damned_institute | Night 37: East Wing, Hall 2-A

[back from here]

The bucket was awkward to carry, but she did so nonetheless, hurrying into the next hall.

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/525712.html?thread=42861200#t42861200)]

Walking down a dark hallway with only one other person was a bit risky, but Xelloss kept his attention around them as he led the way for now. The door to what he thought he recalled being the janitor's closet was slightly off, and he paused, turning back to Anise.

"Well, do you want to look inside, or do you think it's been cleared out, since someone's visited it?" Someone or something; then again, the monsters never seemed to have any trouble getting from place to place. The mental image of some mysterious horror like the piecework creature he'd seen glimpses of downstairs fiddling with a ring of keys was fairly amusing.

Having more or less memorized which rooms were where in this hall, Anise folded up her map and put it back in the sack she retrieved it from. She then picked up her pipe and hurried after Xelloss, following him to the hall they had decided on.

The girl frowned at the sight of the broken doorknob, but moved toward the closet anyway. "We won't know unless we check it out," she suggested. "They couldn't have taken everything good." She would be pretty mad if they did, even if she didn't even know what was supposed to be in there in the first place. But, flashlights! She needed one of those badly.

Certain they would find something, the girl pulled the door wide open and stepped into the closet.

[To here!]

[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/525712.html?thread=42807184#t42807184).]

Rude shone his light about. Interesting. Good. Right.
So should they split or play it safe and stick together. ~~Or split into two teams. Turks and jerks. Yeah, Rude was awesome inside. He just kept it to himself a lot.~~

"Electrical Supplies first," he said. "We'll stick together for now." He needed to assess how dangerous the rooms were and, well, these guys had no clue what he was looking for. He didn't even know himself.

Edited 2008-12-16 21:12 (UTC)

"Okay," Matsuda responded, trying to avoid sounding too relieved at not having to split up in an area he didn't know. He hadn't exactly mentioned his monster run-in with Rude, but sure as hell didn't want to run into anything like that again, especially alone.

For the moment, he just glanced around, trying to make sure that nothing was gonna jump out and try to eat them.

Elena was definitely curious about their newest aquaintance. She walked closer to him, more for his safety than hers (not that she would tell him that), her knife twisting a little in her hand as she tightened her grip on the blade's handle.

"You'd think they'd keep their supplies more well hidden," she commented after a moment. "At least considering the way they treat us during the day."

Elena was still so naive sometimes, but Rude kind of liked it. So long as it didn't get her killed or get in the way of work. It wasn't that he enjoyed giving lectures or having to explain things (although a part of him was always pleased that he knew his job well), it was more for her personal benefit. It was a luxury for Turks to have moments of humanity.

"There'd be no fun in that," he said, beginning what was practically a Rude speech. "The radio alone is enough evidence they're playing a game with us. So what if we get supplies? Reno's been here a long time." If this made it easy to escape there'd be no problem. Maybe Rude was playing into their hands fighting against them, but it was better than giving up.

Spotting a door that was already bust, Rude moved forward, pipe at the ready, and opened it up, stepping inside (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/526204.html?thread=43143548#t43143548).

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/525712.html?thread=43156368#t43156368)]

Okay, Jones, almost there. Don't screw this one up. Nothing moving in here. Indy counted the doors on the left as they made their way down the hall--one, two, three, and the jackpot. He stopped outside the door and turned to Pierson.

"I don't know what kind of security they've got in there, but we'd better be ready for anything," he said quietly, settling his hat decisively on his head while he still had time. "If there are unarmed guards, I can probably take 'em down, as long as there aren't too many of them. If they're armed, things might get tricky." Indy realized, with a burst of genuine affection and loss, just how much his whip really came in handy. He was just gonna have to try his luck with the pitcher. Scant comfort.

"What were you saying about encrypted files?" he asked, while they still had some time to talk. If things looked hairy, they might have to grab whatever they could and get out of there fast. Better have a good idea of what they were going after.

"Yes, armed guards do generally make things rather messy," Methos replied, wry and resigned. Had there been an option for investigating the information held by the hospital that was rather less likely to bring them into close contact with such individuals, he would have been more than glad to take it. Unfortunately, the options at the moment seemed to be narrowed to 'hope for the best'. It really wasn't his favorite sort of situation to be in.

"Electronic encryption," he clarified. "A popular method of making things difficult for prying eyes in the information age. Of course, if we're looking at hard copy, we've just got to deal with omitted information. And medical jargon might as well be code."

