damned_institute | Nightshift 37: General Storage

"I'll be sure to find something to use as a lock pick, then," Methos replied blandly as he stepped in past the broken-in door. "Provided we aren't eaten alive by the local wildlife before there's a chance."

He frowned over the selection of cabinets, organizing them in his head into those likely to be useful and those likely to not before picking his way further in. The first step was to check for labels, the next to simply begin opening things and take what seemed helpful. It was unlikely the powers that be would fail to notice the broken door, so making it appear as though no one had been picking through the boxes would be an exercise in futility. "We'll want antiseptic and bandages," he said, speaking half to himself as he tugged a cabinet open, bracing in preparation to get the hell back if the action freed another hell-swarm.

Indy didn't know whether there was any real method to the madness here, but he was too tired and frustrated to care. He'd just started some distance away from where Pierson was scavenging. Getting patched up (and ideally better equipped) before anything else lunged at him was a higher priority than any intellectual concerns. Tomorrow or later tonight--who knew what time it was?--he'd sit down and process everything they'd seen.

But neither exhaustion nor bravado prevented him from asking aloud, "The hell did those things come from, anyway?" It was a rhetorical question, the kind his sidekick was supposed to ask him and to which he was supposed to respond with a manful, "I don't know, kid, but I don't like it." Nothing good ever came of a situation where he couldn't get a good line off, and this was one of 'em.

Meanwhile, he was working his way through cabinets. The first yielded lab coats and uniforms (worth taking later, he decided; in his current condition, skipping the clobbering-the-guard part of getting a disguise sounded like a plan). Goggles, hair nets, gloves. Better be something in here other than the costume department.

"Through the ventilation system?" Methos suggested. Rhetorical question or no rhetorical question, that sort of mental exercise was preferable to the terrified-hamster impression his brain was attempting. He abandoned his first cabinet with a snort of disgust, unable to think of any use for a bunch of disposable cups and other sundries, medical or otherwise. He crouched, grimacing, to rummage through another, with equally little luck.

Third try was the charm, as he pulled open a box stocked with first aid supplies. "Finally," he muttered. "You'd think it would be easier to steal medical supplies in a bloody hospital." He rubbed at one arm with the back of his hand, scowling to himself. His skin still itched, sharp little pinpricks, and he wondered anew if the bugs had carried some sort of toxin.

"Obviously Landel's isn't big on health codes. I've seen rats smaller than that," Indy griped, slapping ineffectively at the bites on his neck. Itching was a bad sign. Allergic reaction? These things were always a toss-up; sometimes your body got used to it and sometimes it really, really didn't. He'd better see if they had anything he could take for that.

Fortunately, it sounded like Pierson had come up with something good. Indy flashed his light over there: sure enough, a first-aid kit. "Anything good?" he called over, jerking open the next cabinet. This one held containers of chemicals. He scanned the first couple of labels: acetic acid, ammonia, barium sulfate. All Greek to him.

He'd save the rest of the scavenging for after he got bandaged. "What do you know about chemistry?" he asked conversationally as he headed over for his share of the supplies.

"I suppose if they're going to be charged with kidnapping regardless, a few health code violations seem small in comparison," Methos replied. There was a thin vein of wry humor running through his voice, but much of it was still a little more forced than he'd like.

"Tolerable," he added, opening the kit with a sharp snap. Gauze, antiseptic, the bare essentials. It was better than nothing, and he'd be certain to take some of it along once they'd left. "I wouldn't like to have to tend a gunshot wound with only this, but since neither of us is quite that badly off, it should suffice."

He glanced up from the kit, brow knitting as he thought over the unexpected question. "Some. Are you asking theory, or practical application?"

"I'm asking whether the stuff in that cabinet is worth stealing," Indy replied, gesturing at it. "Lotta chemicals. I recognize a few of them, but I'm not exactly up on polyethylene glycol. And is there another one of those kits in there?" He crouched down near Pierson--and, more importantly, the first aid kit or kits--and started assessing wounds. He'd almost be better looking for places on his body that didn't have chunks torn out of them.

"Well, goddamn it, Indy, where doesn't it hurt?" he muttered sarcastically, although he wasn't ready to laugh about it yet. Not these damn bites, and not her. For a second he wondered where she was, what she was doing out there while he was locked up in this godforsaken insane asylum. Probably arguing some other poor guy into the ground, he decided, and let it go.

Methos barely choked back a laugh, instead coughing into the crook of his elbow. Which hurt, goddammit. "I'll give it a look over. I doubt there's much that's truly harmful, but it's worth checking." Eyes still glinting with a little more mirth than the question warranted, he offered a second kit over. "Yeah, a few. Must be stock for the offices, for treating minor wounds."

