Day 37: Sun Room

[hismastersdance.livejournal.com]

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!]

Comments

[toxicspiderman]

"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.

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

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."

[toxicspiderman]

"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.

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]

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."

[toxicspiderman]

"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.

[scalyfishman.livejournal.com]