lighthearted: (confident)
Sora ([personal profile] lighthearted) wrote in [community profile] damned_institute2014-03-07 09:55 am
Entry tags:

Night 75: M1-M10 Hallway

[Starting in M7.]

It was just as Sora had feared. The Head Doctor was going to try and get rid of them by brainwashing them, all of them. That meant he really did feel like he was in danger, didn't it? So in one way, it was encouraging, but Sora didn't know what they'd do if Landel got to them first.

Both he and Link were here and aware of themselves, though, so that was one upside to focus on.

Sora had changed already, and his final act was to grab his radio, flashlight, and place that key card in his pocket. He turned toward Link and let out a heavy breath. The pressure was definitely on now.

"Are you ready?" It was just the two of them now, but that wouldn't stop them. They had to put a stop to this. For Tsurugi's sake. For Kairi and Riku. For everyone.
nobleman: (pic#1578943)


[personal profile] nobleman 2014-03-07 07:54 pm (UTC)(link)
Well then, Landel wasn't exactly hiding his plans anymore, was he?

He was going to brainwash all of them, and Guy could only imagine it was a process that took time -- otherwise they wouldn't still be here. How much time, though? There was no way to be sure, no way to trace the patterns of disappearances, and so all they could do was assume their days were numbered.

Guy had been ordered to look away when Aidou changed clothes, and almost as soon as the doors opened, his new roommate was gone. That suited Guy's needs just fine, though, since he wouldn't be heading out quite as quickly.

No, he'd need to contact Claude and Anise by radio first. If his room had moved, then theirs may have too, and either way he had to let them know where he was. Thankfully, Guy and technology got along rather well, and it didn't take him very long to switch to Claude's frequency. Claude was the one who'd more immediately notice that he'd been moved, so it made sense to call him first.

"Hey, Claude, are you there?" he asked, speaking clearly into the radio's receiver.
his_legacy: (You've pissed me off.)


[personal profile] his_legacy 2014-03-08 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
There was a quiver in Link's fist as he reached into his closet and once again took up Soma's sword.

Pick us off, will you?

His assumption had been right.

Not if I pick you off, first.

No more time. He only nodded at Sora's question. The card was slipped into his cap, his radio latched onto his belt, his flashlight in his hand. Link stepped over the threshold of M7 for what he knew would be the last time, no matter how tonight ended.
redcladidealist: (This isn't good)


[personal profile] redcladidealist 2014-03-09 03:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Enough is enough.

Something about the way Landel had said that had a chilling finality to it. And if he was picking them off... Lloyd thought back uneasily to just how few people he'd seen around the Institute today. They were running out of time. How much time did they have before there weren't enough people left to fight?

He didn't know. He didn't know, but he knew that their plans had to change. They couldn't afford to sit in the archive tonight digging for coordinates. With that thought in mind, Lloyd dove for his closet almost the instant the nurse closed the door. It hadn't escaped his attention that he'd been brought to a different room. Had they moved his things with him? Had they discovered his weapons? His supplies?

It was all there, though. Lloyd heaved a breath of relief. Ignoring his dinner (ugh, spaghetti), he quickly collected his things and changed. His clothes from home, his tool belt, his lamp, his sword, his...


Lloyd stilled when he pushed aside some of his things and found a sword he recognized, a sword he shouldn't have. It was the sword he'd seen Kratos carry at night. With it was a little bottle of oil and a piece of paper, a note, that looked like it had been handled a lot. The teen's breath caught, his heart pounding. Kratos's sword. Why would it be here?

He couldn't keep from reaching for the note, no matter how much his gut was filling with dread. There had to be a good explanation. One that didn't- that wasn't- He unfolded the paper, not sure what to expect.

He wasn't expecting what he got. It wasn't from Kratos. It was from...

'We haven't forgotten about you - Nigel especially. He keeps bugging me about when you’re going to come home.'

'I miss you a lot too, Kurtis.'

'Sometimes, when I wake up, I still expect to look over and see you right next to me.'

He read the letter. He read it again. The pieces didn't want to fit. His mind didn't want to accept it. This was a letter... This was a letter from... His hand tightened on the paper. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Mom? It was a lie. He knew it had to be. Another one of the lies Landel tried to convince him was real. He should ignore it. Wad it up. Shove it into the trash. He knew what he should do.

But he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was a lie, but... could it have been...? If things were different...?

Suddenly, in that moment, Lloyd realized that Kratos must have had his hands on this first. He must have known it wasn't real, had told Lloyd not to believe the lies, but the letter was still here, still obviously well read. He must have felt...

...the same. A lie he wished was real. A lie that hurt so much because they knew the truth. Lloyd swallowed.

I shouldn't have this.