Indy's suspicions had been growing ever since he got here. As a scientist, he tried to avoid jumping to conclusions, but now the sense that something was off around here was more than just a hunch.

Cameras and intercoms weren't his field, but he liked to think he was pretty well up on new gadgets (he got the Sears, Roebuck catalog, after all--made for good plane reading). All right, Landel's had some shady technology that was more advanced than anything he'd ever seen--fine, he could buy that. Governments all over the world were trying to get the jump on each other, especially in terms of communications systems. If this place was government-sponsored (and whose government?), he could accept that, say, their radios were a helluva lot smaller than the ones being sold to the public. Fine.

But why the hell did Pierson seem so damn comfortable with it?

"Stop right there," Indy snapped. "What do you mean, 'electronic encryption'? 'The information age'? If you want to talk about jargon, you're even fuller of it than Landel's. And we're not going anywhere until I get some answers as to why."

He got his right arm ready to swing with the flashlight if necessary--wouldn't be the first time a turncoat partner had come at him when cornered. If his roommate was working for the bad guys, he'd better find out sooner rather than later.

"Perfect," Methos muttered. "Stuck with a bloody paranoid Luddite." He turned a singularly unimpressed look on Jones. His own posture was deceptively relaxed and remote, the picture of irritated academic boredom. "Electronic encryption is exactly what it sounds like. The encoding of electronically stored or transmitted data to disguise its contents."

He eyed Jones warily, picking over the small but distinct litany of oddities which had become apparent over the course of the night. The other man wasn't the first person he'd come across who was less than technologically adept, but this was a level above what he'd come to anticipate. Someone young, American, and clearly well-educated should have, if not already know the terms, been able to extrapolate reasonably well.

It was, he realized, a reaction he'd expect from someone half again Jones' age, at the very least. Either the man was playing ignorant for some as-yet indeterminable reason, or something very, very strange was going on. Considering the strange, armored apparition they'd viewed, he was willing to lay his money on the latter, mostly.

"This isn't getting us anywhere. If you want any real answers, we'd both be better served by finding what we came for instead of standing around squabbling like children."

Electronically stored or transmitted? Indy racked his brain for some kind of recognition, but nothing was doing. Physics just wasn't his field either.

But one of his fields was figuring out who he could trust and who he couldn't, and Pierson had just put himself definitively on the first list. And Indy didn't like his attitude.

They wanted to get him here, he thought. It sounded paranoid, even to him, but this was exactly the kind of trap he was perpetually falling into. The M.O. of every bad guy under the sun--let Jones stumble around in the labyrinth until he's done something convenient, and toss him right back behind bars. Maybe try to pull his heart out of his chest while you're at it. Have a grand old time.

It had been Pierson's idea to go after the files in the first place, and like a sucker, he'd gone along perfectly with the plan. But why string him along like that--he was already here, no weapons, no clue; why not just pick him up and put him down exactly where they wanted him? Because then I wouldn't feel like such a dupe.

And that "squabbling like children" line was exactly the one he'd use if he were trying to pull something like that.

"'Fraid that's not good enough, Pierson," he shot back, not budging an inch. "Doesn't anything about this place seem strange to you? These radios, these intercoms? The flashlights? That thing we saw back there? Electronically stored data? I don't know what kind of college you work for, but I've never seen anything like this level of technology. And I'm not exactly provincial.

"So unless you can give me a good explanation for why a translator would be so at home with all of this, we'll be standing here squabbling for a long time."

He'd worked with plenty of people who would've stabbed him in the back (or left him tied to a chair, or taken the idol and dropped the whip, etc.) at the first opportunity, but his spirit of fellowship didn't extend anywhere near as far as someone who might be working for the people who had kidnapped him. Even Indy's patience had limits.

The man was mad. That was the only possible explanation. There was no other way he could possibly think the damned radios were high technology. Unless...but no, Methos would have detected the characteristic buzz if Jones was another Immortal, and besides, after the first few decades he'd either have learned to adapt or he would have been killed by someone younger or smarter. It was a simple fact, like gravity.

Barring time travel, insanity was the only real possible answer.

He knew he should go along with it, play into Jones's delusion somehow. Claim a position in research and development, or an investigative commission, or something else that could explain away his familiarity with commonplace technology. But he was tired of playing along, of proving himself, of being distrusted by people he hadn't actually intended to betray.