He gave Jones a curious glance, eyebrows slanting upward. For once, he continued to bite his tongue. Instead of a question or sarcastic remark, he offered a quiet suggestion, "Start with your neck, your wrists, anywhere the blood vessels run near the surface. If they're carrying anything, that might slow it getting into your bloodstream."

Was that a laugh? Indy's eyes narrowed, but he let that go too. Bigger fish to fry.

At least he was an old hand at treating his own scrapes and gashes, and even this little kit was better stocked than the field kits he carried on digs. With a practiced hand and only an occasional wince, he set to work applying antiseptic, bandages and gauze to sundry flesh wounds, starting with the particularly irritating ones on the back of his neck.

"Guess we'd better put ourselves back together while we can," he commented. "If they figure out who was responsible for those doors, we're going to have a lot of fast-talking to do tomorrow." Although now that he thought about it... "Might not be a bad thing. A stunt that big might get us a talking-to from someone with a little authority around here." Landel himself would be too much to hope for in a hospital this big, but anyone above a standard-issue nurse in the hierarchy would at least let them in on a little more of how things worked.

Granted, meeting one of the brass might not exactly be a good thing either, especially with those rumors of medical experiments. At least it'd be a change of pace from man-eating insects.

"It might," Methos replied absently. "Or it might earn us sedation, seclusion, or electroshock treatment. Possibly all three. Insane asylums aren't known for being the most humane of places, and those are the ones not engaged in shady dealings." He paused to think, then continued, "Of course, the other patients might be aware of how discipline is handled."

It had been far longer than he could remember since he'd had to deal much with any wounds of his own, but the principles of aid given carried over readily. He busied himself with tending his own injuries, cleaning out the ragged little gouges before they could even think of turning septic. He paused over his right arm, frowning to himself as he turned it over to inspect the underside. There seemed fewer bites than he recalled, and the ones there did not seem so bad. It was difficult to be certain, however, under the remaining streaks of blood, in the dim light.

He hurried to wrap the remaining wounds. It could be a simple trick of the light, or the dispelling of an illusion created by sheer panic and adrenaline. But if it wasn't, if he was healing, though at a vastly reduced rate...

That was something he didn't want to find himself stuck having to explain.

Electroshock therapy? It figured that Landel's would be using a treatment that was only tested on a human for the first time last year, and it figured even more that Pierson would know all about it. Indy's suspicions bubbled back to the surface.

"Sure know how to look on the bright side of the situation, don't you," he quipped in response, although the guy was probably right. When you were a prisoner--especially when you were Dr. Indiana Jones, famous archaeologist--the bad guys tended to want to talk to you in person when their plans went haywire. As a mental patient, your presence probably wasn't as in-demand at captor plotting sessions. Indy sighed.

The antiseptic stung like hell, but at least he'd stopped bleeding for now. Before long he was wrapping bites over his equally bitten-up shirt, too beat to bother with stripping it off. Right now he just wanted to get them clean and wrapped up; he could worry about making them pretty later.

"Of course. It's usually the side that's about to explode spectacularly." Methos offered a toothy and somewhat mirthless grin. "To be perfectly honest, I've got a suspicion that anyone who might make themselves known here won't really be very highly placed at all. It's too great a risk, considering what they've done. They'd have to be remarkably arrogant to expose themselves..."

He looked away, something fleeting and bitter contorting his expression. "Of course, if you wanted to test that theory, a display where you knew you'd get caught might be the best bet," he added after a brief pause to check that the wrappings on his arms were secure. "Something calculated to gauge their response."

"I'm not that eager, thanks. Being slapped in a straitjacket isn't exactly my idea of a good time." Having finished with his arms and torso, Indy shrugged his jacket back on and turned his attention to his legs.

"Not that we'll have much of a choice about gauging their response when the nurses find us looking like mummies tomorrow morning. But being sneaky will probably get us further than fireworks at this point," he added, flicking his light at the open cabinet that contained the staff uniforms. "We've barely scratched the surface of the map--storage rooms, staff-only areas, experimental wings, this place is a warren. I don't know why they want us wandering around at night, but we might as well take full advantage of it before we try anything fancy."

"Did you get a good look at anyone while they were ushering us around like five-year-olds during the day?" Methos asked. He began to snap the first aid kit shut, then paused and instead set about re-stocking it with gauze and bandages. "It didn't look as though people coming up injured was anything new. They'll notice, but if things like those insects really as as common as all that, it won't be a surprise..."

He climbed to his feet, biting back a wince. "At least it looks like we really might find something useful in here. If we're going to do any more exploring, I'd much rather be armed. And equipped with pesticide, but I doubt we'll find any of that in here."

