damned_institute | Day 26: Intercom, Dawn

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Day 26: Intercom, Dawn

As the sun rose up into the blue, cloudless sky, it seemed as if this day would be a particularly warm one. The Head Doctor, at least, seemed happy about it as the intercom clicked on and he began his first announcement on a cheery note.

"New faces, new places! Well, more new faces than new places, but there are plenty of them for you befriend and make connections with, which helps everyone in the end, doesn't it? So, nurses, if you'd please awake the members of our first group for the day? Thank you very much!

"In any case, the breakfast that you'll be sharing with our new patients will consist of belgian waffles with your choice of butter, syrup, whipped cream, and assorted fruits to put on top! Our regular sides are of course available; sausages, tater tots, and toast should be in the same area as the waffles, and our salad bar should be piled high with fresh fruit and healthy cereals to choose from! Our regular drinks of milk, water, and assorted juices are there for the taking, and... I do believe that's all! Good day, everybody!"

The intercom clicked off as the delicious smell of warm food wafted throughout the institute.

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Rotting flesh, bloated and slick from its time in the water, a dead body no longer his own and yet he was trapped inside, forced to dance to another's will, screaming in his mind but unable to force his swollen lips and tongue to do more than mumble a plea, a request for death, a request granted at the end of a Swordian, cessation of pain, of misery, sweet darkness once more, and then...

Leon woke with a start and a most undignified choking sort of noise. Stunned, panicky, he looked down at his body, patted it, flexed his hands, his toes, breathed in and out. Alive. Not dead, not a zombie, but alive. Somehow.

After a few moments he became aware of a voice and a presence intruding on his personal space. He discovered a woman was watching him, and speaking to him, and wearing a most unusual outfit--like a human-sized version of the spirits from the Nurse spell, though without the hat. She was speaking in that soothing, slow sort of tone one used with animals and idiots, and calling him "Mr. Esposito."

Part of him wanted to snarl at her and demand answers, but mostly he was numb, mentally exhausted from being dragged back and forth across the border between life and death far too many times. So, he remained silent, and let the woman lead him out of the room.

[Going over here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/172462.html?view=11025838#t11025838).]

Too much light.

There was simply too much light. It was annoying her, dreadfully annoying her. Go away, no one asked for you. Can't you see I'm trying to sleep here?

It was morning. There was nothing out of the ordinary there. You sleep at night, you wake up in the morning. Cyrille rolled over, her bed wasn't as soft as it usually is. It bothered her, but it didn't bother her enough to care. There were more important things to worry about like -- you know -- getting back to sleep. Her face was pressed on the pillow in a vain attempt to keep the light from her eyes. That couldn't be sunlight shining upon her, could it? Impossible, she was in her room, there were no windows there.

She mumbled softly, "Zhirra, go turn off the light for me..."

There was no response. Odd. Zhirra always listened to her master, even when she was pretending to be asleep.

No, wait. There was a response. A strange feminine voice spoke to Cyrille as she rolled over on the side. She grumbled - the light was still on. A soft hand tapped her shoulder, it was warm and inviting. She slowly began to open her eyes, they struggled, as if they wanted to speak up. No, we don't want to open! She didn't care, perhaps it was Maebelle in her room. Breakfast must be ready. Either way, it was something that required her attention, they wouldn't have woken her otherwise. Cyrille held the hand that had touched her as she groggily stood up.

She nodded slowly at the voice, the woman ... a nurse? It couldn't be. Maebelle, why are you dressed in white? Are you trying a new outfit on? Is that what you woke me up for? Cyrille thought to herself. Her inner voice was annoyed, as usual. This was probably a waste of time, but she was hungry. It was time for her to get up. Still holding the unknown woman's hand, she led herself out the door and into the hallway. Something seemed odd, not quite right. It would take a few minutes before it finally set in that Cyrille wasn't at home.

This woman was not Maebelle.
She was not among friends.

