damned_institute | Day 20: Intercom, Morning Shift

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Day 20: Intercom, Morning Shift

The intercom came on with a friendly click.

"I hope you all had a very good breakfast, as we're going to be beginning our therapy sessions for the day!" The Head Doctor sounded as sane and pleasant as ever. "Nurses, would you please escort Group 1 patients to their respective doctors as they become available? Group 2 patients should go to the Arts & Crafts room. The guided activity for today is going to be constructing gingerbread houses with frosting, gumdrops, candy canes, and other assorted non-toxic materials."

Although the familiar sound of papers being shuffled could be heard, it seemed as if their weight and number had dwindled since nightshift; it would be safe to say that this was the last batch of patients for the day.

"Our new arrivals, of course, will be joining Group 2 in the Arts & Crafts room--Daniel Adams, Jack Doughter, Ryou Itou, Sean Li, Jess Matthews, Peter Snide, and.... Harry Houdini. Well, I suppose some people must still carry that surname! Heh... hehe. Ahem."

He coughed and cleared his throat.

"Moving right along! Nurses and orderlies, you've been trained on how to carry out the therapy for today; make sure it all runs well. And, to our doctors: You have with you briefings of all your patients, and, if anyone should get out of hand, make sure to call in other members of the staff for your own protection. Thank you."

The intercom clicked off.

[ OOC Note: Each doctor will make their own post, to which their respective patients will respond independently. That is---if, say, Washu makes a post, her patients will respond to that post and each patient will have their own separate back-and-forth thread between the doctor and themselves. A new round of doctor-posts will be made to this comm for Group 2. The Arts & Crafts room can be posted by anyone who wants to take it up, as per usual, and from now on, please make sure your intro posts stay as responses to this intercom post, even if they involve LE RESISTANCE? Thanks! X3; ]

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There was fire and he could hear the crashing as part of the masonry began to crumble and collapse. He shifted slightly, trying to move away from the body of the woman he'd killed and his body screamed in pain, leaving him clutching his ribs. He was going to die. There was no way he'd be able to make it out of the building in this state, but he still ran a mental checklist of his injuries. Broken leg, other one probably fractured. Dislocated shoulder. He could feel the bones grind against each other. At least a couple of ribs broken. If he didn't have a concussion, then he'd be surprised.

A bitter smile twisted Yohji's lips and he leaned himself against the wall, still clutching Aya's precious katana in his hands. He'd return it. Even if he died, they'd find it clutched in his cold dead fingers.

Aya probably wouldn't even blink.

He flinched as part of the roof came crashing down in the place he'd just moved from, concealing Tsuji's body. Even if nothing else came out of this... maybe... maybe he'd at least done something right and they'd remember him without disgust.

His smile turned sad, regretful and he turned to the side where she sat, completely unruffled as always. "Ne, Asuka," he began, voice hoarse and cracked. She smiled at him, stroked the side of his face gently and for the first time in years he could feel her touch. He blinked furiously to try to keep the black spots from encroaching any further into his vision.

"I never blamed you," she said, voice whispery and translucent like she always appeared now. "Go to sleep, Yohji."

"Ah..." He wanted to say more, but he couldn't quite keep his eyes open any more. At least he wasn't hurting any longer. There was something desperately wrong there but he couldn't think, couldn't see any point in worrying.

He thought he might have felt the press of phantom lips against his own before he lost consciousness.

----------

----------

He hadn't expected to wake up. An honourable death to erase his sins. Wasn't that what was supposed to have happened?

Yohji woke slowly, unusual for him when he'd been trained to wake at a moment's notice, and stared up at the medical white of the ceiling for a long moment before even attempting to move. When he did turn to examine the rest of the room, he was surprised at the absence of pain. Pushing the covers away, he stared down at himself in amazement. No bandages or casts. None of the blood or bruising or broken bones that he knew he should have.

He looked around the room again, marking it as some kind of hospital from the unrelenting white cleanliness. How long had he been unconscious? He knew from experience that on the off chance he survived, he should have taken months to recover.

