Day 55: Intercom, Evening

[damned-intercom.livejournal.com]

Snow doubled in number as the day transitioned into the evening hours. Unfortunately, none of the patients were allowed the time to enjoy the weather changes. They were instead greeted by the telltale jingle of the intercom, signaling their cue to return indoors.

Once again, they heard the voice of a familiar female. She sounded unchanged from her previous announcements, her intonation as clear and as flat as ever.

"Attention all subjects and personnel. All subjects are to return to their assigned rooms for their evening meal. Lights Out will commence shortly after."

The woman paused, seemingly for effect.

"All personnel: you are to report to your stations. Thank you."

The intercom clicked off.

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Comments

[threepwood]

All that feeling bad that Scott was doing only seemed to fuel Guybrush's own guilt at not being able to do anything about the kidnapping in the first place. The soldiers had guns and brute force, but he'd always been able to use his cunning and wit to win out in even the worst of situations. Those didn't even work when facing Scott, and the soldiers seemed as immune to his wiles as the previous staff. There hadn't been a second chance or anything- he was pounded, his roommate was taken for torture and brainwashing, and that was that.

That fact only served to reinforce the belief that LeChuck maybe wasn't behind the institute in any way, not even in the side role who would later reveal himself to be the mastermind all along. Something about it was different. It was completely out of his league. The guy didn't learn new tricks.

But was it out of Guybrush's league? LeChuck was one thing— the dread pirate didn't deviate enough from the usual kill-Guybrush-and-force-Elaine-to-be-me-bride-o'-the-undead plan— but a nightmarish institute bent on brainwashing the patients they'd kidnapped, offing said patients in creative ways (presumably for fun, though there was no reading into the minds of the legitimately insane), or some combination of the two was new. Plot and a family-friendly rating weren't going to protect him this time.

His body may have had a few broken bones housed in it, but he wasn't about to drop dead yet. "Okay, okay," Guybrush said as reassuringly as possible, trying to keep the exhaustion from his voice. He sat up in an effort to prove just how animated he was, only for his breath to catch in his throat as a sharp pain drilled through his ribcage. Sure that the wincing that followed wasn't going to make Scott feel any better about the situation, Guybrush gave his roommate a wry smile to go with it. "'How I Beat the Stew out of a Mighty Pirate™' probably isn't the best title for an autobiography, but at least it should impress that girl you accused me of dating."

Guybrush continued to grit his teeth as he pulled the box from the desk to the bed. Surely enough, his underwear sash was still in there— at least they hadn't thought him crazy enough to confiscate it permanently. He slipped it over his shoulder slowly, trying not to think about his upcoming outing with the Search & Rescue and all that walking he was going to be doing to get to Javert's room. Why had he thought that was a good idea, again?

[vstheworld]

"I'm pretty sure I already know the title of my autobiography by this point." No thanks to our old friend Mr. Fourth Wall, Scott thought with a wince. What had Other Matt said the title of his... his franchise was? Scott Pilgrim vs. the World? He could credit the vaguely unnerving extra-dimensional creators of his life (or whatever) with one thing at least - they knew how to perfectly encapsulate a life in only five words. "And anyway, I've still got a few things left I need to do to really impress my girlfriend. And that includes getting out of this craphole." As far as Scott was concerned, getting out of the Institute would be more than substitute enough for defeating the remaining evil exes. Gideon would be quaking in his cryptically-hinted-at boots if he'd had to spend a day in Landel's.

Scott watched Guybrush going for a box on his desk, and for the first time tore himself away from the dull gnawing of his own guilt to notice that a similar box sat on his own desk. Not just a box, either, but also a few longer objects that apparently hadn't fit inside the box. There was the burnt squeegee (which Scott supposed he really ought to chuck at this point) and his trusty aluminum baseball bat, as expected - and there one more object nestled between the first two that he didn't recognize at first. He shuffled across to the other end of the bed for a better look, and when his brain actually processed what he was seeing, his eyes boggled in his head.

"Dude..."

It was a sword.

It looked dull, even at a cursory glance, but a sword was still a sword, and thus a million times more useful than a bat. It was a broadsword, too. Not the kind of blade he had used most recently, but it still counted under his Longsword proficiency. The design was kind of Dragon Warrior-esque, with a chunky, fantasy-type hilt and angled guards. What was this supposed to be, Scott wondered. Was it some kind of reward for enduring SC? It was possible, considering they had already given him a freaking gold pin for it.

And then he saw the "^_^" symbol drawn in the faint layer of dust that coated the blade.

"Senna?" He picked the sword up gingerly, examining the little face. He couldn't remember exactly how big the girl's fingers had been, but they couldn't have been much wider than the lines that made up the symbol. Senna had said something about having more than one sword, right? But if this was one of those swords, then why was it—

"Oh hell no."

That was it. That was freaking it. There was a point where the constant piling up of bad things stopped dragging a person down and actually pushed them down through the core of the Earth, down, down, down until they came out the other side in a spectacular spew of lava and liquid rage.

"OH MY GOD. Guybrush, Aguilar needs to die, and he needs to die tonight," Scott declared, slashing the sword down through the air at his side (ignoring the fact that it was heavier than expected, making for a kind of awkward-looking slash).

Maybe he hadn't known Senna that well yet, but she had been a good person, damn it! Scott had been looking forward to working with her more, maybe getting to be better friends. But no. He wasn't going to get to see her again. Or Shinichi. Or Logan. Or Keman. Or anyone else they'd taken away. They were all getting shipped off to the front lines of Aguilar's War on Everything, or whatever the hell kind of battleground the Institute was preparing them for. Or something. Even if that wasn't what was going on, Scott was positive that disappearance did not equal anything good.