'Referral,' jeered the tiny, still-objective voice in the back of his mind. One situation was not at all like the other, and if he were being honest with himself he'd have to admit the suspicion was sensible, even if its roots lay in absurdity. It wasn't as though he really trusted Jones either. But Methos had a long habit of not being terribly honest, with himself or anyone else, and he saw no reason to break that streak now of all times.

"Clearly you are," he snapped back, voice harsh even though he kept it low enough to prevent it carrying and attracting unwanted attention. "Or you've fallen through a bloody time warp, because the intercoms, the radios, computer systems? None of those things have been revolutionary concepts for years now. That thing back there is the only thing that stands out, and last I checked neither of us knew what the hell it was."

He drew a deep but silent breath, letting it out to the time of a slow, internal count. "We can keep going, or we can part ways. But I'm not going to stand here like a giant flashing target just to satisfy your urge to argue about technology."

The desire to punch Pierson in the jaw was almost a physical ache in Indy's right hand. Coming to blows over something like this, in a mental hospital of all places, with a guy in a pair of stylized smiling pajamas, while something out there apparently had a history of trying to kill people like them...fine, not the smartest move he'd ever made. But, man, was it tempting to wipe that smug certainty right off that face. This guy and Belloq would've gotten along just great.

He was also absurdly tempted to defend himself and his new 22-inch Zenith radio (bought during a long sojourn home last year--might as well listen to the ball game while you were dreaming of fortune and glory). But there was no point in getting into a pissing contest over radio size. It was obvious by now that Pierson was lying through his teeth. If he had been working for Landel's, he would've found some cover story. But nobody would act as though he were so familiar with all this, and get so defensive about it, unless he'd been caught stretching the truth and was now too ashamed to cop to his ignorance. Must've been throwing around big words at random, the poor dumb kid.

"Fine," Indy retorted. "Have it your way. Whatever crazy comic-book version of 1938 you come from, I can't wait to hear about the ray guns and the space travel. It'll keep me entertained while I figure out just what the hell is going on around here."

Comeback made, he tried to open the door, only to be stymied by the lock. He backed up and landed a couple of solid kicks near it. Indy gave the now-weakened door two forceful slams with his left shoulder and succeeded in breaking it down. He stepped inside, flashlight and pitcher at the ready.

Not exactly the subtle approach, but damn, had it felt good.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/534261.html)]

Thankfully, aside from some other patients milling about, there didn't seem to be much going on here. Matt placed his hand on top of Sen's, his momentary boost of confidence only further aided by the current lack of monsters.

"Which door?" he asked, glancing to Mello. If someone had already been in there, it might make things easier for them - no breaking down the door, and anything inside might have already been taken care of.

Once they turned into the side hallway, Mello switched on his flashlight once again. "This one," he said, giving a soft kick to the fourth door on the left wall. "Then we'll go to the patient possession's room, which is that one." He indicated the doorway behind them with a tilt of his chin. Didn't Matt know the map?

Apparently, just worrying about Sen's motives wasn't enough. Now, he had to consider the effects of the decrease in blood making it to his friend's brain as well. Mello cursed under his breath as he balanced the flashlight against his shoulder to dig into his pocket. "Here," he said, passing the capped syringes to Matt. He wasn't sure if he'd regained the fine motor skills needed to pick a lock yet, but since Matt was here, there was no reason to waste time finding out.

Ayumu couldn't help but feel a tiny surge of triumph when Robin actually set his hand on hers, though naturally it didn't show at all. He'd tensed a bit when she'd first touched him, and she'd worried for half a second that she'd pushed a little too far, but apparently not. She still didn't quite understand why he was being so shy - right now it could be due to Mello's presence, but that didn't explain previously.

Ah, well. Clearly he'd had a rather different upbringing than most of those men she was used to dealing with. She could adapt, she always did.

She glanced over at him in the dim light from Mello's flashlight and smiled just a little, apparently trying to reassure either him or herself, or both. They'd managed to get this far without incident, fortunately, and she was relieved. A little encouragement couldn't hurt, could it?

The door they were going through seemed to be locked, though the things Mello handed to Robin were rather strange-looking. Perhaps they were for picking the lock? Odd tools, then.

Right. He knew this. He was getting distracted. "Yeah, that's right," Matt muttered, hardly making up for it. "I remember now."

Mello offered him syringes and he almost asked him what they were for before rationality smacked him in the face. Picking the lock. Because Mello only had one hand to use. Let's work on that reaction time, shall we?

