Night 65: M91-M100 Hallway

[fallenbeanpole]

As the intercom died away, the Once-ler grabbed his crutch and hobbled over to the door. Poking his head out briefly, he glanced up and down the dark hallway before retreating back in and shutting the door.

“Just Once-ler is fine,” he said in response to the other man, still facing the door. “And again, you are?”

While he waited for a reply, he mulled over the intercom’s message. It sounded like the sickness was a twisted experiment, and five people would ‘turn’. The Once-ler was not certain exactly what the Head Doctor meant, but found himself hoping that Soma was not among that number. Sora also hadn’t been feeling well, he recalled.

Hopefully whatever was in the X-ray room tonight would prove useful. There was so much wrong with experimenting on people and making them sick, and there had to be a better solution than amateur stomach surgery.

The Once-ler’s thoughts were interrupted when the other man spoke up again. He turned around to see that his roommate had gone pale. It sounded like he was afraid of the sickness going around. “Not really, no. I was traveling with someone sick last night, but she said it probably wasn’t contagious. I feel fine. Aside from the injuries, obviously.”

Speaking of Soma, hadn’t she had a flashlight last night? That would make navigating the hallways much easier, and safer too. “You don’t know where I could get a flashlight, do you?”

Comments

M100

[repelling]

Thanks to the jackhammer in his skull, waking became an unusual chore. Even as consciousness hit and with it various wrongs, it took him time to dislodge the last dregs of sleep, the groggy aftertaste. Adrenaline helped, adrenaline pumped by the certainty of an unfamiliar (yet familiar) bed, of a stark drop in spirit pressure (unfamiliar, yet familiar). Uryuu's hand lifted from the sheets, nearing his head, as if to grip it in its aching, but lurched instead, jerking beneath the pillow.

As he thought it would, his fingers met the cool shaft of what was unmistakably a flashlight. That jolted him upright, shoving back much of the sheets and blanket as he peered into the dark, his hands now groping for his glasses, which he crammed onto his face. Next, clicking on the light, which he swept around the room, his heartbeat matching the rapid pulse behind his eyes.

As if the drab grey shirt, as if the two hospital beds, as if that same room layout wasn't enough. He wouldn't have, didn't need any of it: only once place had such low spirit pressure in the air. The weight of his pendant against the chain of his bracelet served as a calming constant, even with the memory of his reduced powers.

It shouldn't have been, and wasn't necessarily, a surprise to wake here. Only, it had been morning, he thought. Morning, breakfast with Kratos-san and the information relayed by the bulletin board, and then...? Time and memory blurred. Perhaps the food had been drugged. Perhaps something else. Intuition, or hyperactive dread, begged paranoia over the latter, but he kept it at bay as he stood, making a quick round of his side of the room.

No evidence of dinner, nor of Kudou-san, or any other person who might have shared the room. He found the same assortment of clothes in the drawers, the same pens and journal at the desk, the same coats and boots in the closet. He did not find, even with a search of closet, drawers, and beneath the bed, the backpack found in the forest. Not the backpack, and not Kratos-san's cloak, both of which had been in his closet that morning. The man had said the clothing had simply appeared one day; had it returned to him? But what of the bag? Opening the journal yielded another curiosity: he had torn out two pages, before. This journal showed no evidence of it. Its pages were blank, without any of the writing of just that morning in the Sun Room.

Uryuu shook his head, but did not remain idle as he pondered it. Walking to the door, he pulled it open, directing the light over the number. M100. Not M77, the room which he'd been assigned the night before, and had woke in the past couple of days. If it was only a matter of changed rooms, wouldn't his "belongings" have transferred?

Unable to think it so simple, he gathered supplies. Something told him Kratos-san would not be waiting. Perhaps he would see him on the way to the file rooms. Whatever had affected him (had he been- every possibility should be an option, but if he had been convinced and released, wouldn't he remember it? Remember thinking himself Gerard Way?) could not be deduced in this moment, thus he resolved to stay with his original plan for the night.

A moment spent, thoughtful, at the desk. If any information of note was found, rather than take the files, he would do better to copy them. Taking only a few pages might not be enough, or prove annoying to write on. Flipping open the journal, he penned M100, along with a quick recollection of what he'd learned earlier: Kurosaki - ?, Inoue-san - Amaya, Abarai - Kyle, Kuchiki-san - Shiori, Ururu-san - Karen, Kuchiki Byakuya - ?, Senna-san - ? (from Karakura). Hitsugaya-san, Yamada-kun, Matsumoto-san, Hinamori-san.

Then, he tugged off a pillow case, depositing the radio then the journal. Setting it aside, he put on the boots and considered the coat, the harsh memory of his idiocy the night prior (or some night prior) clear. Although he had no intention of going outside... he stared at the sweatshirts. The coat, for practicality, must still be dismissed as too restrictive. The sweatshirts more the ignoble status as some of the ugliest things he'd ever seen. Almost completely shapeless. Yet.

He would not be unprepared again. Gritting his teeth, he yanked one down and folded it into his pillow case. ...Then, just in case, the second. Suppose something ripped through the first? It lacked the appeal of a spare cape, but he couldn't overlook the possible use.

Two pens pocketed, along with the keyring. A second shirt taken from a drawer, pulled on over the one he already wore, and the undershirt beneath it. Then he lifted the pillow case, considering its opening. With a few hard wrenches, he tore ribbons, which he wound and tied into a short loop, one he just managed to get over his shoulder. It would do as a bag, and to keep his hands free.

That done, he snapped off the flashlight and stepped into the hallway.