He slumped back down on the bed and resumed staring at the ceiling. He must have survived, unless this was a really really sucky afterlife. At least if he'd been going to hell, he'd wanted all that fire and brimstone crap.

They must have dug him out. Om- Mamoru. He could get anything done. Even make sure a dead man could get hospital treatment. At least they'd obviously got out alive. Aya...

He jerked bolt upright, staring around the room wildly. Aya's katana! Where was it?! He'd promised! He'd promised to return it and he'd be damned if he broke that promise now.

No sign of it. Of course they wouldn't allow weapons in a hospital. Aya had probably taken it back and was long gone again on whatever potentially suicidal mission he'd dedicated himself to this time.

He hoped that someone would come to visit soon.

He had so many things to do, to say. Even if they rejected him, he had to at least give them the option of killing him themselves. He was a little surprised that Kritiker hadn't had him put down already as a liability.

There was a gentle tap on the door and then it was pushed open and a matronly woman entered with a clipboard. "Ah, Mr Itou," she stumbled slightly over the name, "you're awake."

Yohji blinked at her at her use of the strange name for a second until it clicked. A cover name. Of course. Yohji Kudoh was dead in the official records. And hospitals always checked to make sure that you could pay. He nodded slowly. "Ah, which hospital is this?"

She seemed pleased at his question for some reason. He guessed if he'd been unconscious for so long, then they must have been expecting him to be more confused.

"This is Landels, Mr Itou. Landels Mental Institute."

Yohji just stared for a long moment. Mental Institute?

A soft laugh broke from his lips, growing louder and more hysterical until he finally broke down into fractured sobs as the events of the last mission came crashing down on him finally. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking although he made no noise.

"Mr Itou?" The nurse said, moving hesitantly to his side, concern in her voice. "Mr Itou?"

Yohji shook his head, managing to get control of himself once again. He flashed her a broken smile. "I'm fine. After all, it's exactly what I deserve."

" ... good breakfast, as we're going to be beginning our therapy sessions for the day! Nurses, would you please escort Group 1 patients to their respective doctors as they become available?"

A voice cut into Epros' normally placid sleep, making him frown and open his eyes a crack. He glanced from side to side, half-expecting to see the Circus Master or Linda standing nearby with a megaphone, unaware that they were disrupting his slumber as they made their announcements. But they had never made any kind of announcements involving therapy, or nurses, or even doctors (and Kisling never visited, so Epros was quite sure there would be no need for him).

Then, of course, there was the fact that there was daylight pouring through the window above his head, and the other fact that the room was completely stark-white with no real color to disrupt it. Those two things made Epros open his eyes completely, sit up, look around, and blink several times in utter confusion.

"What manner of place has 'wakened me? From here I feel no familiarity," he muttered, looking from side to side carefully. He slipped out of the bed and felt the icy floor touch his bare feet, looked down out of habit, and realized what he was wearing.

Gray sweatpants. And the same material in his shirt. With a smiley face on it. Utterly disturbing and, most of all, disgustingly unfashionable. Epros almost felt like cursing a blue streak, but that just wouldn't fit him. The fact that he even wanted to, however, meant that something was terribly, terribly wrong with the world.

If this was a trick Beiloune was playing even after they'd defeated him, there was going to be hell to pay.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a young woman stood in the archway with a smile on her face. Epros smiled back out of habit and reached for the shoes he saw sitting next to the bed.

"Good morning, Mr. Houdini," she said, stifling a giggle. Epros paused in slipping on the shoes, one eyebrow quirking up. "I'm sorry, but you've missed breakfast already, so you'll have to go right to the day's activity. I hope you're not too hungry."

Houdini? That was a name Epros hadn't heard before. And since he didn't think there was anyone else in the room ...

"Fair maiden, I'm afraid you're mistaken. Houdini's a name I've never taken."

The woman gave him a strange look (every time someone heard him speak for the first time, they gave him that look; he wondered if maybe he should categorize it), then sighed a bit and stepped back from the doorway.

"You're at Landel's Mental Institute, Mr. Houdini. You probably don't realize it's your name, but it is - you're here because you forgot. Because you think you're someone else." She smiled again, this time a bit more hopelessly. "Now, come on - we've got a treat planned for everyone."

