The intercom rang out, disrupting what had turned out to be a rather pointless breakfast conversation, at least in Brainiac 5's eyes. He couldn't wait to put more distance between himself and Scar's blather of how logic, of all things, might not work the same way in this dimension. It was almost enough to make him believe that the man may very well have been a lion originally after all, as he'd never heard anything so very... ignorant and uneducated.

He quickly finished up the fruit he'd been nibbling on - he was no longer as hungry as he had been - and looked around automatically to see where Clark was. Unfortunately with the press of people around, some being led off to the library and others to the mentioned 'therapy sessions' - if that was what they really were - he had lost sight of the Kryptonian. Still there wasn't many places he could go, so Brainiac 5 would be able to catch up with him eventually to check on his condition and try and learn more about what had happened last night. That the Chapel had healed him - admittedly by passing his injuries to another - was interesting, but far more important in his eyes was what had happened to Clark and his powers. They hadn't been working correctly and that worried the Coluan boy more than he would normally have admitted. Without Clark's abilities... he wasn't sure what they would have to rely on in order to escape.

Another problem he would have to deal with was Grell... or, if he was to believe the notes on the bulletin board, the person pretending to be Grell. But that was going to require more careful planning before he made a move. Come to think of it, he had agreed to meet another in the library today on that same post that had sparked this whole mess. At least then he would have something of interest to look forward to, as he doubted any of the 21st century books were likely to be worthwhile to someone of his advanced intellect.

Following the nurses led him to what must have been the library; a reasonably large room filled with a range of archaic books on tall shelves, a few tables and chairs interspersed around the room. The Coluan boy couldn't refrain from wrinkling his nose in distaste as he entered the room, not liking the cumbersome books and the dust that he knew would have gathered on them; he much preferred the clean arrangement of his C.O.M.P.U.T.O. systems back in the Legion headquarters. It was much more practical then shelves and shelves of books on fictional worlds and dated information.

Trying to avoid as much of the room as possible, Brainiac 5 settled himself down on a chair to wait, keeping an eye out for a tall, dark-haired man with a red... something on his forehead.

[for Homura]

Cuddy had never answered House's voicemail. The reversing of roles might have been funny under different circumstances; House was the one who was so skilled at dodging phone calls that his boss was constantly dropping into his office in person, but right now, he wasn't in a joking mood. Another week had gone by, and the very fact that House was sitting in his office instead of bugging the hell out of his temporary employer was worrying enough. It occurred to him that he'd only ever met him at the staff orientation (why?), and aside from heckling him from the crowd, he'd never even talked to the guy face-to-face (why?). Any phone calls to the man's office ended at his secretary, and any trips to the third floor ended at the the elevators on the second. How the guy in charge had so much control over his underlings when his line of communication sucked so much was another mystery.

House almost missed the well-endowed chest he was used to. Wait – scratch that: he definitey missed the well-endowed chest, but not so much the voice that went along with it. The voice that never missed a chance to get goaded into hassling him... until now.

Something really damn fishy was going on here, Wilson and his ridiculous excuses for the goings-on of strangers be damned. House's nose was always the first to pick up on a stink, and right now, this "Institution" reeked.

The rapid click of keys slowing to a halt heralded Daedalus's completion of his report. Exemplary, as always. His work usually was. At least, if one could call his mediocre assignment in Landel's Institute 'work'. Every task took longer without the presence of his assistants, true, but there was so little for him to do, the idea of ever falling behind with patient care was laughable.

Patient care? Also laughable.

Leading sessions three days a week while counselling entirely new patients each time was not progress. In fact, progress was not possible at all when his 'patients' were being released from the facility without his sign-off. And today there would be more new faces to attend to. The question was, for how long?

"Oh well," was Daedalus's cheery comment to the screen. He looked at the time, closed his programs, and leaned back in his chair, one gloved finger touching his lips. Not long after there came the nurse's expected knock. "Come in!"

The boy stepped out from behind his desk to greet the latest arrival. Time to begin.