Immediately focusing, the young man uncapped one of the makeshift tools and got to work. These locks were simple, though the unorthodox picks made the job take a few seconds longer than it normally would have. Soon enough he was back on his feet and giving the handle a twist.

"In we go."

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/534261.html?thread=43256821#t43256821)]

Things had been easy so far, and hopefully, they'd stay that way. He walked across the hallway and leaned against the wall beside the door to possession shortage, waiting for Matt to open it.

He'd planned on avoiding this room, but now, even if he skipped out, Matt would go through whatever supposedly belonged to him. There was no choice but to take the contents himself...and he should probably empty Near's while he was at it.

"Have you read your file?" he asked Matt, his voice quiet.

Considering how much of a ruckus the other two had been making, it was likely a good thing they'd left when they had. Ayumu hadn't really liked the layout of that room, either; it made her uneasy to have so many shelves and shadows.

Of course, the room they were about to enter likely wouldn't be much better, but hopefully the three of them could stay quiet enough not to attract any of the building's less pleasant residents. She still stuck close to Robin as they moved into the hallway and toward the next room, keeping an unobtrusive eye out for anything that might pose a threat. Fortunately, the hall still seemed rather empty and quiet except for them, as far as she could tell.

Just what would she find in there, though, she had to wonder. Somehow it didn't seem likely that she'd really find her possessions in a box in this place, especially not the things she really wanted to have.

After the last door, this one would be a piece of cake. They were all designed about the same. (He wouldn't be surprised if they all took the same key.) A couple soft clinks and the door was open. He stepped back to open it, unable to help a small, somewhat proud smile at Sen (though it was a silly thing to be expressing any sort of pride over).

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/534261.html?thread=43228405#t43228405)]

Indy righted himself and scrambled off the floor, looking wildly for the nearest likely door that didn't contain huge killer flying insects from Hell. Right across the hall--he couldn't remember what was in there; didn't give a shit. Anything to get away from those things. "Come on!" he yelled to Pierson, not giving a damn for who or what could hear him, and ran for it.

Mercifully (somebody must be looking out for him), this one was unlocked. Indy practically hurled himself through it and slammed the door behind them.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/534446.html?thread=43326894#t43326894)]

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/534446.html?thread=43326894#t43333294)]

Indy couldn't figure out for the life of him where those bugs had gone (or come from, for that matter), but he also didn't care. Just as long as they were out of his hair (and arms, and face, and neck, etc.).

He was moving slower this time, almost certainly leaving bloody tracks in the hallway. Tonight hadn't exactly been a triumph of the subtle approach.

The trip to the general storage room was a short one, but--wouldn't you know it--another damned locked door. Indy swore. Fluently. In multiple languages. Then he turned to Pierson.

"Well? Got any brilliant ideas? Or can I break the damn door down?" He kicked it bad-naturedly. Sniping at each other was another bad idea at a time like this, but he just seemed to be full of those tonight. Another one on the pile didn't make much of a difference at this point.

Methos flicked the file folders in some strange substitution for an airy wave. The punctures pocking his skin protested even that much useless movement, and he grimaced. The damned things itched like wildfire, even where they didn't hurt. "By all means, smash away. I'd be rather surprised if anything that wasn't deaf, dumb, and animate as a large rock didn't know we were here already."

A part of him still cringed at the thought of attracting any more attention. The insects had been vicious (and why had they turned aside already, rather than waiting to chew apart the next fools to come along?), but they were just insects; human guards would be worse by virtue of being capable of true malevolence. But the hallway was far too exposed. Just this once, attracting attention seemed the lesser of two evils.

Indy grunted his assent. Banged up as he was, this was going to be no picnic.

He repeated the same process as before, delivering a couple of smashing kicks around the lock to weaken the door until it started to break up under his repeated blows. Now for the really fun part. Bracing himself for the roar of pain, the archaeologist slammed his hollowed-out left shoulder hard against the door. Backed up and did it again.

In the dim illumination of Pierson's flashlight, he could make out the blood on the door. "He will pass over the door of the house, and not suffer the destroyer to come into your houses and to hurt you," Indy muttered to himself. They could only hope. Just another couple slams oughta do it. He gritted his teeth.

Two more attempts weakened it enough that he could clear out the rest with a few well-placed kicks, and then they were in.

"Next time," Indy said tiredly as he picked his way over the wreckage, "this is your job. I've had it with the hero act for tonight."