[ creepin' here! ]

M98

[albuquerquesnorkel]

The heart-stopping crash was what jolted Riley awake. That, and the sickening feeling that his bank account would, once again, be depleted right when he was finally starting to earn money off of his book. He'd just gotten that car back, too!

It wouldn't be the first time a nightmare had him immediately wide awake, sitting bolt-upright, breathing heavily and incredibly grateful to find that whatever horror he'd seen in his sleep was just a dream. It was, however, the strangest time. As Riley's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, it slowly dawned on him that he didn't recognize wherever this was. It wasn't his own bed, or his own room. It didn't look like anywhere he'd ever stayed, either.

"Okay..." he muttered under his breath. Could mean he was still dreaming, but this all felt real enough. Was he in a hotel? Riley was surprised to sort back through his memory and find absolutely no recollection of the night before, or even what he'd been doing for the last couple of days.

He didn't get that drunk, did he? Riley had never gotten blackout drunk before. This... this really wasn't good. Oh god. Oh god, had he been drugged?

"Hello?" he called out tentatively as he got out of bed. "Is anyone there? Ben?"

Nothing but silence answered him. And the other bed, now that Riley could make it out, looked empty. The entire room, in fact, was much more bare than a hotel room should be. Riley spun in a slow circle in the middle of the room, trying to get his bearings, or... really any kind of clue. He had no idea what to make of this. If it was some sort of prank, it was a really, really bad one. "Okay, guys, that's... that's really funny," he called out, just in case. "You totally got me. I'm scared out of my mind. Joke's over! I have things I need to get done now."

Granted, not the most convincing thing he could say, but Riley was having a hard time thinking straight, for some reason. He turned to the door after noting the lack of windows, which immediately put him in mind of a prison. "Guys?"

Of course there wasn't an answer. If it was a prank, they wouldn't give up that easily. Looked like Riley was going to have to play this one through to the end.

"So what exactly is the point here?" he wondered aloud for their benefit. "Is this a test? Am I supposed to try and get somewhere?" He hesitated. "You couldn't have given me at least a little bit of light?"

Still no answer. With a long-suffering sigh, Riley began searching through the dresser drawers for a box of matches. Instead of the rough wood of the bottom of the drawer, though - or a matchbox - all he could feel were clothes, and they weren't hiding anything underneath them. Both desks in the room were equally useless; all Riley found were batteries, pens, and a couple of key rings.

"Useless," he murmured at each new discovery, "useless, and... useless. Great." He dropped the last key ring on top of the desk, and then bent down to try and figure out how the radio worked. It was a small, basic, rechargeable version, and not two-way, as Riley had been hoping. Still, what was the point in giving him a radio if all it did was play music? Ben would probably take it with him. Ben would probably also make Riley carry it.

The hallway outside the door, when Riley worked up the nerve to push it open, was pitch-black. Riley turned back into the room, certain now that there had to be a source of light somewhere. He checked both closets, under each bed, and then pulled the sheets off his own. There, lo and behold, was a flashlight. Much better than matches. It even worked when Riley flicked the switch, so he wouldn't have to fumble around with the batteries he'd just found.

"Is this you, Ben?" he asked the empty room, hefting the flashlight in his right hand and picking up the radio with his left. "Is this some kind of weird treasure hunt?" He nudged the door into the hallway back open with his foot. "Because you're the only one who likes riddles, you know."

[Out to here.]

[brokensmolder]

"Flynn Rider," he replied, still distracted. With Nightshift now underway, the last thing he wanted to do was leave this room. But he had to. He had to get to Rapunzel tonight. She was his responsibility, as Landel had made abundantly clear last night.

And that was the most painful thing of all. Landel had dragged an innocent girl, the first and only person Eugene had ever really cared for, and now her fate was entirely in his hands. If he participated in the Head Doctor's insane witch hunt, Rapunzel would be saved, even rewarded. If not...how was he ever going to keep her safe? Landel controlled every aspect of their lives here. Eugene had heard that people often up and disappeared from the Institute. They would just vanish.

And sometimes they'd die.

The Once-ler's question pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned around, facing his roommate. "A flashlight? I have no idea what that is."

[fallenbeanpole]

The Once-ler stared blankly at Flynn for a few seconds. "How do you not know- never mind." Maybe, like Lingormr, Flynn Rider came from a time that was pre-electricity. "It's a device that emits light from one end. Kind of like a torch, only it's directed and not burning. Tube shaped, sort of flares out on the end that the light comes from." Flynn might not know the word, but he might recognize the description.

He shrugged. "If that sounds familiar at all, great. If not, we'll just have to find our way in the dark." That was not a cheerful prospect.

[brokensmolder]

The Once-ler's description sounded a bit like the weird, directionless light that illuminated everything here. It also sounded a little like the club Eugene had found under his pillow last night. Walking over to his bed, he pulled the club out from its hiding place. "You mean this thing?" It didn't look much like a torch, but he was going to have to take his roommate's word as the greater authority on these things. "Check your pillow too. Maybe you got a visit from the...flash...torch fairy."

[fallenbeanpole]

The Once-ler grinned slightly. "That's a flashlight, alright." Taking his roommate's advice, he lifted his own pillow up. He smiled even more upon exposing the flashlight.

"Well, what do ya know." The Once-ler picked up the flashlight, giving it a quick look-over.

It didn't make much sense for flashlights to be hidden under pillows, but the Once-ler was rapidly learning that questioning the logic of this place was going to get him nowhere.

Pointing the flashlight at the ceiling, he briefly flipped the switch on to test the light. Satisfied that the light was functional, he turned it off. No sense in wasting the batteries.

The Once-ler adjusted his grip on crutch and flashlight before walking back to the door.

"Alright, let's go."

[to here]