"No, it was already afternoon when I woke up. Didn't see much of anyone. Whatever they did to me really must've packed a punch." Indy finished with the last of the bites and stood up.

"Looks like mostly medical supplies in here so far. Anything's an improvement over our bare hands, but ultimately broken flasks aren't gonna cut it. Heard all those reports of monsters? I'm willing to bet those bugs are just the beginning of the nastiness." He thought again about those experimental labs on the map--hadn't there been an animal test lab too? Could explain a lot of those sightings. In fact, maybe that was why there weren't any guards around--they just opened the cages at night and let unsuspecting patients get mauled at random. Gee, Indy thought bitterly, what a place.

"Sedation, I'd imagine. There's no other way to explain why no one remembers arriving here." Methos picked his way over to another stack of boxes, reaching open to pull open the first. "And I've heard the reports, yes. Though I'm not willing to assume a supernatural explanation when scientific ones may well suffice."

He shifted the box aside to inspect the next one down. "Scalpels might," he remarked. "Or IV lines. Poles. Even syringes, in a pinch, especially if we can track down what they've used for sedatives. Even if not..." He trailed off with a shrug. "It's better than what we've got now."

"Of course there's a scientific explanation. I want to find out what." Indy returned to the cabinets: cups and trays in this one, probably extra storage for dinner. He pictured himself cracking a nurse over the head with a meal tray--not bad improvisation, but only so helpful against a gun. Or whatever the hell kind of crazy weapons technology they had here to go with all the other futuristic gadgets. He kept looking.

"We're also gonna have to find some way of carrying all this," he added in a cautionary tone. "Not to mention hiding it. We can take one of the boxes, but we'd better be able to move with it. The last thing we need is to run up against something angry with our hands tied up."

"I wouldn't suggest taking everything," Methos replied. "Just the most useful." He smiled down at the box, grim and a little cold. The expression was gone when he looked up, wiped away to leave only weariness behind. "I'd suggest something concealable myself, though that may well be a personal preference." Thinking back to the doors, he decided it more than likely was. Jones didn't seem terribly fond of subtlety so far.

"Does the map show much of the outside of the building?" It must have seemed an abrupt departure from the original topic, though it was linked in his own mind. If they did have that information, it would be far easier to plan strategy for the long term, rather than the short view they currently possessed.

In Indy's view, there was a time and a place for subtlety, and it was not when the only way of getting where you needed to be involved a little noise. Pierson's dig was clear, but Indy chalked it up to the innate smugness of a guy who didn't like getting his hands dirty. Good thing they hadn't run into any guards--he had a feeling he would've been doing all the slugging while Pierson made a long inspection of a conveniently malfunctioning flashlight.

"No," he answered, taking the high road. "I have maps for the first floor, second floor, and the roof. There's a bulletin board that had some information--looks like it's possible to get outside, but a lot more dangerous. Seemed like a recent development, too." Something else hit him. "And someone added that the people who've gotten out end up in their rooms again by morning. You'd have to move fast to get by whoever's out there looking."

"Or evade detection long enough to get a good start. Which would be easier if there was information about their security available." Though Methos was not at all surprised there wasn't. Even if anyone had been altruistic enough to provide it, the powers that be certainly wouldn't have left it lying around. That might spoil whatever psychotic game they were playing.

He abandoned the boxes in favor of another cabinet. The contents of this one he met with a slow, thoughtful smile. He crouched to survey the neatly stored collapsible stretchers, muttering a quiet, "Pity we haven't got any tools handy..."

"Assuming anyone aside from the staff even has it. I get the feeling that a lot of patients are about as in the dark as we are." Pillows and sheets over here. Pierson was getting all the good finds. "There are two more file rooms on the first floor, but it's starting to look like they keep any info on this place that could actually help anyone well out of reach." So people were networking, starting a resistance piece by piece. But then why not band together and start a revolt? Unless the bad guys' weaponry was so good that even strength in numbers wouldn't stop you from getting mowed down, that is.

Indy looked over his shoulder at Pierson and his box. "What, the poles? Probably tools around here someplace. How's it attached?"

"Anything physical would have to be detectable," Methos replied. And then, after a few seconds' pause admitted ruefully, "Assuming we knew what to look for. I doubt they're kind enough to leave it at anything so obvious as guard towers."

He sat back on his heels and raked a hand through his hair, ruffling it up into porcupine-like spikes. "The information in the file rooms may still be useful. If they've got the current patient records in there, we'd at least be aware of what they want us to think they know."

He got to his feet, noiselessly this time, and bent down to pull one of the stretchers free. "I'm not sure. They're too packed in to get a good look. Probably springs and crossbars to support the weight..." It came free with a quiet creak that made him wince and look back at the broken-in door for incoming creatures.