[ continued here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/172462.html?thread=11038382#t11038382) ]

Stirring at the sound of an unfamiliar voice over speakers, Auel blinked several times and realized that this was most definitely not his bed. It didn't even look like the ship-- a hospital? Even if they didn't get medical treatment like everyone else, that would make the most sense, considering the last thing he could remember.

He had been so sure he was going to win. That other mobile suit pilot was fast, but Auel knew he could do better. He knew it until that attack had come out of nowhere, tearing into his mobile suit right into the cockpit and through his body.

The Abyss had sunk back into the ocean and between the shock and the pain, Auel remembered dully noting how his flight suit had been filling up with blood and sea water. Then...this?

Auel reached down - what kind of stupid hospital clothes were these? - and was surprised to feel no scars. Huh, well, good. If the mechanics hurried up repairing his mobile suit, he'd pay that other pilot back twice as much for making him lose. Sitting up, he yawned and stretched feeling okay despite not having slept in his own bed.

If you don't win, it's the same as losing, got it? Auel brushed off the stray thought, mumbling Sting's name, then Neo's before he noticed that the person standing near his bed wasn't either of them.

"No, dear, you're Brent. Good morning! Are you ready for breakfast?" Brent? How the hell could you mix up Brent and Auel for names was beyond him. Idiot. Oh, but she just a nurse in a strange uniform. There weren't even any EAF insignia on it. Maybe this was a special Phantom Pain hospital, then.

"It's Auel, but yeah, you can gimme some breakfast any time now." The woman just smiled and patted his hand as he got out of bed to follow her, calling him Brent again and talking to him like he was stupid. Lots of people did that, but Auel didn't know how much trouble he'd get in if he taught her a lesson so he let it slide.

If the doctors didn't want to run any special tests, he'd get his medicine and get out of here before it was even time for lunch.

[Heading here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/172462.html?thread=11047342#t11047342)]

Somewhere underneath the avalanche of books he’d read along the course of his life there was a quirky little model that signified five distinct stages the average person expressed when dealing with grief. Even now he remembered each one clearly; After all, there were only five.

The first was Denial, an understandable course of action, or at least, to those who were blissfully ignorant of the risks involved in existing in the first place. Their logic was centered around one theory that even though they were a living, breathing creature, the tragedies of the world were unable to harm them in any way.

The second was Anger. Taking into account the previous stage, it was also an understandable emotion. Out of the billions of people who’ve lived, why were they chosen to suffer? There was the small detail that grief struck everyone, and that death was practically the inevitable, but common sense was obviously a frivolous thing that no one should pay attention to.

The third was Bargaining. Either one fell into deep introspection or mused their thoughts out loud, but either way they tossed their ideas into what could somehow redeem them from whatever they’ve experienced. The stage simply spoke for itself when it came to pettiness, really.

The fourth was Depression. Once it finally sank in that neither words nor material possessions could benefit or reverse the situation one usually sinks deep into the metaphorical ocean of emotion. ‘Moping’ could also be a term used, if one desired.

The fifth and last stage was Acceptance. After all the ignorance and arrogance they’ve conveyed there was simply nothing else to do but just take everything with open arms. Any respectable person should’ve skipped the other stages all together, but humans were never meant to be impeccable.

There were many things that proved themselves worthy of fitting into this compact model. One in particular that struck him like a brick was Luke’s mental journey that occurred after the events of Akzeriuth. Indeed, it had been a big enough change that affected all of Auldrant and how they’d live their lives to the end.

And in a lesser, but more recent, scale, the very situation he was in right now was also a nice time to bring all of this up. But alas, instead of beating around the bush, he was more accepting of his surroundings than most would’ve been.

Jade just sighed. He wasn’t grieving, quite the opposite actually.