More than just the fact that his mother was dead, that he couldn't ever get a letter like this, it was the fact that this was something Kratos wouldn't have shared with him. Kratos wouldn't share a lie like this, especially not one so personal. It shouldn't be in his closet. He shouldn't have Kratos's sword.

Cold, unreasoning fear suddenly gripped Lloyd's heart. As soon as the doors opened for the night, he was off like a shot with barely a word to Claude. Something was wrong. He had to find his dad!

[To here.]
Edited 2014-09-05 22:36 (UTC)
ryuuzaki: (L Change the World)


[personal profile] ryuuzaki 2014-03-13 07:37 am (UTC)(link)
L had eaten as much of the spaghetti and garlic bread as he could stomach, then changed into his own white shirt before topping it with one of the smiling grey sweatshirts. When Landel's announcement came on, he sat, letting the cream soda lollipop that had come with his dinner dissolve in his mouth as he listened.

So Landel had grown tired of his own scheme, of the ways it was falling apart, of the numerous inroads Marc and Harrington had made, and was planning a last-ditch effort to push the rest of his plans through. It seemed like desperation. He had the manpower -- the kind of riots that had taken place in the past were unlikely now, for example -- but maybe not the compliance from his unwilling patients. Would that matter? "Become who we tell you you are, or become a ghost. You don't have any other choices."

I'm not going to play a part for you. But hadn't he already been, for a little over a month, all to avoid what seemed like something worse? Being defiant during the day had seemed like a foolish waste of time. Maybe now it would be necessary... they'd have to see how tonight went, and maybe the next few nights.

It might be nonstop resistance from here out, if Landel was indeed determined to purge the remainder of this group of patients in one way or another, and if L didn't want to live as Daniel Laurier. Who was, in his estimation, a rather pathetic figure -- not something he could have become in another life, if nudged this way and denied that opportunity. No, someone might want Laurier to exist out there... someone might even be paying very well for it... but he added nothing to the world, and L didn't want to exist in that kind of diminished capacity.

It didn't take him long to prepare to leave. His choices were same as they had been over the previous few nights, but given what had happened to Lana's ankle, it seemed like a good idea to change out the sneakers for the lightweight Institute-issue boots. The leather military boots might offer even better protection, but they were too stiff and heavy for him to wear comfortably. He couldn't see a point in wearing clothing that was more defensive if it would have the side effect of hampering his ability to move and fight.

He also took the time to replace the medical supplies that he'd used in wrapping Lana's ankle, then added a bit more. They were there to be used, and the third floor seemed more dangerous than elsewhere: he and Lana had been attacked each night there, attacks that had escalated each time. That meant that one of them could easily die tonight... but that was true any night. He couldn't do anything to decrease the chances of a fatal confrontation, not with the way their route was predetermined by others, but he could be sure that his bag was well-stocked again so that they could at least try to deal with any injuries, keep each other from bleeding out before dawn.

He had a few extra lollipops, so he pocketed them before leaving the room. Lana might want one. As for himself... God knew, if he was going to die tonight, it might make his last moments a little less bitter.

[To here.]
Edited 2014-03-13 08:02 (UTC)
envy_the_sinners: (wait. here come the bitter manly tears)

[personal profile] envy_the_sinners 2014-03-26 01:21 am (UTC)(link)
Scar had yet to move from his desk. His dinner sat in front of him, cold.

The drugs had worn off a while ago, but he still felt as if he were in a haze. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't tired, but he wasn't properly awake. He wasn't thinking clearly, couldn't string together what to do. His thoughts were caught in a swirl that constantly flowed between the reality of what he knew he had to do and what had already happened. He had messed up. He had messed up with the Elrics, and now he had messed up with Lust.

But what else was new?

I need you.

Why was it so impossible to reciprocate such a simple statement?

He had to get up. He had to go out and find her and make sure she hadn't already taken her away. They only had one night left, he knew it. But God, the Elrics... Scar tried so hard to let the man's teasing, the boys' disappearance, their current peril spark his rage. But it didn't work. He buried his face in his hands, fingers clutching at his bangs in frustration. How else was he supposed to drive himself? Using his anger as fuel was a two-edged sword, pressing him forward while only further sinking his own self-regard, and it had finally caught up with him. It wasn't natural, to live like that. For him to live like that. He was only now beginning to realize.

I need you to function.

Fine. He would just have to draw from someplace else. Scar stood up, suddenly. They, all of them, needed to act now. They needed to act now, or all would be lost. All would be for nothing. There may not have been many of them left, but there still remained those he needed to make sure would be safe. Somehow, the suffering he had once burned to inflict on Landel didn't matter. All that mattered was that this ended before it was too late. That they were safe-

With a burst of an energy completely unfamiliar to Scar, he hastily pulled on his clothes from home, gathered the photograph of his brother, and darted out the door.