A mental institute? Epros frowned as he stood up. He wasn't insane, he knew that much. And he knew who he was. (Considering how many people he'd known who didn't, it was rather a feat.) Well ... maybe this was all just a joke, or a great big misunderstanding. Things like that happened, sometimes. And besides, she spoke of other people - maybe he could make some friends, and if he was lucky, find out yet further means of magic. Even when faced with something as strange as this, Epros was still a scholar at heart.

But when he took his first step forward and found that, despite everything he tried, he couldn't set foot in the air and float along behind the young woman, he realized that this was in no possible way a game.

The first thing Fox was aware of was that he was breathing, quite easily in fact, and that did not mesh well with the last thing he remembered. The Exo-suit was strong, but even with that it had been difficult to breathe with Metal Gear stepping on him.

Another thing that came to his attention was that he wasn't wearing his Exo-suit. The familiar sensation of metal and circuitry pressed against his skin was replaced with an almost itchy cloth, and his left arm was...

Wait, left arm? Even if he had somehow survived being stepped on by Rex, if Snake had managed to get Liquid to stop, Fox very clearly remembered losing that arm.

Suddenly it seemed like a good idea to open his eyes and look around, and he was surprised that he hadn't decided to do so sooner. There was a sterile, drab, familiar feeling to the room - Hospital.

There was a voice saying something, now that Fox decided to focus on it.. Therapy? Calling in other staff members if patients get out of hand...

He was certainly in a hospital, that voice eliminated all doubt. When he realized that, he immediately got out of bed, staring down at himself, and noticing that he had the use of both eyes. His arms, while there were still noticeable scars on them, weren't nearly as damaged as they should be. The left one wasn't even suppose to be there anymore, he'd held the bloody stump when it was cut off.

The clothes would certainly be something he expected to see in a hospital, and that was not a good thing thing.

Gray Fox had been certain he had died back in Shadow Moses, and where-ever he was now, they certainly had some advanced medical technology. He didn't want to be ungrateful, but he hated medical facilities, and there was absolutely no way he was going to endure a repeat of the time he'd spent at the FOXHOUND labs.

Rather than try to venture out into the hallways, Fox hid against the wall, in a place where he wouldn't immediately be seen when the door opened, ready to grab the first person who entered the small room.

Gray Fox was going to get some answers.

The lock clicked, and the door opened slowly as a smiling nurse slipped quietly inside. Two orderlies stood watch outside.

"Mr Doughter?"

Her smile faltered for a moment at the sight of the empty room, but when she glanced down at the clipboard in her arms, it fell completely.

"Mr. Doughter...?" she called again, voice suddenly deadly serious.

Fox could practically feel the sudden flow of adrenaline in his veins when the door clicked, and then opened slowly. From where he was, he couldn't see the person who had entered the room from his hiding spot, and whoever it was certainly couldn't see him.

It was a female voice, calling for a Mr. Doughter... had he been put in this hospital under a fake name? Probably, it made sense they would do something like that to avoid any suspicion from people who might look for Frank Jaeger or Gray Fox.

After she asked again, her voice now serious, Fox sprang into action. In one fluid movement he had leaped out from his hiding spot. One hand had grabbed the nurse, arm wrapping around her and hand covering her mouth to keep her quiet as he pulled her towards him, the other hand found the door and slammed it shut, giving Gray Fox only a glimpse of two large men standing outside.

The hand on the door quickly turned the lock to make sure he wouldn't be interrupted and he pulled the nurse up against his body to get a better grip on her, using the classic CQC interrogation techniques. Well, it would've been classic CQC interrogation if he'd had a knife on hand.

"Alright, I'm going to uncover your mouth, and you're going to answer my questions, but don't even think about screaming." His voice was a low, rough whisper right next to the woman's ear. Fox had done this many times before, to fully trained and fully armed soldiers, it might have been overkill to do this to the woman dressed like a nurse, but he wasn't taking any chances. His tone indicated very clearly that there would be consequences if she did not cooperate.

One hand was now holding her by the neck, not hard enough to keep her from breathing or talking, but there was no denying that it was there. Gray Fox didn't need any sort of weapon to be dangerous.

