Day 67: Dinner

[damned_intercom]

"Goodness, is it really already time for dinner? Time certainly does fly! And such a lovely day, too. I certainly wouldn't mind having a nice cup of cocoa out on the patio or something..."

That was how the Head Doctor greeted them, although it apparently didn't take him long to realize he'd gotten a little off topic.

"Now then, it's time for the nurses to escort you all back to your rooms, where you'll have the opportunity to tuck into a scrumptious plate of turkey and gravy. And, of course, we always carry vegetarian options for those who don't eat meat. We also have our usual assortment of water, juice and milk.

"Also, some of you will be receiving some extra help in warding off whatever bug some of us have been catching. Please take care, everyone, and be sure to wash your hands! I'll talk to you all again later. Enjoy your dinner."

The intercom clicked off, leaving patients with the prospect of preparing for yet another grueling Nightshift.

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Comments

[toxicspiderman]

"What the fuck do you think happened?" The words were out of his mouth before S.T. remembered that he was supposed to stick to FCC broadcast standards. In his own fucking room, which was bullshit, but that was living with roommates. He looked down at the smiling bandaid over the injection. So far, nothing was itching or turning green. "They're calling it a vaccine or something. See if I only break out in spots of evil."

That was how vaccination had started. Dairymaids (all dairy farmers, but the story always went over better with apple-cheeked farmgirls in the starring roles) didn't get smallpox, and a bunch of doctors noticed at the same time and fought over the credit. It was about the only human-caused mass extinction S.T. had no problem with -- viruses either died or went Revenge of the Whatever strong. No middle ground. That'd be an angle for Landel. Virus Gladiators, with humans for obstacle courses.

[ham_fisted]

Gumshoe held in an exasperated sigh at that. He'd walked right into it that time.

Well, he'd say it was obvious that Mr. Taylor had lost his temper and gotten sedated for it. Although, for a guy who'd been drugged, he didn't seem very disorientated. Maybe the sedatives hadn't kicked in yet?

He looked up again, surprised. "A vaccine?" In all his time here, he didn't think he'd ever heard that word come out of someone's mouth.

[toxicspiderman]

"We're doing everything we blah blah to stop the bug from blah blah further," S.T. sing-songed. "Something like that. They don't think I'm worth the scientific detail," he added, not hiding the residual nurse-patient mutual scorn.

"No effects, yet." He stabbed a piece of turkey and held it up. "Did you know Ben Franklin wanted this to be our national bird? Bitchy little scrappers, that's us." Wild ones sometimes made it in as far as Kendall Square, trading bugs for the pickings panhandlers didn't want. Then, as abruptly as he'd changed the subject once, he did another verbal about-face. "The Scarecrow's sick. Wants my help."

[ham_fisted]

"...!" When Gumshoe finally made the connection, he flinched and shot to his feet. "Th-That's it, pal! This must have been what Landel was talking about! But, wait!" he thought out loud, visibly turning it over in his mind. "You don't think he could be telling the truth, do you?" Fat chance. But if it wasn't a real vaccine, then what was it...? Could Dr. Landel be trying to infect more people!?

The worried look he was giving Mr. Taylor didn't let up... and he had nothing to say about the random bit of history trivia. Thankfully, the guy seemed to come to his senses again, though he was obviously trying to ignore the issue at hand. Gumshoe decided in that moment that he wasn't leaving Mr. Taylor's side until he figured out what they'd done to him. It was hard not to think about all the different things that shot could have contained.

How long was it before it became obvious that someone had been poisoned, again...?

"I don't know, pal," he said, turning slightly to stare at the door. "I mean, we don't know what it was you were injected with, right?"

[toxicspiderman]

"Can't leave until the doors unlock," S.T. said, shrugging. Topic change one had fizzled out like a sparkler dropped in a puddle. "But if it's monster elixir, better out there than in here."

Turning into a monster in front of the Scarecrow when trying to help was a shitty thing to do, but it was a small risk. If Landel wanted him sick, he'd be sick, so the shots were another experiment, possibly completely unrelated. Man had less concept of scientific procedure than PR flacks who could only pronounce mutagenic because they were paid by the syllable. "I feel fine. Groovy. All systems are go for launch."

[ham_fisted]

"I can't agree with you on that," Gumshoe said. Nor did he understand how Mr. Taylor had come to that conclusion. Running off into the night would be fifty times worse than staying in! The detective didn't think he needed to explain why.

He clenched his fists and looked back at the guy. But whatever they'd given him might not have kicked in yet...! Gumshoe didn't want to seem like the bad guy here, but... "...Look, if you want to help this Scarecrow person out, I can't really stop you." A beat. "But you're not going without me."

[toxicspiderman]

Better after running out into the night was an option, which he hadn't specified. Hadn't thought he needed to specify, since Gumshoe's eyes were still tracking motion and nothing smelled like weed. Getting trapped in the room with a monster, shitty. Monster rampaging in the hallways, shitty, but less guaranteed death for someone. He'd seen enough people die this week.

S.T. was unimpressed by his roommate. Which put him above 71% of the roommates he'd found via the classifieds or the B.U. administration. Landel was beating random chance and bureaucracy again, since Gumshoe was the only ultra-square he'd landed.

"Sure," was all he said. Company was a good idea, unless, again, the turning-into-a-monster possibility.

He was saved by the bell. The intercom clicked on before he'd even had a chance to flail around for another small-talk six-pack of awkward silences.

[continued in nightshift]