy, what he thought of him now that he knew about what he'd done to Grell, and where he was going for the night. If he'd be safe. If Indy and the others would be safe, trucking on down to the basement. (Not frigging likely, considering 'basement' was synonymous for 'giant ass doom pit'.) If that ominous intercom announcement had meant anything. Peter had spent hours staring into the dark after that, his stomach churning his supper into butter over the horrific possibilities. Whatever punishment that arose for the food fight was a mystery. It didn't seem to infect him, unless it was a particularly trying case of insomnia. No matter how badly Peter tried, he couldn't find the will to sleep. Much of the night had been spent making notations and doodles in his journal by flashlight, peppered with long stretches of staring at the dark.

Honestly, he'd rather be taking another crack at the Hall of Hallucinations instead of rolling around in his bed. Paranoia was his only company the whole night.

Morning felt like a blessing by the time it came. He wasn't sure when sleep had finally overtaken him, but as he blinked his way into life he couldn't help feeling a bit...off.

It was really quiet. Peter's face scrunched under the light, and he stretched underneath the covers. There was a zip of cotton on cotton, and his shirt half dragged itself out from under the belt.

His eyes shot open. Belt? The covers flipped back, and Peter gaped down at his form on the bed. ...Belt?!

What the frigging hell was this? Peter jolted to his feet, patting himself down. He looked like some kind of air cadet. There were freaking epaulettes on his shoulders (was that even what they were called?), boots on his feet and a beret on the dresser. A single pin was nestled into the front, looking freshly polished as it glinted in the light. Peter snatched the hat up and stared. Two letters were inscribed on the pin. Nothing more, nothing less.

"SC..."

Special Counseling? Peter's expression took a turn for the frantic. What else could it stand for? He tried to run through a few candidates, but nothing stuck. Nothing applied so neatly without being ridiculous, because it clearly didn't stand for Super Cuckoo or Spider Cadet. Was he supposed to wear this like some stupid badge of honour? God, just brand it across his forehead, why don't you? My name is Peter Parker and I totally snapped a guy's arm for Mother Landel's. Hail the Smiley!

Peter pressed the beret against his face and groaned into the fabric. This was it. They weren't playing games anymore. They were finally turning this into death match boot camp and sending them off to war. Shit. Shit he was going to be in the frigging army in some messed up alternate universe, and he didn't even know what the frick they were fighting against or why they were fighting. If they were pulling magical whatsits out of every book and TV show known to man, then who knew what wacky threat they were up against. Aliens? If it was aliens, he was quitting. He was going to curl up on the ground hugging a grenade and pull the pin. Just no. No. This was not happening. This could not be frigging happening.

Except that it was. The person who whipped open the door that morning wasn't the affably sour Nurse Rachel, but a hulking, thickly built man who looked like he consumed a toddler a meal solely to fuel his pecs. Peter couldn't even find the breath to argue as he was told to tuck in his shirt and put on his boots and come to the cafeteria. He left just as another soldier brushed past them to collect Brainy, and Peter abruptly realized that in his confusion he'd forgotten to check if the boy was okay.

Too late for that now. Peter tried to match pace with the burly man, fumbling to put his snazzy new beret on and watching with wary eyes as other patients were dragged by. Things seemed even bleaker as they hit the cafeteria. The buffet was empty. The scent of food was lacking. Soldiers packed along the borders of the room so neatly you would think they were part of a particularly tacky wall paper. And worst of all? Buckets. Mops and rags and brooms, all piled in the center of the room.

The lady officer's speech was entirely unnecessary at that point. Peter withered where he stood as she told them their duty. It was like a scolding from Aunt May, if someone gave her a gun and a license to use it. Except the joke only made things worse - now he just wanted his Aunt. The force of his loneliness bowled him over like a wrecking ball. He might never see Aunt May again. Peter's gaze fell to the floor and he clenched his fists.

Was this it? Was his life really over? Escape never seemed so far away.

There was no protest from him as they were sent to work. Ashen and queasy, Peter stumbled towards the cleaning supplies and selected a bucket and a rag. He couldn't even bemoan his lack of breakfast. His nerves were making it impossible to even think about food.