"I suppose I should’ve expected this sooner." The man spoke to himself amusedly, taking off his glasses to inspect them. The fontech that served its purpose was no longer there, and thus sought fit to dispose of them whenever he had the chance. However, he doubted many would recognize him if were without them, so he ultimately decided to keep them for purely cosmetic reasons.

The click of a lock caught his attention like a moth to a flame, but the Colonel kept his body seated on the flat-sided bed. Admittedly, part of him was expecting his Majesty to appear with that ever-grinning expression of his, but he revealed no outward disappointment when a woman stepped into the room. In fact, he was curious to hear her out.

"Good morning, Mr. Mann. How are you feeling today?"

… What?

Before he knew it Jade found himself chuckling, earning himself a confused glance from the woman. However, before she could ask, the man quickly imposed with his own question.

"Can you be so kind as to tell me my name?"

"…? Your name is Barry Mann. Don’t you remember?" She looked at him warily, but shook her head in the end. Meanwhile, the Colonel was beyond entertained at the turn of events. The theory of all of this being his Majesty’s work was slowly turning into something factual, and in the end he decided to ride this out and see what his friend had in store for him.

"My apologies, my own name seemed to have fleeted me for a moment." He recovered in practically no time, standing up from his bed and towering over his nurse. But the woman didn’t seem nervous of their difference in height, smiling cheerily up at him before opening the door completely.

"Well Mr. Mann, you must be famished. Why don’t I lead you to the Cafeteria so you can have some breakfast?"

"Indeed, I appreciate your consideration." Jade responded with one of his usual smiles, slipping into a more professional tone. He glanced at his surroundings once they left the cramped room, and Jade found himself asking before he realized it.

"Where are we?"

"Landel’s Institute, a mental rehabilitation facility where we work to cure patients of their past."

Fascinating, to say the least.

It was unfamiliar; the smell of sterilized cotton sheets. She knew before opening her eyes that she was in a strange place. The smell of Roses, of her preferred brand of laundry detergent on the pillow cases and blankets, the smell and sound and feel of Utena so near to her... it was so familiar that it was sometimes a part of her dreams; so cathartic that it sometimes... sometimes, distracted her from the ever-nagging pain inside and made her feel... normal.

And this was not normal. Well. It was not normal for her; which admittedly, was not much of a meter to judge the word by. Her instincts told her so before her mind could rush in and remind her that she was in the 'real' world now and that perhaps this was how 'real' world 'normal' sheets were supposed to smell, and normal rooms were supposed to feel. She opened her eyes to the dull white room, wondering if she had dozed off somewhere; checked in to a cheap motel or perhaps a youth hostel on her journey. No. This room was too uninviting. There was an aura of death about the place. She recognized it. She didn't like it.

A polite knock came at the door, followed by an opening on eerily silent (well-oiled; perfect and in-line) hinges, and a rather plain looking woman in drab attire entered, smiling over her clipboard, as Anthy rubbed her eyes and tried to appear unfazed, though her heart was racing as her conscience told her this wasn't right; this wasn't a lodging house. It was something more frightening.

"And how is Miss Westmark this morning? Slept well?" Anthy looked around wearily for whoever this 'Miss Westmark' might be. There was a second bed. Perhaps the woman was looking for someone else.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know who you are referring to," Anthy said compliantly, sitting up and touching her feet to the cold floor, wondering when she had donned such odd pajamas. It was always nightgowns for her. "However, would you be so kind as to tell me where I am. I seem to have up and lost myself." She tried to give a silly smile, hoping the woman would commiserate with the little 'whoopsie' moment (or at least, like most people seemed to, find the 'ditziness', as Utena called it, endearing).

The woman shook her head, as if she had already seen this case far too many times before.

"Honey," She said, approaching Anthy with a smile of pity, "You've had a bit of an accident, and the trauma has changed you in many ways, mostly that you've forgotten who you are. Your name is Julia Westmark, and right now you are being cared for at one of the world's finest mental health institutes. We're going to work hard with you so that you can heal in a healthy way, rather than escaping to fantasy worlds like you've been doing."
Fantasy worlds... institute? No. This wasn't right. She was free. She'd already escaped her nightmare. She'd already left the world of lies. This wasn't right!