Indy reached over to lend a hand with getting it out. "Hmm," he mused, leaning in with the flashlight for a closer inspection of the framework. "Lightweight, but with enough force behind it, you'd be pretty sore in the morning. We could probably get it apart with a screwdriver, maybe even something small that could pry the joints open. Too bad we don't have a toolkit. Unscrewing the locks from the doors would be a lot less risky than breaking them in." He grinned ruefully. "A lot easier on the shoulder, too."

He surveyed the rest of the cabinets and boxes. They'd gotten through a lot of it, but there was still more exploring to be done. "We might just have to grab whatever we need here and move on. There are a couple of other storage rooms on this floor; maybe one of them has some tools." Or maybe the room labeled "Janitor's Closet" would turn out to be a cache of semi-automatics ready for the taking. He could dream.

Methos nodded his agreement with the assessment. "Not ideal weapons, certainly, but it's likely the most effective we've found so far. If we can find something to take it apart with. We may as well keep looking in case we can't. There isn't that much left to go through."

He bent down to test one of the screws holding the frame together. He was unsurprised to find that budging it by hand was out of the question, though it was still a little disappointing. They could do with one good break, after the night so far.

[From here!]

The front wheels of the janitor's cart rammed into the fallen door as Anise tried to push it in, refusing to go any further unless it was lifted over the wreckage or had a path cleared. Not feeling like doing either right away, especially when the noise had probably already alerted the guys in the room, Anise squeezed past it, through the doorway, and stepped into the room.

"Excuse us! We're coming in," she called in a cutesy singsong voice. If the clattering at the entrance had been alarming at all, hopefully that cheerful announcement would clear things up before they got mistaken for a threat. Carefully making her way past the mess at the door, she stood with one hand on her hip and studied the mess of the rest of the room. It looked like the two strangers had gone through a lot already. At least, she was pretty sure they were strangers. It was kind of hard to make much out about them in the dim light.

Trying to be as friendly as possible, she smiled brightly. "Ehehe. You two aren't taking all the good stuff, are you?"

Edited 2008-12-29 19:41 (UTC)

Xelloss glanced at their cart, wondering if this would herald the probably inevitable attempt at a hand-off on cart duty when they exited the room. Really, Anise was quite a difficult young woman in her own way, wasn't she? Xelloss couldn't help but approve.

Her introduction hopefully would prevent any unexpected and unwanted hostility. Since he was the one holding the flashlight, staying outside too long seemed inappropriate... he followed her around the cart, and waved cheerfully at the men in the room, upbeat despite the newly treated injuries visible past casual glance.

"Hello, there! We're just looking for metal for one of the Clubs. I don't suppose you've seen pipes in here... or a very good cart, maybe?"

He didn't have anything much to say in response to Pierson's pronouncement, so Indy got up and crossed to one of the cabinets they hadn't ransacked yet. "There's always these," he said, pulling out a pair of crutches. "Little big for my taste, although I guess it solves the problem of hiding them...hey, here's something." He withdrew an IV pole and held it up. "Doesn't look like it collapses, but at least it's adjustable. Maybe I can get it unscrewed from the base." He knelt down and set to work trying.

And that--predictably, at the most inopportune moment--was when his ears caught a noise at the door. Indy sprang up, ready to defend himself against the possibility of encroaching threat, which turned out to be a little girl. With pigtails and some kind of stuffed animal, no less. He looked at her with surprise and a flicker of irritation, feeling foolish. What the hell was a kid doing here?

She was followed by what was presumably her backup, a young man with...purple hair? Indy rolled his eyes. This was no place for kids to be messing around, kidnapped or otherwise. Considering the trouble he and Pierson had had with those bugs, he wasn't too optimistic about their odds of survival wandering around here at night.

"Hi," he greeted them kindly but cautiously. "Not much of a treasure hunt in here, but you're welcome to have a look around." Even as he said it, he was edging around in front of the IV pole, blocking it from their view. He'd be happy to help with their little treasure hunt, but not at the expense of his first really viable-looking weapon. There had to be plenty of other metal in here somewhere.

"It would make a passable staff," Methos agreed, eyeing the IV pole critically. He double-checked the assessment internally. Passable, not optimal, but there weren't likely to be many properly weapons-grade pieces of equipment lying around. He made a mental note to look for a box cutter if they did make their way to the janitor's station.

The clattering of the cart at the door snagged his attention, and wheeled to face the door, crouch shifting fluidly to a more combative stance. He didn't really relax when he spied the girl and her companion, but straightened enough to look non-aggressive.