"First question, what is this place," He had other questions, but he had to put things in order. After he'd asked the question his hand moved away from her mouth a few inches, enough to let her speak, but close enough that he could silence her again. Killing her wasn't an option, he knew, but that didn't mean he couldn't make her think that it was a possibility.

She was barely able to draw a breath to scream before a rough hand clamped over her mouth. She swallowed hard, chest heaving as the door behind them closed locked.

Trembling at the ghost of breath on her ear, she nodded silently, frantically, eyes wide and terrified. Her clipboard clattered to the floor.

"...Landel's Institute," she managed when the cold air hit her lips again. "You're..." she hesitated, choking down a shudder as she struggled to speak. "You've been c-c-committed."

"Committed?" It took a brief moment for his mind to connect that to mental hospitals. Who had committed him? Granted, he probably did have legitimate reasons to be in a hospital.

"This is a mental hospital, then? Not a medical research facility? No surgical rooms, no research labs, no armed guards...?" Fox had braced himself against the door to make sure that it stayed closed. He loosened his grip slightly on the nurse. She didn't seem to be doing to well with the interrogation. Granted, most people didn't, but he didn't even have a knife! Clearly this was nothing like a FOXHOUND lab.

So much didn't fit, though, a fake name in a mental hospital. Perhaps the people here didn't know who he was? That would explain why they didn't send in an armed guard. That also raised more questions, who would put him in a mental hospital, and not tell them to be careful around him? It couldn't be anyone at FOXHOUND, and... he couldn't think of anyone who could have done something like this.

He glanced down at the clipboard on the ground, having to tilt his head forward to do so, getting a slight view of the terrified expression on the woman's face as he did so. "This isn't a military facility..." That much was quickly becoming clear, but he wasn't willing to let go of the nurse just yet.

"No!" she affirmed. "No military..." The file had said he was possibly volatile, but nothing like this. It was a stark, terrifying reminder of how disturbed the patients here really were.

"Please, Mr. Doughter, let me go!" She was speaking as loud as she could, if only the orderlies outside would hear. This man was trained, knew exactly what he was doing, and the nurse didn't dare physically protest.

She closed her eyes, grasping desperately at whatever composure she could summon. "Look," she stammered, "if you let me go, we'll go to the activity. Please..."

He didn't quite know why he was going to believe her, perhaps because the men he had seen just before he closed the door hadn't been carrying guns, and perhaps because no one had tried to break down the door just yet. The nurse was getting a little loud.

"One last question, who had me committed?" Not that he was prepared to believe anything he heard, there were still a lot of questions to be answered, but he didn't think he was going to get any believable answers to those questions from this nurse. She was too shaken up. Perhaps interrogating her hadn't been the best thing to do, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

After that he let go of her, releasing her and immediately stepping out of arms reach to ensure that he wouldn't be open to any attacks. It was probably not necessary, but he'd seen people managed to attack their interrogators, and it was a force of habit by now. Once his question was answered he'd be willing to go along with whatever activity she was talking about. Hopefully he'd get better answers there.

Oh thank god. As the threatening weight left her back she sank against the door, tentative relief spreading like warmth as she grasped the doorknob tightly.

Who had committe him? Shakily she kneeled down to pick up the dropped clipboard, and after a quick scan she stood. "Your family."

Opening the door to the hallway (and safety) outside, she beckoned. "Please, Mr. Doughter... Just cooperate and everything will be fine."

His family. That was vague. He knew that he didn't really have a family, his real parents had died. And his adoptive father had died as well. The only family he had left was Naomi...

Naomi. Surely... if Snake had told her... she wouldn't do something like this to him, would she? The nurse hadn't specified his sister... thinking about that was painful in more ways than one. What he had done to Naomi, how she probably hated him for it. Fox had done his best to make it up to her, but he knew that he would never have been able to replace the parents that he himself had killed.