"Where is she?" Anthy asked, in a tone that was far more urgent than she'd intended, "Where is she? I need to-"
"Calm down now, who are you talking about?"

"Utena! Utena, my best friend. The one who set me free. The one who helped me get out of-"

"It's going to be alright!" the woman (-a nurse?) assured her, holding her hands, clenched into fists, "By and by, we can figure out who this Utena friend of yours really is, and we can take care of both of you, alright? Now, we're going to head to the cafeteria for breakfast. Is there anything you need first? Toiletries, use the bathroom, wash up?"

Anthy was silent, staring down in stunned silence at the space between her bare feet and the nurse's white tennis shoes. This was impossible. This just wasn't right. She was free! She had to be-

"Well-" She paused, awkwardly, breathing carefully and trying not to cry out in her fear, disappointment, her utter lonliness, "...my glasses, please?"

"... Miss Westmark, you don't have any sight problems and you've never worn glasses." The nurse looked confused at her request.

"... Oh." She breathed out curtly, "Well then, perhaps some hair pins- or-"

"I'm afraid we can't let you have pins; too much of a risk of self harm in a place like this, you understand," Anthy seemed to fall further, shrinking even more, "... But I could braid your hair for you, if you like."

Anthy swallowed and nodded, feeling rather light as she was seated in an uncomfortable chair and the nurse fished a plastic brush from the toiletry kit she'd brought. She barely registered the feeling of the small brush being nearly lost in the thick waves of her long hair, could barely hear the nurse's inane chattering.

Anthy looked down and wrung her hands as if in prayer. This wasn't what she had expected when she passed the gilded threshold. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. More frighteningly... what the nurse had implied about her memories... almost made sense. She would have to figure this out. But for now... for now, she just felt more discouraged than ever.

And hungry.

To Here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/172462.html?view=11104430#t11104430)

Gone. As the drowsiness subsided, Anise found herself growing more and more aware of the absence of her stuffed companion. It wouldn't be strange if she had lost grip of it in her sleep, but as she felt around the bed she found no sign of Tokunaga. Realizing an insincere effort wasn't going to yield any results, she sat up and opened her eyes.

The sight took her by surprise. Being one to travel often, she was used to waking up in unfamiliar rooms, but the one she found herself in this time lacked the warmth and colour of any inn she had ever stayed in. Was it a hospital? It certainly wasn't any hospital she knew--and serving a kid as sickly as Ion, she had seen the insides of many a hospital room.

More importantly, where were her friends? They couldn't have gone ahead and left her behind. Could they? She was going to be mad if they had. And what about her belongings? Leaning over the side of the bed, she could still find no sign of Tokunaga. What kind of horrible bastard would take a little girl's doll away from her!? And changing her clothes while she was sleeping... somebody was going to be sorry.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock, and the figure of a nurse in the doorway. "Good morning, Miss Haze."

The sour look on Anise's face didn't fade. She was hoping it would be someone with answers, but this woman didn't even know who she was! "Anise," she corrected.

She expected the nurse to look surprised or apologetic, but her expression merely turned to one of pity. "It's time for breakfast, Miss Haze. Please come with me." What was her problem? Was she even listening!? Well, if she was offering a free meal, then maybe questions could wait until later. Hesitantly, Anise followed the woman to the cafeteria.

[To here.]

The first thing Ana Lucia noticed upon waking up was that she didn't feel as if she'd just been shot. She'd been shot before. She remembered the pain that went with it. How long had she been out? She sat up easily, which was also a surprise. She found she was lying in an unfamiliar bed, wearing clothes that weren't her own. There was no trace of an injury after a quick inspection of herself, hands against her chest and a quick glance down the front of her shirt. Not even a scar, although her older scar, from her first bullet wound was still where it belonged. What the hell? Michael had shot her. Hadn't he? Was she going crazy? No, he'd definitely shot her. What the hell was going on?