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/535334.html)]

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/526204.html?thread=43314556#t43314556)]

Xelloss waited outside patiently for Anise and the cart. In the meantime, he looked at the damage to the door they were thinking of entering. It had been impressive, certainly, even if it had left some blood stains in the process.

"Maybe you should go in first," Xelloss suggested. "After all, you look rather non-threatening, and we don't want to start a fight." Well, not especially at the moment and with other patients, at least. The memory of the bald man's abrupt visitation in the other storage room also came to mind. Anise seemed to like playing cute and charming, the two rugged looking men would be good targets for that.

It took a moment to get the cart moving again, its joints squeaking in protest as Anise jerked it out of the corner and pushed it out of the room.

Just as planned, the men had left the door completely busted. The damage was more than she had expected, but as she caught a glimpse of blood spots, Anise realized it probably hadn't been easy. Did this mean those guys were injured? If they were, it would at least mean that they wouldn't be able to pose a threat to them. Probably.

Anise pouted at Xelloss' suggestion. "Boooo. Making little old me take the lead in case they turn out to be bad guys? How cruel." But even as she made a show of complaining, Anise complied. Xelloss was right; some people around here were jumpy - and with good reason - and most would rather get approached by a cute, nonthreatening girl than by a bigger man. Not that Xelloss was very big to begin with. Just when compared to her.

[To here!]

[From here!]

Stepping back out into the hallway, it wasn't long before Anise stopped and gave her partner an inquisitive look. "Where to now? Should we head back? I guess we aren't in such a hurry anymore." With their materials securely in a smaller, more portable container, it was safe to assume they weren't going to lose them no matter where they went. That meant that while they could go back as originally planned, they could also just go wherever seemed interesting instead.

Shifting the cart out of the way to make it easier to move, not to mention getting the metal from the cart into the pillowcase, was taking most of Xelloss's attention even as Anise finished off their conversation with the two new patients and headed out as well. He managed to finally move all of the metal, and pushing the cart to the side, shovel and flashlight balanced under one arm, he offered the improvised bag to her with a wide smile.

"If you'll take this, I can hold the flashlight and we can look over the map again. Or we can head back, too. We've been very lucky with not encountering monsters so far, don't you think so?" He wasn't completely happy with that, but now that they'd succeeded in getting the metal they'd sought, it seemed too bad if they might lose it in a fight.

Anise glowered at the offered sack, though fortunately the sour look couldn't have been too easy to catch with the light unfocused as it was. She only just managed to pass it off, and it was already coming right back at her! With a sigh, Anise pulled her map out and reluctantly took the pillowcase.

"Okay, let's take a look." She shifted her pipe and sack into one hand, holding the map with the other. "It doesn't look like we'll find much more metal around here, but some of these rooms look kind of interesting, huh? Like, the file room and the patient possessions room."

Xelloss felt warm and comfortable inside. It had been such a lovely evening so far. Especially without holding heavy bags full of metal.

He leaned forward to look at the map, using the flashlight as promised to help illuminate. "Unless one of us is supposed to have possessed metal! I understand it's only what our fictional lives here were supposed to have possessed. Are you curious about that? Files might be interesting too, do you like reading? I'm fine with either, especially since I don't even know what sort of files they are. It's a mysterious world of possibilities!"

Then he looked up, aiming his flashlight down the hall for a moment. "Are any rooms not raided yet?"

It was a let-down to hear that the possessions room only had what their fake selves were supposed to have, but Anise had a feeling she shouldn't have expected anything better. If they could just waltz in there and pick up their old weapons and equipment, that would be convenient, wouldn't it? And nothing here was ever that convenient.

But would they have anything metal on them? Anise wondered. "I don't know anything about Earth culture and stuff, so I don't have a clue about what might be there. We could just dig through everyone's things and see what turns up. If it's for fake people, then no one would miss anything. And... it's not like I like reading or anything, but files might help us figure out what they're really doing here." Maybe. She had a feeling they wouldn't keep anything too revealing in an easily-accessed room, however. And reading would be tough with only one light between them...

As her partner shone his light down the hall, Anise looked to see what was illuminated. The door to the file room had been broken down in a similar manner to the storage room. Had it been those two again? The door to the patient possessions room, however, seemed to be intact. "I think it's safe to say this one's been raided," she offered uselessly, gesturing to the obvious wreckage to their left.

Night 37: East Wing, Hall 2-A

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