He remembered, quite clearly, reaching out with his vines. Everything else had failed. He could almost still feel Goku - no, Seiten Taisei - and Gato as the vines wrapped themselves around them, turning Gato into a living lightning rod and Goku... He’d gambled on his vines conducting the electricity, and he’d been right. The last thing he remembered was the brief feeling of triumph as his heart stopped, as he saw Goku fall. The boy would be alright. Weren’t they always joking about his being rechargeable? He never expected himself to be so lucky.

And then he woke up.

The room was simple, hardly even up to the standards of the monasteries they’d occasionally stayed in, but it was strange. Something about it didn’t feel right. Not to mention that he himself felt… off? Muffled. Like someone was pressing a pillow to the inside of his head.

Almost like he was human again.

He blinked, smiling somewhat ironically at the ceiling. He ignored the door opening, assuming it would be Gojyo coming to check on him. It was similar, so similar he almost ached with the memories, the fuzzy patch in his vision from his missing monocle the only indicator that history wasn’t exactly repeating itself. “Yet again, I find myself in a remarkably mediocre hell.”

“Please, Mr. Adams. Such language. How can you expect to get better if you’re unable to follow even such simple rules?”

That wasn’t Gojyo. He sat up sharply, starting to call his chi, until he noticed two things:

1. The person at the door was smiling politely at him, waiting. While nowhere near as good as his own smile, it was fairly close to a real one. He somehow doubted she’d wait this long to kill him when she could have just attacked while he slept or without announcing her presence, were that her intention. Therefore, she was likely no threat.

2. His chi felt different. Almost sluggish. Something he would have to investigate later, without an audience.

…And in normal clothes. He felt too exposed without his monocle at least.

He stood, moving around the room searching for his belongings and ignoring the woman. She was unusually good at controlling her annoyance. “Mr. Adams, didn’t you hear the announcement? It’s time for you to go to Arts and Crafts. You wouldn’t want all the best candy to be gone when you get there, would you?”

He turned in time to catch her bright smile. He returned one of his own, only slightly harder. “I’m sorry. You seem to be mistaken about a few things. I’m unfamiliar with this ‘Mr. Adams’ you refer to, and I don’t intend to stay here long enough for crafts. Now, if you’ll please tell me where I may find my belongings?”

Her smile took on a hint of pity. “You are Daniel Adams. I understand that you may be distressed, but we here at Landel’s are going to help you get better. You’ve been living in a delusion for quite some time, and we want you to get better. So right now, it’s time for Arts and Crafts and later you’ll have a therapy session to talk things through with your doctor. I’m afraid I must insist you come with me.”

He considered that. If this was some ploy by one of their enemies… Zakuro, for instance, was perhaps skilled enough to accomplish this, though he personally doubted it. Living in a delusion, hm? “If I refuse?”

“I would hate to have to call for an orderly on your first day here, but we will do whatever is necessary to help you regain control of your life and to keep you from being disruptive to the other patients who are trying.” A commanding glint entered her eyes behind the kind smile. So. She wasn’t as soft as she seemed.

He nodded slightly. An interesting game, this. If it was a game. “Of course.”

He would take his time, find out what he could, try to find the others… or give them time to find him. He ignored the woman’s pleased smile as he moved toward the door. “I’m sure you’ll be better in no time, Mr. Adams, as long as you keep trying.”

The ironic smile from earlier returned, if anything even stronger. They’d just have to see about that.

Sasuke startled awake to the slightly metallic sound of a voice, which was the first indication he had that something was wrong. It had been more than two years since he'd last awoken to human speech.

The second indication, which made him narrow his eyes and carefully smooth his breathing to imitate sleep, was the fact that the ceiling was white and apparently plaster. He'd returned to his nap under several miles of rock and a carved ceiling.

Had he been captured? He'd been positive that it was Orochimaru who had stopped him from using that jutsu on Naruto and Sakura. They'd left after that -- unless someone had used an extremely powerful genjutsu -- Sakura.

Cursing, he sat up, glaring at his surroundings. If he'd been captured by Konoha, there was no fear of instant interrogation.

There was a closet at the foot of the bed, a dresser in a corner, and a desk against the wall. One of Konoha Hospital's long-term rooms, then. Although, Sasuke realized, even Konoha wasn't soft enough to leave a captured enemy alone.