"Jack?" she called, but without much real hope of an answer. Deep down, she knew where she was, where she had to be. The Others had started with the children, but they'd been taking all of them, one by one, hadn't they? They'd want her to answer for Goodwin. Not that she owed them any damned answers, not after what they'd all done to them. No, the only death she regretted was the girl, Sayid's girl, that unlucky, horrible mistake.

They must have taken her, done something to her. Drugged her? Maybe. She felt a little groggy, she guessed, although her memory of being shot was still pretty goddamn clear. What was the point of sticking on that problem right now, though? It wouldn't help her with the situation at hand that she had to deal with, which was that she'd been captured. And they would come to interrogate her. Maybe torture her, the way the Locke and Sayid had tortured Henry.

She smiled, subconsciously clenching her fists. A quick search around herself revealed a flashlight under her pillow. It would do well enough. It would have to. She'd be ready for them. She wouldn't die quietly for them. Or screaming, if she could help it. She'd fight her damnedest to escape, or at least take as many of them down with her as she could. All she had to do was wait for that door to open, and be ready for whoever it was that opened it. She tried to silence the irrational part of her mind that still hoped to see Jack's rugged, serious face again. Jack couldn't help her now. She'd have to help herself. As always.

She hurried to stand next to the door as she saw the knob turn, lifting the flashlight high, holding it in both hands.

In this line of work, a nurse had to expect to get assaulted by their patients sooner or later. It was always important to remember that after the trauma that most of them had undergone, they would feel the need to lash out. The nurse who was assigned to Miss Acosta had heard of this speech thousands of time.

Yet, even then, she carelessly opened the door without a second thought. The female patients never usually gave them trouble, it was usually the males who were more rowdy. Boys would be boys, after all?

"Miss Acosta?" the nurse called out as she entered the room, prepared to lead her out to breakfast if the other woman was feeling comfortable enough. "It's time to -"

She stopped, seeing that Jennifer Acosta was holding one of the Institute flashlights in a way that could only be described as threatening.

Ana Lucia only had an instant to wonder who "Miss Acosta" was. Maybe she was supposed to have been under a guard or something. Whoever this woman was looking for obviously wasn't there, anyway.

She swung at the intruder with her flashlight in hope of knocking her out in order to bolt past her and into the hallway.

The nurse tried to move out of the way, but she was not fast enough as the flashlight clipped her in the head, sending the nurse staggering back. This wasn't good... Already, there were patients who were out of control!

Thankfully, an orderly was patrolling the halls, and he had seen the scene before him. However, although he was halfway down to where they were, the nurse tried to reason with the woman and keep her from escaping.

"Miss Acosta, please! You're in a safe place, we are not trying to hurt you!"

Ana Lucia found herself involuntarily hesitating as she realized the woman was addressing her with this unfamiliar name. She shook her head. They were trying to confuse her and she was letting it work.

"What the hell are you talking about? I don't know what kinda game you and Henry are playing, here, but I'm not buyin it, lady!" She lashed out once again with her flash light.

[Erm, yes. X( The previous NPC mod forgot to tell you that she won't be available for a few days so another one is taking her place. Sorry for the wait!]

This time the nurse was prepared to move back when the flashlight swung in her direction. She moved out of the way when the Orderly finally reached the room, rushing forward and grabbing hold of the patient's wrist.

"Please calm down Ms. Acosta! You're only hurting yourself if you continue to act violently." The woman urged, hand pressed against the area that the flashlight managed to hit.

(Oh, okay. Thank you!)

