damned_institute | Day 37: Sun Room

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Day 37: Sun Room

Joe had read some of the larger notes stuck up on the bulletin board when the announcement came on the intercom. All things considered, this Landel guy didn't even seem so bad. Even if these people were held here against their will, he was certainly nice about it.

Apparently, the new patients - including Joe - were to hang around in the Sun Room or go to Arts and Crafts with the kids. Well, there was plenty of information on the board, including maps and descriptions of monsters, for Joe to prepare for the nighttime, when he could seriously get going on fighting his way out. He could look for where the boss would probably be waiting, or where his V-watch might be, and figure out how to fight the monsters. In fact, he had plenty of time to work all that out... but this the first time he'd had to really relax since he got his powers. So it couldn't possibly hurt to enjoy the calm period, could it?

The red-head stepped back from the board, and hopped back onto a comfy-looking couch to digest in the sunlight. He reached up to pull his cap down, and sighed when he realized it wasn't there. "Oh well, nothing's perfect. I still wouldn't call this hell."

[free!]

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Unbelievable. Completely fucking unbelievable. His parents must have mistaken a copy of a Jane's guide for the baby-names book. His profession just added insult to injury. Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper? Except the guy had towered over S.T.

"What empire?" No-one used the term "empire" any more, except Democrats bitching at the government. And with that height, he couldn't be some kind of Chinese spy for the old regime or something. Could he? Nah. He did have that ex-military air, though -- like nothing short of a nuke going off the next room would really rattle him.

"Yeah, environmentalist. Long-haired tree-hugger? Save the whales, clean the harbor. I want to stop pollution." His voice twisted sarcastic on the last phrase -- they'd never stop it. Needle in a haystack, one perfect seashell on a beach covered in glass and gravel, that's what their efforts were. Didn't stop them from trying.

"Companies keep trying to get away with murder, on an enormous scale. We expose them. Splatter their faces all over the nightly news. On a good day, send some of the corporate bastard overlords to jail."

So. He was definitely human. Great. He probably didn't have the faintest idea what the slag he was talking about. Depth Charge stopped copying and sat back, sensing a long explanation on the horizon. "You just had to ask, didn't you?"

Here he hesitated, mulling over the possible ways of explaining that he was from another planet whilst also avoiding talking about it as much as possible. The last thing he wanted was an in depth conversation on Cybertron. For one thing, he wanted as little to do with the smelting place as possible. For another, it would mean bringing up Colony Omicron. Slipping it in quietly and hoping he didn't notice seemed like the best policy.

"It's the Cybertronian empire. Just a few colonies, but..." Then, quickly: "Pollution? Huh. Funny how you humans could wreck it in just a few million years." Funny indeed. The last time he checked, Earth was as fresh as a newly-installed spark-ling. Still, the last time he'd seen a human outside this place, they'd been dragging their knuckles and barely able to speak, let alone lead campaigns. He wasn't exactly what you'd call up-to-date.

Depth -- okay, that sounded even weirder as a first name by itself -- was daring him not to believe whatever he was about to say. This should be good.

Cybertronian Empire. Colonies. Was this guy really from the future? Like the future-future. Not 2019, but whiz-bang sci-fi future. The simple explanation was that he was insane. Whether he meant himself or Depth Charge, he wasn't sure. Either of them. Both of them. There had to be a rational explanation for this crap, and that would do it.

Wait. Did he just say he wasn't human? What the fuck? "Humans? What, you some kind of space alien? You look pretty damn human to me." S.T. looked him square in the eyes -- the eyes with red irises. Like an albino mouse, but albinism in humans didn't produce such dramatic effects.

S.T. kept staring at him, his mouth hanging open a little.

So much for subtlety. Depth Charge winced. "Yeah. That's... pretty much it."

Something told him that wasn't quite going to cover it. Well, fine then. He wasn't going to sit here all day dropping hints and clues like some kind of slagging riddle-generator. Whose 'delicate sensibilities' was he trying to spare, anyway? Not S.T's, that was for sure- the two looked like they'd mesh about as well as exposed wiring and a rainy day. It was time to just bite the bullet already.

