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damned_institute2011-09-07 03:49 pm
freewill) wrote in damned_institute2011-09-07 03:49 pm
Night 58: M31-M40 Hallway
For some reason, the way that lights out came about was downright unsettling. He was used to a voice coming on to acknowledge that the day was over. Of course, his memories of this time of the day were all pretty fuzzy, seeing how it was right around now -- after dark -- that it all got really strange. In the day he could at least understand that he'd simply been talking nonsense, but it was in the nighttime hours that his insanity was even harder to believe.
As the lights shut off, Michael sucked in a breath. Nothing was going to happen. He could just move from his desk over to his bed and everything would be --
Click.
For a moment, he wondered if he'd imagined it. It had to all be in his head. He swiveled in his chair and stared at the door, as if waiting for it to swing open on its own. He shook his head. "No, it isn't--"
But before long Stefan had gathered his things (including that knife) and headed straight through the door as if it was completely normal, leaving Michael to sit there and fight with his instincts. It didn't help that he didn't know what was the stronger urge -- to forget what he'd just seen and sleep the night away, or to look into this and get a lay of the land once and for all.
It was possible that he was hallcinating right here and now, but it all felt so real. More than that, he still felt like himself. It wasn't as if he was starting to believe all of that stuff about the Apocalypse and Lucifer and the Horsemen again. No, he was Michael and he was still seeing this, so maybe some of what he'd experienced the past week was real. Maybe the hallways had been open to them (for what reason, he couldn't understand) and it was just the monsters and coliseum fights that were fake.
Either way, when it came down to it Michael was a detective and his curiosity wasn't something he could fight off so easily. Eventually he stood from his chair, arms tensed as he went looking for the flashlight in his drawer. There it was. He flicked it on and was about to head out the door when--
He paused, remembering Stefan's knife, and glanced over his shoulder. There was no way he'd actually taken those drugs last night, was there? That had to all have been one huge delusion, and yet he realized that he didn't feel safe stepping out of the door without some sort of weapon on hand. Not for possible monsters, though; what if some crazed patient attacked him?
The man heaved out a sigh and then walked over to his bed, bending down to find that there was a metal box hidden under it. His eyes widened as he reached out to drag it into the middle of the floor and after a moment's hesitation, he opened it.
Pointing his flashlight beam down into it, Michael saw that it was as he'd half-expected: a short blade was sitting there, the shape somehow familiar. He tried to shove that thought away, grabbing for it and then closing his eyes as he realized that it felt right in his hand.
"No," he snarled. "No, no." But even though he was rejecting the feeling, he wasn't stupid enough to leave it behind. Michael stood, blade in one hand and flashlight in the other, and then turned toward the door. It was now or never, and after taking a deep breath he strode toward the door, then through it, then down the hall. He tried not to think about how routine it all seemed.
[To here.]
As the lights shut off, Michael sucked in a breath. Nothing was going to happen. He could just move from his desk over to his bed and everything would be --
Click.
For a moment, he wondered if he'd imagined it. It had to all be in his head. He swiveled in his chair and stared at the door, as if waiting for it to swing open on its own. He shook his head. "No, it isn't--"
But before long Stefan had gathered his things (including that knife) and headed straight through the door as if it was completely normal, leaving Michael to sit there and fight with his instincts. It didn't help that he didn't know what was the stronger urge -- to forget what he'd just seen and sleep the night away, or to look into this and get a lay of the land once and for all.
It was possible that he was hallcinating right here and now, but it all felt so real. More than that, he still felt like himself. It wasn't as if he was starting to believe all of that stuff about the Apocalypse and Lucifer and the Horsemen again. No, he was Michael and he was still seeing this, so maybe some of what he'd experienced the past week was real. Maybe the hallways had been open to them (for what reason, he couldn't understand) and it was just the monsters and coliseum fights that were fake.
Either way, when it came down to it Michael was a detective and his curiosity wasn't something he could fight off so easily. Eventually he stood from his chair, arms tensed as he went looking for the flashlight in his drawer. There it was. He flicked it on and was about to head out the door when--
He paused, remembering Stefan's knife, and glanced over his shoulder. There was no way he'd actually taken those drugs last night, was there? That had to all have been one huge delusion, and yet he realized that he didn't feel safe stepping out of the door without some sort of weapon on hand. Not for possible monsters, though; what if some crazed patient attacked him?
The man heaved out a sigh and then walked over to his bed, bending down to find that there was a metal box hidden under it. His eyes widened as he reached out to drag it into the middle of the floor and after a moment's hesitation, he opened it.
Pointing his flashlight beam down into it, Michael saw that it was as he'd half-expected: a short blade was sitting there, the shape somehow familiar. He tried to shove that thought away, grabbing for it and then closing his eyes as he realized that it felt right in his hand.
"No," he snarled. "No, no." But even though he was rejecting the feeling, he wasn't stupid enough to leave it behind. Michael stood, blade in one hand and flashlight in the other, and then turned toward the door. It was now or never, and after taking a deep breath he strode toward the door, then through it, then down the hall. He tried not to think about how routine it all seemed.
[To here.]
M35
Ippo knocked, but got no response as he stood there with his ear to the door. "Hello?" he asked loudly, hoping his voice would ring a bell. "I-It's Makunouchi." But there was no answer. Pulling his head away, he grabbed the door handle and opened the door as quietly as he could manage.
"Sorry for interrupting! Is anyone... here...?" Nothing stirred in the room. "Huh..." Apparently Ritsuka and his roommate had left rather early tonight. A small inkling of doubt scratched the back of his mind and he wondered if Ritsuka had forgotten about it all. Perhaps he was clinging to something that made his friend uncomfortable. The light of his flashlight panned over the room quickly before he though tot leave, and there sat Ritsuka's plate of food, practically untouched. Either he had remembered or didn't care enough to eat it tonight.
Well, no point in letting perfectly juicy chicken go to waste. Ippo crossed the small room and took a seat on what he assumed was his friend's bed. After a beat, he took the plate, placed it on his lap, and twirled the fork in his hand. The next concern was whether Ritsuka would be weirded out if he used the same fork. It was barely touched and it wasn't like either them had any diseases! Cooties didn't exist, he told himself. He was making a bigger deal out of it than was necessary.
So, alone with a flashlight to illuminate his meal, Ippo sat in silence. The sight was probably really, really depressing. Hell, he felt depressed just being apart of this pathetic scene. Thankfully he didn't have to sit in shame for long. He was a quick eater, and in a few bites, the meal was gone. The plate was put back on the table and the boxer headed for the door, reattaching his brass knuckles before he stepped outside, you know, just in case. He had assumed the common hallways were rather monster free, but nope! No, a gang of kittens had dispelled that myth for him.
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