Ana Lucia's first instinct was to try to jerk away, but she reconsidered her situation. She'd made too much noise. She might be able to overpower these two and run, but undoubtedly the Others would have more guards. They always did. And she'd be severely outnumbered. Screaming and making a big show was not going to get here out of here.

She narrowed her eyes at the orderly, resisting every instinct to fight him. If she wanted to escape, she'd have to do so quietly. Wait and watch, and figure out who here had a gun. "Fine."

It was a good thing that most of the nurses were rather forgiving, and surely enough the woman seemed to be recovering from her injury at a remarkable rate. Giving the sore spot a last rub down, she stood to her full height and dusted off her clothes.

Despite Ana Lucia’s calming mood, the orderly didn't relinquish his grip, instead guiding her out of the room with his hand still on her wrist.

"Now Ms. Ascota, with all of that settled, let's get you to the Cafeteria shall we?" The nurse smiled back before leading them to their said destination.

As Fran opened her eyes, the world seemed decidedly dimmer than it had been the last time she had closed them. Artificial lighting shone down from above, but still the room seemed enveloped in shadows. Screwing up her features, Fran tried to focus on her surroundings, her vision un-blurring itself far more slowly than she was used to.

Though her senses seemed strangely hindered, her brain was not and it did not take long for her to realize that all things were not well. Sitting up quickly, it felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from her shoulders and as she turned her head, she realized that one had.

She inhaled slowly and then exhaled. It was the first sign of panic she had allowed herself. Already knowing what she would find, she slid a dark hand over her head and continued the movement until she reached the back of her neck without hindrance.

Nothing.

One perfectly formed human foot touched the ground, followed by another. Watching them intensely, she lifted her heels off the cold floor and then slowly lowered them again. Lifting them once again, she stood and quickly learned the error of her ways as she lost her balance and only managed to regain it by falling flat onto her heels again. She tried standing on her toes once more and this time was rewarded with more success as she steadily took a few steps forward.

“How fate likes to jest,” she murmured under her breath, even though no one was there to hear her. Her sister Jote would have said it was what she had always wanted, wasn’t it? That she had abandoned her sisters to be with them. The Humes.

She knew not what manner of magick could have caused this, but even without a mirror present, Fran knew her transformation was absolute. Gone were her ears, replaced instead by strange fleshy shells that could hear nothing but her own movements within the room. Gone were her claw-like nails, her long feet and her tail.

Her surroundings were only a secondary concern. If this was a prison, it was far nicer than any she had been in recently. No, this looked far more like… a hospital.

Normally she would have torn the room apart already, looking for anything that could possibly benefit her. In her distracted state of mind, she had only begun to slide the dresser drawer open when she heard the doorknob turn behind her.

She turned on her toes and tensed, ready to spring at whatever came through the door, whether or not she had anything to fight with but herself. When she was greeted by a smiling nurse carrying a clipboard, she did not relax.

The nurse’s smile faltered somewhat as she set eyes on the tall dark-skinned woman who, like many before her, seemed eager to attack, but unlike many before her, also seemed insistent upon standing on her tip-toes.

“Elisabeth Stevens?” The nurse continued to smile, but Fran could not guess what she was so happy about.

Seeing the woman meant no harm, at least for the time being, Fran relaxed and replied with her characteristic heavy accent, “You are mistaken.” She did not elaborate further.

The nurse resisted the urge to roll her eyes and continued, “Ms. Stevens, I’m here to welcome you to Landel’s Institute. You’re not well.”

The nurse’s words seemed to trigger a memory and Fran’s brow creased as she tried to think back to the moments before she was awakened.

She had been with Balthier inside of the Bahamut trying to stop it from falling into the city of Rabanastre. It had practically been a suicide mission.

Maybe it had been.

“A tall attractive man who speaks a great deal. Was he with me when I arrived?” she asked suddenly.

The nurse frowned, “You were alone, Ms. Stevens. You–”

“I see,” Fran cut her off before she could continue. She could hear his voice in her head: ”I’m the leading man. You know what they say about the leading man? He never dies.”