Might as well try his luck. He brought his hands together in the familiar seal, focusing his chakra.

"Kai!"

Nothing happened, except a vague fizzling in his stomach.

The same vague fizzling that happened whenever he was chakra-drained after a long day of ninjutsu-intensive training. Sasuke frowned. He'd used Chidori Nagashi, but it had been at least a year since just one usage had drained him this thoroughly. Maybe it was some sort of chakra-draining technique? The Fifth was a medic-nin, after all. It would explain why they'd left him alone.

Whatever it was, it was effective. If a simple dispelling technique failed, Sharingan was way out of the question. The curse seal would have him in its clutches before he could say purple lipstick.

A rattling at the door brought him to his feet, body automatically assuming a defensive position. The chair was positioned at an awkward angle between him and the door, but it was enough to provide a little bit of cover in case he needed to counter an attack.

The lack of arm guards flashing in his peripheral vision drew him up short. He was wearing a grey shirt -- hospital clothes, then, he thought, until he glanced down.

"What the hell?" He said aloud, yanking the hem of his shirt away from his torso and glaring in confusion at the face smiling cheerily up at him. Had the entirety of Konoha finally gone senile?

"Sean, really," A female voice said from the door. "Please watch your language."

His head shot up, muscles tightening. A woman in a white uniform stood in the doorframe: medic-nin. No one he knew, which was odd -- he'd been in the hospital enough to know almost everone on staff. He frowned again; his chakra couldn't be so shot that he hadn't even noticed the door opening under an illusion, could it?

"Very nice, Sakura," He said, deliberately relaxing his body and shooting the woman a half-smirk. "I didn't expect your genjutsu abilities to advance this far. So even you've finally developed some strength, although I see you're still no smarter. Don't you know that enemies are supposed to go to the prison, not Konoha Hospital's long-term rooms?"

"I am not Sakura," The medic-nin said, looking at him with a pitying smile. "And you are at Landel's Institute."

"Where?" Sasuke said, tensing again. If this wasn't Konoha, and if it hadn't been his former team that had captured him, then where the hell was he?

"Your family has committed you to our institute due to your mental problems, Sean," The nurse said soothingly. "If you improve, you might be able to see them."

His family? Was this woman insane?

Still, he was at an obvious disadvantage. The medic-nin didn't seem to pose an immediate threat, so the first priority was to determine his location and environment. (He hated having Iruka's voice in his head, but the Academy taught 'How to Handle Capture' every year for a reason.)

"Landel's Institute," He repeated, searching his memory and failing to come up with anything familiar.

"That's right," The medic-nin bubbled enthusiastically. "You've woken up just in time for Arts and Crafts! Please, Sean, follow me."

Arts and Crafts? Sasuke was thrown for yet another loop, and it was not making him happy.

Reconnaissance is priority, he reminded himself, restraining the urge to attack the medic-nin and threaten her with imminent and painful death until she cracked and told him which village had captured him, how, and to what end. Backup will be here in seconds if you try that. Recon first.

Although -- "Arts and Crafts," He repeated, and received a delighted nod in return from the medic-nin, who seemed to take heart from his apparent acceptance and opened the door wider.

"Very good! I'm sure you will have a wonderful time, Sean. Please follow me."

Well, he probably didn't have to worry about too much, Sasuke thought dryly as he headed apprehensively for the door, making sure to exit only after the medic-nin. If they couldn't even get his name right, it was probably some lucky fluke and he was in a second-rate bona-fide village.

He followed the cheerful brisk step of the medic-nin, keeping close to the wall, despite ascertaining that the hallway was clear, judging from the fact that every corner was brightly lit.

"Ah! My client!"

Snapping awake, Phoenix thrashed about, as if he were attempting to cartwheel backwards from a large, quickly approaching object. He then promptly fell out of the bed, having tangled himself in the blankets, and the floor was hard as he hit it with a loud thump.

The touch of the cold floor against his skin was enough to snap Phoenix out of his panic, and he laid there immobile for a moment, panting out of exertion as he attempted to focus on his surroundings. "What...the hell..." ...where was the car? He had sworn it had hit him, but no aspect of his body hurt. No broken bones, no scent of blood...his surroundings reeked of sterility, and everything was...white.