"I'll give it to you straight." Depth Charge braced himself. "I'm an alien robot from the planet Cybertron. I died and I woke up here, only I'd been put into this organic body. From what I've heard, I'm not the only one."

There. That wasn't too hard to swallow, was it?

"And I thought I'd had a bad day." His brain had checked out. Handed in the keys at the front desk and the luggage was in the car checked out. Elvis had left the building. Alien. Alien robot. Dead alien robot. Multiple dead alien robots. Saturday morning cartoons as presented by Rod Serling.

What the fucking hell, man. What the fucking hell.

Maybe they'd all died, and this was hell. Or some bureaucratic purgatory for people who'd saved the world but hadn't stopped to help old ladies cross the road because traffic sucks for everyone. With room for artificial intelligences, too.

"If you were a robot, how could you die? Couldn't you just download into a new body?"

Edited 2008-11-28 02:02 (UTC)

Depth Charge snorted. "You watch too many movies. It's a slag-load more complicated than 'just downloading' into a new body. You've got to recover the spark, the core programming, a protoform to put it into..." He trailed off as it dawned on him that S.T., yet again, wouldn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. Relenting, he shook his head. "Let's just say it's never easy to save a life. No matter what you are."

To his surprise, he heard his voice weaken into a weary hoarseness as he spoke. A cold nostalgia washed over him, bathing him in old feelings, old thoughts, old desires. Strange, how he couldn't even begin to connect with them after Colony Omicron. Stranger still how they insisted on invading his head whenever he so much as mentioned it. Hah. Either death had loosened a few more screws or this place really was getting to him. Even after all those years of mental fortifications.

"'sides," he added eventually, once he'd managed to regulate his mind. "I was operating alone and underwater when it happened. I got caught in an explosion." A wan smile. "I was dead before I hit the water. What about you?"

"Guilty as charged." He shrugged and politely looked away at the end of the sentence. Keeping one's masculine dignity in this place seemed easier said than done. Besides, the human body was a fragile thing -- a thin covering over a sack of meat, in a delicate balance. Easy enough to throw off, whether with bullets or toxins, macroscopic or microscopic.

Alone, and underwater, with two mines on timers just waiting to go off, and no idea when they might blow. He'd been one lucky son-of-a-bitch that day. Akers hadn't, but he'd still done his part. Well, O.K., Tom had been working for fucking Smirnoff and he'd planted one of the damn things. But he'd also used his dying seconds to let S.T. know there was a second one. Hell of a way to go.

Thinking about it was getting them nowhere. Answer the fucking question, S.T. "I was making dinner in my apartment. Normal end to a boring day. Unless someone tried to bomb my place again, I was alive and kicking. Don't remember falling asleep, passing out, nothing. Just woke up here last night."

A flicker of recognition on S.T's face caught his attention. Not for long enough for him to work out what it meant, but long enough to let him know that the guy had Experience- the type with a capital E. Depth Charge shifted a little in his seat with his head tilted towards him, wearing a new kind of interest on his face.

"So not necessarily everyone here is dead. Which means that this isn't the Inferno." Figures. That would be some kind of explanation, and something told him he wasn't going to be getting many of those during his stay... "And if you got here last night, that must mean you know a little about the nightshift I've been hearing so much about."

It also meant that he probably wouldn't have had a chance to come into contact with X, if he was here. Slag.

"None of the other guys I talked to mentioned being dead, either. Though they were all, uh, human to begin with. Least I think so." There hadn't been any conceivable reason for him to ask, after all.

"Yeah, I was here last night. Didn't go very far. I woke up here," he said, pulling the first-floor map between them and pointing at one of the rooms on the M111-120 hallway. As he continued, he slid and tapped his finger on the map, tracing the route he'd taken. "Met a guy in the hall here who was headed to M3, and we walked up this way, through here, and down here. Saw one of the monsters in the field here. Squirrel the size of a German shepherd, attacking two guys, though they were winning. Barely." He'd seen them both from a distance at breakfast, looking none the worse for wear, though he hadn't been close enough to see scratches or minor wounds.

