Day 34: Intercom, Noon

[damned-intercom.livejournal.com]

"Good afternoon, patients, and I am glad to see our new arrivals are already making such good friends with our current population!" The Head Doctor's words were usual, unremarkable, which meant that whatever had gone out of control these past couple days was evening out into some form of Dr. Landel's nefarious schemes. For now, however, he simply chuckled with good humor. "We'll be bringing in new patients during this shift as well, of course, but what I'm sure most of you are most intrigued by is... food! Yes, although lunch is posted up on the bulletin board on the schedule, I doubt many of you pay attention to it.... Ahem.

"Today's meal is chicken tenders made from fresh, juicy chicken breasts. As sides, we have potato chips, vegetable soup, and cole slaw, and we of course have honey-mustard and barbeque sauce for dipping. As always, our fruit and salad bar is open for anyone looking for a different meal, and our drinks are water, milk, apple juice, and pink lemonade.

"Mm! Sure sounds delicious, doesn't it? In any case, I hope you all enjoy your meal and your new company."

The intercom clicked off.

[ All introduction posts for this shift's group of new characters should be made in response to this post. (Have your new character wake up in a random empty room, as we aren't yet able to officially assign rooms.) Thanks! ]

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[justice-to-a-t.livejournal.com]

There seemed to be a voice cutting through Mikami's semi-conscious mind, interrupting whatever chaotic dream he'd been having. He was standing or floating in a silver courtroom, while the voice turned to text and hung in the air, droning about chicken tenders. There was a hanged-man at a table, with people in white and black with dark auras defending him. A faceless god and judge laughed under his breath. He thought he could smell old paper... and waffles.

Mikami rolled over suddenly, disturbed but not quite sure why yet. He'd been having odd dreams ever since getting the Death Note, so of course that wasn't it. But he definitely felt an odd twinge of anxiety, and his mind wandered vaguely trying to decipher it. Then suddenly, he remembered that today was highly important. And somehow he was already aware without his alarm going off. His eyes snapped open.

He pushed himself up, staring down in utter confusion at the unfamiliar bed clothing, then throwing a look around the room he was in. Why had it taken so long to realize he wasn't in his own apartment? There were no sounds of vehicles below... no windows... no alarm clock to wake him at six... and he was wearing his glasses in bed. It wasn't right at all!

And... oh no.

His mind kicked into gear with a sickening crunch. He had no idea where he... or it was. He tore the covers off himself and stumbled from the bed, resting a hand against one of the smooth white walls before striding to the single dresser, looking on top and all around it, and then beginning to tear through its contents. Before he'd put the Death Note in the bank, he'd kept it near-by while he slept in a case similar to this. It was a vain hope looking for it, but the fact of the matter was he was also looking for anything familiar at all.

Had Kira's opponents captured him somehow? He had been instructed to clearly act suspicious, after all, so might it be part of God's plan?

But no, this didn't fit in at all with the sort of planning he had become familiar with. Although he was not privy to the private thoughts of Kira, he had always been given orders that had clear definition. If being sent off to some sterile, Death Note-less environment was all part of the almighty Kira's plan, he wouldn't have been told the place of the final showdown. He wouldn't have been given the go-ahead to get rid of "Near" and his minions.

Slamming the last drawer shut on a pair of slippers, Mikami turned and followed the line of the bed to a desk at the end.

He'd visited a hospital a time or two before, and he'd been to a prison (a rather disgusting experience). This place was clearly neither in the conventional sense. Of course, Mikami didn't subscribe to people getting better, so the possibility he was in a mental institute simply didn't occur to him. Whatever this place was, whoever had dared to put him there would surely have to pay.

He knocked a chair away with uncharacteristic violence, starting in on the desk. He snapped the drawer open and... there was a notebook!! With a rush of adrenaline, he snatched and held it up. But... no, it was wrong. It was too big, and there were no symbols in white on the front. It had to be just a journal or plain notebook of some sort. He flipped through the pages, shook it out, and then dropped it on the floor. Grimly, he shuffled through the rest of the desk's items, but found nothing more that seemed of any importance save for a bundle of cheap pens. He next went through the closets, the other desks, tried the door, felt the beds. Nothing he recognized.

The search hadn't lasted more than a few minutes, but the young prosecutor was winded anyway. Dazed, he finally bent and picked the journal up, suddenly sorry he'd abused it, smoothing out a few folded pages. Then he righted the fallen chair and put it in place, went to the bed, and yanked the covers straight. He just had to think.

No. This couldn't have been Kira's plan at all. Therefore, it had to mean that Mikami had failed spectacularly in some fashion.

He was suddenly fighting down even more panic, a metallic taste growing in his mouth. This was terrible. He smoothed his hair down with a shaking hand, sitting heavily on the bed and gathering his thoughts with his eyes closed.

[justice-to-a-t.livejournal.com]

Suddenly, the door rattled and a woman in a nurse's uniform appeared. She seemed a tad harried, as if she was behind schedule and would rather be doing other things, but smiled pleasantly as she came in through the door- an expression Mikami was too busy having his head down to notice. The sight of her patient's dejected demeanor didn't exactly catch her off guard (he was new and probably confused like they all were at first), but the fact that he actually reeled when he finally looked up and saw her didn't help her pitying impression.

Mikami's gaze had flicked habitually to above the woman's head. To his utter horror, there was no name floating there, and no numbers to indicate how much longer she would naturally live. It was the icing on the cake. Mikami had lost the Shinigami Eyes. He had lost the Death Note. Failed his god for sure.

"Alright, Mr. Takanaga," the nurse said, training her voice to a soothing tone, "I know you're upset, but you're at Landel's now. We're going to help you get better." She carefully stepped closer and smiled at him again.

Mikami's mind had almost completely shut down. "Help me?" he muttered, looking up at her through his fingers.

"Yes, dear, don't you remember what happened at the courtroom? Oh, but don't worry about it." She laughed lightly and went to the dresser, coming back with the slippers and presenting them to him. "Now come on! We don't want you missing lunch-time!"

She gently pulled him up by the arm and walked him to the hall. A lingering sense in the back of Mikami's head insisted on getting his act together, but for now he complied with being led away to the cafeteria, clutching his journal and a pen with the nurse babbling away in a calming manner.