It was a definite effort not to scoff at the boy's explanation for their presence. Methos' eyebrows climbed, and he glanced at the cart. "It sounds like you've had a fairly lucky night already," he noted. It was a guess; he hadn't been paying enough attention to the sound to have the first clue what was in there, but it seemed a ridiculous thing to drag around if they didn't have something worth hauling. He rested one hand on the stretcher and smiled blandly. "If you've got tools or a prybar, we can disassemble this and split the parts. There's not much else here, unless you care to take the fittings off the door."

Even if the two men didn't turn out to be hostile, Anise found herself disappointed that they still seemed a bit wary, even after getting a look at her. Was her charm not working?

But it wouldn't do to let that disappointment show. Still smiling, she offered a cheerful "Thank you!" to the older man, wandering to the center of the room and peeking at the contents the opened boxes. Looked like a lot of medical supplies, which might be worth grabbing for their own sakes, even if they weren't worth anything to the club. From a glance at the men, it was pretty obvious they had already taken their pick of those. Anise wondered what had gotten them so banged up, but it didn't seem polite to ask.

The second man's comment got a somewhat awkward giggle from her. "Lucky? Hehe, I guess. It'll be a pain to bring it all back if we don't find something better to carry it in, though." The girl eyed the cabinets thoughtfully. If this was general storage, then maybe she could find a pillowcase, or something like one. If only she had remembered to grab one before she left her room... but it was a little late to be dwelling on that.

"As for tools, you might be out of luck. The closet across from here has a lot, but all the good stuff was already gone when we got there." Anise frowned slightly as she explained, disappointed that she hadn't been the first to get to them. Damn it. It figured she would keep on finding uses for all the equipment she didn't have.

"Mostly, we have pipes. And a shovel," Xelloss added, before following Anise further into the oddly organized room. He did catch the glint of metal behind one man, and the other's suggestion was creative, but without tools it would just be too much trouble. Besides, he was right; they had been lucky, yet again, unattacked and this time even succeeding in their little mission, assuming they got the metal safely home. "So we're trying to find things that don't require disassembly already!"

That had been the start of the night, in fact, hasn't it? Avoiding the bathrooms. "I think at least three groups went through the janitor's room, but it does usually have tools. Maybe another night you can get there early. This area seems to be so popular, doesn't it?"

Not really offering any suggestions for other things to take, Xelloss just stayed behind Anise, holding the flashlight for her own search. The men didn't seem happy to have them around, but they weren't being openly hostile. Starting a fight would be too much trouble at the moment. He did glance occasionally back at their cart wedged by the doorway, in case someone might wander past and decide to pick up the metal they'd already gathered.

"Another night? How often do they restock?" Indy asked. They might be kids, but they sure seemed to know a lot about this place. He added the information about the closet across the hall to his mental map--better make a point of getting there early next time.

Since the pole was attached to a wheeled base and would certainly require disassembly before they could use the metal, he gave up his half-assed attempt at hiding it and set to work on the last few cabinets instead. This time he got lucky quickly. "What about these?" he asked, holding up a steel funnel. "Couple more of 'em in there." It figured that he'd find what they were looking for on the first try, when he and Pierson had spent the whole night trying to scrounge up something useful for themselves. Oh, well. The sooner those kids got what they were looking for, the sooner they could get out of the "monster"-infested hallways and back to the safety of their rooms.

"Any other useful rooms we should know about?" he asked the pint-sized savant, as long as he was at it. Might as well get as much useful information out of the deal has he could.

Methos suppressed a sigh. Invaded by overly-energetic children, and they didn't even have anything terribly helpful to contribute. Grand. He raked a hand through his hair once more, magnifying the porcupine effect. "Don't they attempt to recover the missing material?" he asked. That was curious, if not. Some half-hearted attempt to make it appear there was a chance of an even playing field in this madhouse? He doubted it.

He returned to his own search. Medical supplies, medical supplies, catheter bags; in short, a great deal of nothing that would be immediately useful.

"Every night, maybe?" Turning from one of the cabinets, Anise offered the older man her best guess with a thoughtful tilt of the head. "I mean, even when we trash a room at night, it usually looks totally normal again the next morning. Weird, huh?" That had happened with the music room after that monster attack, and with the girls' bathroom after she and her friends made a mess of the plumbing. Did Landel keep tons of spares for everything in the hospital? When she thought about it, it seemed pretty unreal.

She turned her attention to the other man, who also had a question. It was something that had crossed Anise's mind before, but she had never given it any deep thought. "I guess they don't. As long as you keep stuff out of plain view, they won't touch it." She wasn't positive that this was always the case, but it seemed like a safe assumption with what she and her friends had gotten away with.

As she passed through the room, Anise saw the metal pole that had previously been blocked from view, and gave it a curious look. It took all of two seconds to realize that with its stand, the object was too big and awkward to attempt to carry around. Not worth it.