After pausing dramatically to let this sink in, the fact that 'squirrel' and 'German shepherd' might not be universal reference points occurred to him. Whoops. "About this big," he added, gesturing with his hands, "mammalian, an order of magnitude larger than nature provides, and with much larger and sharper teeth and claws than would be proportional. And according to someone on the bulletin board, normal mammalian nervous system and weak points." He still didn't trust Mello, but he also didn't have any reason to doubt that information. Especially since it was pretty easy to prove one way or the other.

"Do you know the weak points of the human body? Most mammals are analogous." He'd never had any real desire to take up hunting as a hobby, but he knew the basics, and the biology. And that he was a piss-poor shot with a gun or a bow. He'd need a close-range weapon, even if that meant letting monsters get closer. Phoenix had had a baseball bat -- that didn't seem like a bad idea at all.

The snigger was out before he could stop it. "A giant squirrel? You're telling me they got giant killer squirrels? And I thought Rattrap looked stupid."

Despite the bravado, though, he diligently scrawled a note into his journal. If he was going to even begin to tackle this place he'd need all the information he could get. The last time he tried to rush on the scene like a big hero he'd had his tailpipe handed to him on proton platter. Anyway, as much as he hated to admit it, Rattrap's 'stupid' beast mode was five foot of serious metal when he put it to good use. Better to play it safe than sneer.

At S.T's question he paused for thought. "Can't say I do. Spent most of my time on Earth saving 'em rather than shooting 'em. You types have a real knack for getting into trouble."

He'd raised a good point. What he knew he could count on one hand, whereas what he didn't was enough to jam his exhaust port for an entire stellar cycle. And now that he was human himself, that kind of information would be vital to his survival. "Alright. Give me the basics, but keep it simple. I'd rather shoot than study."

"Yeah, giant killer squirrels. There's a whole list of crap out there up on the board, though I didn't see the squirrels listed."

Saving humans from themselves -- they had something in common, then. And at least he wasn't talking to an evil alien robot from the future. Small blessings.

"Simple it is. Eyes, throat, groin, knees. Throat for the kill, all the others to disable. From a distance, aim for the chest." For the first time, he vaguely wished Dolmacher was around. He'd fucking love this place. Whole thing would be a game to him, and he'd be playing to win. It would mean talking to him, but you couldn't have everything.

Depth Charge noted it all down, feeling, not for the first time, extraordinarily aware of himself- of just how vulnerable this new body would be. A round wouldn't just bounce off of his chest, it would blast straight through and kill him. Again. He consoled himself with the fact that he had, he noticed, clenched his knees together tightly at the mention of a human's sensitive areas. So those were reflexes. Maybe this body wasn't as useless as it looked.

"Speaking of which, what am I supposed to aim with? Like they're gonna have weapons just lying around in here."

"Beats me. I saw a lot of folks going armed last night, so they are available. But they don't put up neon signs guiding the way. You're better off asking some of the veterans of this place."

He regretted not asking Phoenix about the bat, since that was a weapon he could handle. A billy club and some tear gas -- he'd be well on his way to being a proper riot-control bastard.

Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. Tear gas wasn't difficult to make in a lab, though getting the ingredients might be a royal pain in the ass. Pepper spray, on the other hand, would be a walk in the park.

Veterans. Yikes. That was an ugly word to hear in this place. At least there were weapons available, even if he'd have to search a little harder for them. He sighed. To think that only a few megacycles ago he had more weapons built into him than a human firing squad.

"And I'm guessing the only time it's possible to make a grab for something is during the night." He gave a little grunt of irritation. "Which means that I'm completely defenseless until I figure something out. Well, if that doesn't take the energon cookie."

He turned his attention back to his copy of the roof map, which he finished off and held out. "Here. All yours."

"Thanks. And good luck." He tucked all the maps away, except for his new copy of the first floor map. He looked down at it, as if staring would make a plan appear, fully formed, on the paper. Kitchen and pantry. That'd be the place to start, assuming he didn't get any better suggestions.

Besides, if all else failed, he could at least pick up the basics for a little closet fermentation. This prison would be a hell of a lot more tolerable after a nice, cold beer or four. He leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes. Beer, nitrous, some peace and quiet. Real peace, not this passive-aggressive Cold War détente enforced by Nurse Ratched and her thirty-seven clones.

Edited 2008-11-30 18:33 (UTC)

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Day 37: Sun Room

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