They needed to get out tonight. Everyone. Somehow...

[Lion!]

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Of course there would be a lack of cooperation first thing this morning. It was the first day of the new system by which Landel's was to abide, and several of the soldiers gathered in the cafeteria to keep the peace were unsurprised when a ruckus began. A couple glanced that way, but only one approached the boy when he refused to quiet down.

Standing tall over the child, he glared down through narrow eyes, his lips forming a tight, thin frown.

"Takanawa! Drop and give me ten, if you refuse to see reason!"

If compliance continued to be an issue, the soldier had no problem finding a more interesting punishment.

"T-Ten?" Well that stopped the boy in his tracks, for a moment at least. His raged was briefly extinguished in the face of confusion. The childish glare he had pinned to this new man lifted as he tried to make sense out of his words.

It wasn't going very well.

Ten. Ten what? What did Goku have to offer the man? And how could you see reason?! Augh, why did adults have to be so complicated?

Eventually, the monkey boy's mounting frustration with the English language turned volatile. "No, you give me ten!" Hopefully this ten was a good thing. "I--You--" In his anger, Goku was having difficulty expressing what he wanted, what he had been promised. He wanted to leave. He wanted the things they stole from him returned--and he wanted his food!

"He--" The boy thrust his finger at the soldier behind him who had started this whole mess. "--promised me food! They both did," he continued, alluding to the white witch the day before. "I want outta here--No, I want breakfast first, then I wanna leave!" The soldier behind him still had a hold on Goku's arm, but he wasn't worried about that. The rest of his limbs were free and he could use any one of them to kick ass.

"Ten pushups, Takanawa! And I want them now!"

The soldier was unimpressed by the threat this boy offered, and he simply regarded the flailing child as he was - a flailing child.

"Stop your fit this instant and give me my pushups, or I'm putting you on report, which means you won't be allowed to sit for the next whole shift, nor will you be allowed to eat during lunch." As hardcore as the soldier was, he was also well aware that children needed their protein and whatnot. He wanted to make sure that the child was given a fair choice; if he continued his tantrum, it would only be his own fault that he didn't eat until dinner. Hopefully that would be more than enough to teach him the lesson he obviously needed to learn.

Oh. Ohhh, push ups. Well why didn`t he say so in the first place?! It would be easy enough, but the monkey boy didn`t appreciate being ordered around by an enemy. If anything, that was his job!

"No," He responded, petulant as ever. The soldier`s next threat only made him scowl harder. "You said that already. You said that before breakfast. He--" Goku pointed a stubby finger at the soldier behind him. "--said that! Yer not gonna trick me again!" In his short lifespan of thirteen years, the little boy had learned that if someone tricks you once, they will probably do it again.

"I`m not gonna do it, so lemme alone!" Goku brought his legs up to kick the soldier in the stomach, but it never reached him. His legs were too short. "Ah--?" He tried again, kicking and swiping at the man in front of him as he attempted to wriggle his arm away from his guard`s hold. Well, so much for that plan of attack.

If he couldn`t reach the man in front of him, Goku decided to change his target. As swiftly as he could, the monkey boy lunged at the soldier`s hand with his teeth. A short leg swiped behind the man`s heel, hoping to push him off his feet so he could then tackle the second soldier.

The soldier in front of Goku simply watched as the flailing became violent; they were trained to be able to deal with such situations. Just before the boy's teeth managed to make contact with the hand that was holding onto that arm, the guard moved swiftly, bending it not so gently behind the boy's back. Within seconds, a third guard had joined them, grabbing the boy's other arm and positioning it safely behind his back with the other, holding it there firmly.

The child's foot hooked around the soldier's ankle, but the man was stronger than he seemed; his leg didn't budge.

Instead of becoming angry, the soldiers simply stood over him, regarding him with cold and blank expressions. The one standing just in front of the boy seemed the coldest of all.

"Now now, Takanawa," he started, turning slightly. "Don't make me call your mommy in here to spank you!

"Of course, maybe the problem here isn't the food - it's all these people watching." His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps if we try these pushups outside, we might come to an understanding." This was said in a tone that clearly showed he meant every word.

Day 55: Cafeteria

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