Untangling himself from the blankets, he sat up and felt around on his body with his hands in order to make sure that everything was intact. He wasn't missing any limbs, there were no traces of blood, and he was wearing a grey shirt and sweatpants. Phoenix's brows furrowed together as he pulled the shirt out in front of him to examine it, the look in his blue eyes confused. A smiley face? The smiley face reminded him of Ema, strangely enough, with all of the buttons on her schoolbags...but why on earth was he wearing such a thing?

This made no sense.

The crackle of a speaker startled Phoenix, and he jumped, not having expected the sound.

"I hope you all had a very good breakfast, as we're going to be beginning our therapy sessions for the day!" Phoenix looked about for the source of the voice, and finally focused on the intercom in the corner of the room. "Nurses, would you please escort Group 1 patients to their respective doctors as they become available? Group 2 patients should go to the Arts and Crafts room. The guided activity for today is going to be constructing gingerbread houses with frosting, gumdrops, candy canes, and other assorted non-toxic materials."

Gingerbread houses? Non-toxic? Therapy? All of the pleasant, yet nonsensical talk perplexed him -- had the car crash injured him so badly that he'd gone insane? And...that was why he was here?

But why didn't he remember it? And what in the hell had happened to his client?! That was the most important thing, the one thing that he had been fighting for...had they just postponed the case? If he was okay now, then perhaps being able to continue it was an option, depending on how long it had been. He would need to ask, and as soon as he could get ahold of someone who might be able to help him, somehow he could get out of here, wherever 'here' was...

As if on cue, the door clicked open, and Phoenix perked up. He then scrambled to his feet, moving close to the entranceway.

"Ah, Mr. Snide! It's good to see you awake!" A cheerful voice chirped as a woman stepped into the room. "I apologize for not waking you for breakfast, you didn't seem to want to awaken..."

She was a slight woman, her outfit plain and singularly colored -- a nurse? That's what her nametag said, at least. Phoenix returned the smile she flashed at him, awkwardly scratching the back of his head with a hand. His name wasn't Mr. Snide. Maybe there had been a mistake? "Maybe you have my name mixed up with someone else's...but my name is Phoenix Wright..."

"Oh no, this is the room you've always been in, Peter. M29. But don't worry. I was sent here to take you to the Arts and Crafts room. You like gingerbread, don't you?" The avoidance of his question was apparent. The smile slowly dropped off of Phoenix's face, replaced with an expression of confusion and traces of panic. "Oh, don't look like that. There are going to be plenty of gumdrops for you to use! I know those are your favorite."

"Where am I?" Phoenix suddenly asked the question, looking rather pale.

"Landel's Institute." She studied him closely. "Are you feeling well? Perhaps you should go see one of the doctors--"

"No, no, I'm fine, really." I'm more than fine. But why in the hell am I here?! "Why am I here?"

She looked slightly confused. "You've been here for a while. From your records, it looks like you got into a car accident and had a head injury -- and after recuperation at the hospital, they sent you here."

"I'm not crazy." Phoenix stated the words calmly, even while they weren't related to what she had just said. "My name isn't Peter Snide. And I'm not supposed to be here. What about my client? What did they do?"

The nurse watched him for a moment before she went to flip through her paperwork, as if there were anything inside that would actually be of interest to the seemingly distressed man. This had happened frequently since Peter's entrance -- delusions, of course, of the fact that he was a lawyer, and that he needed to take care of a case -- but, of course, there were no records about that, or of law being his profession. "I apologize, Mr. Snide, but we never received any information about your...client."

Phoenix suddenly realized that her expression was pitying, as if he were asking a question for the millionth time, yet had gained the same answer every time, like a sad puppy that kept on getting kicked for someone else's wrongdoing. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't! He wanted to say that, to say he wasn't supposed to be here, that he couldn't possibly have lost his mind...