Moving on, Anise poked around at the cabinets until she found one that piqued her interest. Bedsheets and pillows! Perfect. The girl retrieved a pillowcase from the lower shelf, delighted to find that this room had precisely what she needed.

And at that moment, one of the strangers in the room also found something she needed! "Ooh, this is my lucky night, isn't it?" Anise giggled as she made her way over to see what the man had found. The object was small and thin and probably didn't contain a lot of metal, but every little bit counted! And it was sweet of him to help out, even if he didn't show much enthusiasm in doing so. "Thank you!" she cried giddily as she stuffed the offered object and its companions from the cabinet into the pillowcase.

It looked like these guys were getting as much information from them as they could. Were they new or something? With all these questions, Anise was starting to feel like a schoolhouse teacher. But she supposed it didn't matter too much. Information was free, after all, and the attention wasn't bad either. The older man's next question left her a little stumped, however. "Hmm..." She turned to Xelloss, as if asking for his input. "I don't go this far very often, so I don't know. This is the luckiest night I've had in forever."

While she was facing the priest, she supposed it was a good time to get her other objective out of the way. Holding out the pillowcase to him, she smiled sweetly and suggested, "Why don't you fill this up with our stuff? It'll be a lot easier to carry around." He couldn't argue without looking rude, could he? After all, this tiny, delicate girl had been lugging their materials around all night.

They certainly were full of questions. Xelloss let Anise handle it, glancing around the room nearby her and for the moment silently serving as her shadow. The nature of the questions was revealing... so it was, if not their first night, one of their first nights. They certainly weren't familiar with exploring here, or how the Institute worked. He wondered if helpful information about alternate worlds and timelines would be in order, but decided he didn't really want to help them that much.

Xelloss did add onto Anise's comments, "It's part of the game here! By day, a relaxing hospital, by night, monsters and gathering things to fight monsters. After a few nights you won't even think twice about it! And it does always seem to restock." He paused, tilting his head a little in the dark, as if he hadn't considered it before. "It must be very expensive, don't you think so?"

Anise's next move was no surprise, so Xelloss just smiled more widely at her, as though they were having a wonderful shopping trip together and not wandering monster-filled hallways seeking items to make weapons, passing off duties on each other whenever possible. "Why, certainly! It is much easier when we work together, I'm sure they'll be very impressed with all the metal! Thank you for your help too, good luck at the rest of the evening!" Xelloss added over to the older-appearing men, before walking towards the cart. There was also no use in fighting the inevitable--without the cart, watching Anise carry the metal downstairs would be much less amusing. It was a bit clumsy to balance that, his shovel, and his flashlight...

They were restocking and repairing the rooms every night? Indy did a mental rundown of the damage he and Pierson had managed to do in the last couple of hours--smashed in two doors, stolen several patient files, left a sick breadcrumb trail of blood and dead bugs, looted the medical supplies and tossed this whole room. Even if they had a team of carpenters and maids on staff, that would take a couple hours and a pretty penny to repair. Not to mention all the lock-picking and larceny the other patients had to be doing. And getting it fixed by the next morning wouldn't exactly be easy either. How the hell could they manage that every night?

And-- Indy realized he had no idea how much time was left until morning. But if they were doing repair jobs before then, then--? "Does the staff come around during the night to assess the damages?" he asked the little girl. "Do we need to stay out of their way?" Seemed like a good bet, but hell, maybe they didn't care. Especially if they weren't even chasing down their missing supplies.

They were still talking about monsters, but that wasn't unexpected for a couple of kids. "Hope you're doing more gathering than fighting," was all he said.

Every night? And the staff didn't even bother to go around confiscating the stolen goods? Methos glanced back over his shoulder at the two youths, eyes narrowing in contemplation. They sounded honest enough, but was that significant only in proving they were good liars? Or was it true, or close enough to it that the patients wouldn't notice the difference? The possibility made him uncomfortable. What would the angle be in allowing them access to even these rudimentary supplies? It upset most of the theories he'd managed to come up with that far, and the ones left were for the most part the more unsettling ones.

And again came a mention of monsters. It seemed to be a pervasive delusion. For just an few seconds, Methos allowed himself to entertain the possibility of it being, in some sense, a reality, and then banished it again. He'd seen no proof, and wouldn't accept it until he had.

"Thank you," he said evenly. They hadn't seemed able, or possibly willing, to provide much concrete information, but what they had provided was still more than he and Jones had known before. "Good luck with your..." He paused, looking dubiously at their cart and its contents' transfer. "Metal."

"You're new, huh?" Anise's smile thinned into a smirk. She had been thinking that they might have been, but that last question helped confirm it. "No, they don't do anything like that while we're out. You won't run into them." The traces of cheer on her face momentarily faded into a more sober expression. "At least, not any that are still human. The staff... they turn into monsters at night."