She could only hope.

[Continued here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/172462.html?thread=11265454#t11265454).]

Having chosen a life of exile in the mountains with the other clones, Mewtwo had never thought any human could truly find them. He chose Mt. Quena precisely for it's remoteness, and nothing else. The tallest peak in a region unknown to him. It would serve well to protect himself and the others, or so he thought.

When Mewtwo awoke in a room that was definitely not any part of the Johto peak, he, for once in his life, wasn't quite sure what to think, or if this even wasn't a dream. What sort of illusion was this? A human room could not possibly exist in the mountain. Not to mention there was something else wrong. Mewtwo felt like things were missing, changed, re-arranged...

The change was evident when he swung his legs over the bed.

His human legs.

It all became so clear now! The Pokémon's violet eyes narrowed in anger as his mind quickly worked out how these events were possible. He had no idea how, but someone had found him. Him and the others. They somehow were able to subdue him without him knowing, and returned him to the lab. He must have been subjected to more experiments to alter his form, perhaps.

Was him being a shadow of a Pokémon not enough? How dare they mock him further! He had to escape. He was sure this process could be reversed - there was nothing the humans could create or do that Mewtwo could not easily replicate. He could only hope that the other clones were spared from these experiments. He had the small fortune to be unconscious through them.

As the Pokémon stared at the door, he lifted a hand, attempting to open it. However, the knob did not respond. And Mewtwo could not feel that rush of psychic energy that would normally gather at his hand. Something was... blocking it.

The Pokémon only grew more irritated. How could they block his powers so easily?! It seemed like an impossible chain of events. Being the world's most powerful Pokémon, or at least if he was truly a Pokémon, it was not easy to simply lock him in a room without his knowledge. And they even made him into a human and took away his powers?!

The door opened just then, not because of Mewtwo, but because a nurse entered, her face too cheerful for the Pokémon's liking.

"Mr. Barlett, it is good to see you awake finally," The nurse chided him lightly. "I thought you would be sleeping forever!"

"I am not this Barlett that you are addressing," Mewtwo replied, the smallest hint of irritation in his voice. It rumbled as his newly acquired vocal cords stretched, feeling quite foreign to one who was used to speaking with his mind.

The nurse simply shook her head, like she was used to these kind of responses. But Mewtwo knew the truth, and he wasn't going to let this human get the best of him. Even stripped of his powers, he still would not give in. He knew all too well what humans did once a Pokémon submitted to them, and he would not allow it to happen to him ever again.

"Mr. Barlett, there is no need to worry. We will take good care of you here at Landel's. Don't you still want some breakfast? We are still serving it if you're hungry."

"I do not desire food," Mewtwo simply responded, though he took note of the name of this place. Landel's. It was a strange name, but they all were to him. "Tell me why you have done this. Did you also turn the other clones into humans?"

But the nurse could only just sigh again. It seemed like... she almost didn't believe him, and this only irritated the Pokémon even more.

"Do not mock me, human. Answer me," He pressed, knowing that threats were pointless here if he did not have the proper means to execute them.

"Mr. Barlett, there are no other clones. And you were always a human, don't you remember?" The nurse asked, but she was backing off now, as if she knew that the Pokémon was ready to attack. "I see that you're a bit cranky, so I'll pick you up when it's time to shower. A nice shower should make you feel more relaxed!"

The door shut, and Mewtwo contemplated following her out, but the chances of humans waiting outside for an ambush was too strong. Perhaps this was a trap. Maybe they were trying to lure him.

Either way, Mewtwo would not submit. He sat back down on the bed, closing his eyes and concentrating. He was sure that there had to be a trickle of power left within him somewhere, just out of reach. Mewtwo could concentrate, and at the right time, he would be able to break free from this place and find out what had happened. It was only a matter of time.

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Day 26: Intercom, Dawn

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