...but what did he know? He could have lost his mind if he'd been injured in the accident...but if he was crazy, why was he suddenly sane? Most of the time, that kind of thing stuck with a person...he didn't know. He just didn't know. "I'm not crazy," he said, but he knew there was no point. He felt helpless as the words escaped his lips. The whirlwind of thoughts that passed through his head were dizzying and self-defeating, and the nurse seemed to not want to allow him the time to sort all of them out.

"Of course you aren't, Peter," her tone was sympathetic, and she reached forward, grasping Phoenix's arm. When he surrendered it without much resistance, she smiled. "That's a good boy. Let's go build some gingerbread houses, shall we?"

There was only one place on Serenity that wasn't darkish and didn't smell kinda like rust, and that was the medical bay, a weird thing, to be sure, considering that many of the ship's crewmembers tended to spend so much time there. Jayne in particular was familiar with the place though he certainly wasn't fond of it; it wasn't as if pain bothered him none--though he didn't enjoy it or nothin' weird like that--but the idea of that soft- shoed doctor and his crazy-ass sister anywhere near him was enough to make anyone mighty uncomfortable and look twice before getting a needle and fluids stuck where they, by all rights, shouldn't have been.

His own room was far more inviting for a man like him--guns, girls (or pictures of them, anyway), and a sink and toilet for when he wanted to pay any kind of special attention to that last pleasure. Not a one of the other crewmembers cared to come in, which was fine by him and fine by them. Jayne didn't particularly like people sifting through his belongings, and by "didn't particularly like," he meant he'd lay a punch in the face of anyone who tried to lay a hand on Vera or any of her similarly potent sisters before they could even think a whit about it.

And it was darkish in there. Not like this.

The white that had arrested his eyes as he'd woken up had made him immediately jolt up and wonder if the doctor was finally going to exact some revenge on him for the mess back on Ariel, but some easy looking and walking around made it all too obvious that this here weren't the same medical bay as he remembered. There was a desk, for one, and a closet, and the stingy, tangy scent in the air reminded him an awful lot of St. Lucy's.

Must've been a gorram Alliance facility! Jayne's eyes narrowed and he let out a growl, searching his person for any kind of weapon and coming up with nil. The guay had happened? That "Operator" guy had been the last of that mess, hadn't he? They hadn't even had a chance to pick up dirty cargo or become bait in one of Mal's stupid plans yet!

The mercenary found himself distracted by a far more pressing matter, staring down at the grey clothes that weren't none of his, along with the big, yellow logo on the front of his shirt.

He blinked. It wasn't something he recognized, and considering the strange and dangerous manner of folk and factions he'd come across during his travels in the Verse, he wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

His lip curled, intense eyes narrowed as he glared towards the door and started forming an idea in his head of how much shoulder it would take to bust the thing down.

That's when it opened, and Jayne found himself staring at something a sight prettier than a purple-belly.

"Mr. Matthews, sir?"

That wasn't nowhere near his name, but at the moment, Jayne didn't care much about what she was saying and more what she was doing. He smirked at the curve of her legs and the space in-between them, glancing up at her face with an arched brow.

"Guess the Alliance finally learnt how to treat folk, didn't they?"

The woman--who was dressed in a white uniform that looked something like a nurse's--forced a small smile, and Jayne's smirk fell as two men appeared behind her.

"Mr. Matthews, we've gotten some warning that you tend to--"

Too late. Jayne had already shoved the vixen aside and tackled the guy behind her, shoving him to the floor with large, strong hands just as the other one grabbed him under the arms. He was about to use the back of his heel to knock the second guy in the shin, but to his surprise, the lady hadn't stayed down and had instead rounded to his front. He jerked forward with his teeth when he saw her unsheathing some kind of gorram needle, he tried his best to to get his arm out of its direction, but only succeeded it making the sting more painful as she jabbed it into his skin.

"Now," the woman's voice was already getting faint as his head fell, spinning, to the ground. He stared at the wall and tried to use his arms to pull himself up, but it seemed as if they'd fallen like weights to the ground.

"Shee-niou whore..." He growled out through a slur. His eyelids were getting heavy and noises were getting muffled. It was all he could do to hold onto reality before it was going, going, gone.

"Now, play nice."

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Day 20: Intercom, Morning Shift

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