Having witnessed the horrible transformation herself, Anise felt a chill run down her spine at the memory. With her best effort, she managed to suppress a shudder. That night had been an absolute nightmare.

The girl recovered her bright smile a few moments later, forcing away any signs of uneasiness. "Well, that's all for this room. You two take care, okay? Bye-bye!"

Giving one last glance at the room to make sure she hadn't overlooked anything important, Anise made her way over to the doorway, waved goodbye to the two strangers, and then exited. Xelloss looked like he was having trouble carrying three things with two hands, but she was sure he'd manage to keep up nonetheless.

[To here!]

Indy had heard a lot of legends about humans who turned into monsters in his time. Different cultures had dozens, maybe even hundreds of them. Indy didn't put much stock in any of them. And outside the most far-flung provincial villages where superstition was still the order of the day, it was rare in this day and age to meet anyone who still believed in such legends as seriously as the girl.

Well, again, they were kids, prone to believing their imaginations over more rational impulses. The real problem here lay with whatever adults were feeding them this hokum. Was that the point? The staff let patients loose at night to scrounge up whatever pathetic treasures they could, only to dress up as monsters and try to terrify them out of their wits? Why would an insane asylum try to manufacture nutjobs? That theory didn't make any sense.

He thought again of the animal labs. Put an ape in some facsimile of a nurse's uniform, poke and prod at it just enough to infuriate it, and let it loose in the halls. Bring back a swarm of giant insects from the far reaches of, say, the Amazon. Throw in a couple species of large predators from some other place too exotic for patients to recognize the terrors of its animal kingdom, and of course they'd all go around babbling about monsters. Maybe Landel's at night was just a zoo in which the keepers let his pets out to play.

"Well," he said to Pierson when the kids and their cart had cleared out, "at least that was something." He got back to work on the base of the IV pole and found that a combination of simple twisting and wrenching could probably get it free. "More patients worrying about those monsters. Got a theory?"

"A few," Methos replied. He returned to his own search, grumbling to himself as he rummaged through containers to little effect. "Mass hysteria seems the most likely. Induced by sightings of animals, no doubt, or people dressed in costume. In the dark, with the threat of danger already existent, it's human nature to overestimate. The more sightings there are, the more plausible it seems." He paused to rummage through another box before continuing. "Since this is an asylum, it's possible the staff has been using hallucinogens or hypnotics to make people more susceptible to the illusion."

Another box, though this time he didn't pause perceptibly in his theorizing. "As to why, perhaps it's camouflage? If you've got a large group of people claiming illegal experiments or abduction, eventually someone will take notice. Even if it's a bunch of lunatics saying it, the repetition lends the claim weight. Add in things that go bump in the night, though, and that credibility is blown out of the water." He glanced back at Jones, smiling grimly. "Everyone knows there's no such thing as monsters."

So Pierson's theories were along the same lines as his own. "They're willing to go pretty far, though," Indy pointed out. "If as many people keep turning up with injuries like this--" he jerked his head in recognition of their battle wounds, "--as you said you saw, sooner or later someone's gotta ask questions. Accident-prone or even suicidal wouldn't cover it. Unless they've got enough clout to buy off any social worker or newspaperman who comes nosing around." Which they might well. Another pet theory came back to him. "Assuming, of course, that they're not in bed with whatever government's in charge here already. The Nazis wouldn't come as a big surprise." Indy still wasn't letting them off the hook as the most probable candidate for all this.

Another jerk separated the IV pole from the base. Indy stood up and hefted his prize. It might be as likely to crack over someone's head as to crack it, but it would probably get him as far as the room with the tools tomorrow night. Guard or no guard, for now they'd better head back and try to get a few hours of sleep before morning. "Almost done?" he asked.

"It's not legally necessary for them to report the injuries. Unless someone's keeping good enough track of their inventory to remark on the amount of medical supplies they go through, no one's likely to come looking." Methos frowned down at his box, then stood and paced back to the first aid kits they'd discovered earlier. They weren't weapons, but they would come in handy, and he held out hope of trading some of the supplies for something a little more useful.

"I doubt it's got anything to do with the Nazis." He paused to inspect a roll of bandages, considering remarking on the decades gone by since the regime had been in power, then dismissing it as an argument for a later day. "I've not heard anything but American accents from the staff. If this is a government-run facility, it's probably under the control of one of the American bureaus. Or the Canadians. They sound nearly the same, and I always did think there was something up with those people."

He shut the restocked kit and stood, eying the broken door. He still couldn't imagine it being repaired by daybreak. Not unless it was the only damage done, and that seemed unlikely in light of how many people were desperate to find anything to help them escape. "Done. You know, there is one other possibility that comes to mind."

"There's a theory going around about languages being translated somehow," Indy threw out, not in the mood to give up his own pet theory so easily. He didn't really believe that they were hearing and reading translations either, but you never knew. No sense ruling out possible improbabilities just yet. "If you believe in that kind of thing. If you write more than one language, you might want to contribute to the project on the message board."

Really, he recognized, he just didn't want to believe it was his guys doing this. Sure, the U.S. government wasn't perfect (for one thing, it could stand to start doing actual research on the major, barely-touched archaeological finds it had in its possession), but the idea of an operation like this being run by good old Uncle Sam just strained his credulity. He'd believe it only when he had more substantive evidence than a couple of maybe-Canadian accents.

For now, he picked up his gear and waited for Pierson, ready to offload his own armload into the box or shoulder some of the weight as necessary. "What's that?" he asked.

"I have already," Methos replied. There was no percentage in keeping that particular skill quiet; what sort of translator was incapable of writing in anything but his mother tongue? "I'm not sure I'm willing to think of it as anything other than a theoretical, but there's no harm in contributing. Still, if it was, I'd be asking why, if there's a mechanism able to translate any language into one comprehended by the listener, it would translate some things in a foreign accent?" Slight shifts in stress on the syllables emphasized his own accent, something faintly British. "It's not impossible, but it would be a strange choice."

It took a little reshuffling to distribute the files, kit and flashlight to make sure he could get a hand free quickly. Containers would be another necessity, if a later date brought him scrounging for supplies again. "Paranormal research. Occult dabbling has always been falling into and out of favor with various governments. It might explain why there's so much talk of monsters and other strange phenomena, if they're trying to engineer an environment well-suited to producing the genuine article."

Gaging the other man's reaction, Indy decided he might've been a little too pointed in making note of the fact that he hadn't yet seen any proof that this guy could translate so much as the back of a Cracker Jack box. Carping wasn't going to be any more helpful now than it had been earlier in the night. He'd have to look for Pierson's message tomorrow; might shed a little more light on just who this shady roommate of his was.

In the meantime, he posited, "Actually, it makes perfect sense, if you have the technology to do it. You get the advantages of understanding each other without losing the clues you pick up from someone's accent." Something else occurred to him. "Remember the first response? Native languages and secondary languages work differently; at least, that's the idea. If you're speaking English and it's a first language for both of us, your accent wouldn't get translated out." That sounded more ridiculous the longer it was out of his mouth, both because the language thing was a cockeyed theory to begin with and because it struck Indy that, if it were true, he had no idea whether Pierson was actually speaking in English or not. Some experimentation might be in order here.

At least the next idea was a lot easier to swallow than the first. "You do have a point on that one," he admitted. "I know for a fact the Third Reich is obsessed with the occult, but they're not the only ones. Anybody could be trying to catch up; sort of a paranormal arms race." A sobering thought if he'd ever heard one.

"That's rather the point, actually," Methos replied. "Assuming, for the moment, this hypothetical Babel fish actually exists, anyone speaking English to either of us should have their proper accent. I'm assuming you do, and you apparently hear mine, so that's some support for the theory. If the nurses are speaking English, either they've naturally got an American accent, or they've taken the time to learn to imitate one remarkably well. If they're not speaking English, then the default accent for translation into English is American. It's reasonable to assume we're either in America, or someone's gone to a fair amount of trouble to make it seem that way. Of course, I suppose the technology could just be American and they've never changed the defaults, but I certainly hope that's not the case."

He grimaced at the mention of the Third Reich, quashing once again the urge to remark upon its downfall decades earlier. "There are several organizations delving into that sort of study. Several relatively well known ones, that is. Chances are there will always be some sort of covert conspiracy. It's human nature." He eyed Jones thoughtfully. "I suppose it's safe to assume you've got some experience in that area? I do have to wonder how many people here might say the same."

Indy turned that one over. If he thought about it like a scientist instead of a jingoist, what Pierson was saying was the only semi-plausible theory they'd come up with so far. Occam's razor threatened to slice any other possibilities he could come up with to ribbons. "What's a little more trouble when you've already kidnapped dozens of people? We're talking about the people who get up early every morning to restock the storage closets and replace the doors," he said, more out of residual petulance than actual conviction.

He nodded at Pierson's mention of organizations, thinking of Donovan. "Or wealthy individuals, even. And yeah, guess you could say I've got some experience in that field. But I'm an archaeologist; my work is tangential to the study of the paranormal at best." Indy was showing his hand; time to see if Pierson would do the same. "Do you have a more direct connection?"

Nightshift 37: General Storage

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