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damned_institute2009-11-11 01:16 am
damned-intercom.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2009-11-11 01:16 am
Day 45: Intercom, Noon
The voices of the chattering patients in the library, which was not as quiet as should have been expected, were cut off by the intercom clicking on and Nurse Lydia's voice coming out in its familiar indifferent manner. It was almost as if she and the Head Doctor were splitting up the announcement duties these days.
"As you should all know by now, it is now time for lunch. Tacos and burritos will be served today, and each patient is allowed to choose what will go into their meal. The ingredients are beef, chicken, pork, beans, rice, lettuce, tomatoes, guacamole, cheese, and onions. There are also chips and salsa for side orders. Please enjoy your meal."
It sounded as if she was about to end it there, but then she spoke up again suddenly, having remembered something.
"There will also be a few new patients coming in this shift, so we would like to encourage any of you who have been feeling better to help orient them. Thank you for your cooperation."
And it clicked off for good this time.
"As you should all know by now, it is now time for lunch. Tacos and burritos will be served today, and each patient is allowed to choose what will go into their meal. The ingredients are beef, chicken, pork, beans, rice, lettuce, tomatoes, guacamole, cheese, and onions. There are also chips and salsa for side orders. Please enjoy your meal."
It sounded as if she was about to end it there, but then she spoke up again suddenly, having remembered something.
"There will also be a few new patients coming in this shift, so we would like to encourage any of you who have been feeling better to help orient them. Thank you for your cooperation."
And it clicked off for good this time.
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Jim had a way of driving everyone forward. They'd gone deeper into space than the rest of the fleet. Seen things you hadn't thought were possible, and they all still strove for more. It was what made him the best captain in the fleet and his crew up there with him.
Which also meant they got pushed into a number of situations that McCoy certainly hadn't trained for in med school. McCoy regarded the most recent patient (a one "Miss Miranda Clark, yeoman") with a skeptical eye. She'd been part of the recent landing party to the planet below, an M-class planet named Kaleiya, out far past the edge of explored space. Her duties didn't bring her anywhere near the line of danger that the security teams faced. And yet, the young lady had somehow managed to break several bones in her body... without any sign of exterior trauma. If he hadn't just scanned her, he wouldn't have guessed that she'd had several shattered bones at all.
McCoy had never seen anything like it before. The list of what was wrong was only getting longer. He resumed writing.
--Eighth and tenth ribs broken along Costal groove, protruding into left lung. Snapped left tibia, both femurs cracked. Right wrist broken, right ulna and radius snapped in two places. Manubrium showing stress fractures. Metacarpals and phalanges completely shattered in left hand, brittle in the right. Could be some internal force, he wrote down on a nearby PADD. He added another set of lines, notes, this time more uncertain. Severe vibrations applied to skeletal system? Some form of small, internal explosive force? Specifically controlled and applied disintigration?. At this stage, it was vague guesses at best. With the exception of the left hand - damned explosion of bone right there, nothing he could save without hours of work - the cracks seemed strangely neat. Whatever had damaged them wasn't damaging the surrounding tissue and vessels. How none of it was showing up on the outside was beyond him. How she wasn't dead was anyone's guess.
McCoy frowned down at her. By all rights, the girl should be bleeding to death or suffering multiple organ failures; some of the bones were sticking out right into some very vital organs. Yet there wasn't any sign of life-threatening damage or internal bleeding, just the broken bones. Not even a single bruise or raised flesh. In fact, she hadn't seemed like she was in pain at all. She'd been dazed but conscious. The doctor sedated her anyway. Maybe she didn't feel pain, but he didn't want her aggravating this by waltzing all over the place. Whatever "this" was.
Clark was the first to arrive in sickbay, but from the sounds of it, there'd be more patients. No one had filled him in on what exactly went on down there. They'd brought her in, left her here and promptly hurried off. Christine hadn't heard anything either. Sometimes, McCoy thought irritably, it feels like I'm stuck out of the loop unless I'm with the landing party myself.
He tapped the pen on an edge thoughtfully, mentally running down a list of tests he could do first before he risked treatment. The doctor had just started hitting the more outlandish ones when he was suddenly interrupted. The doors behind him slid open with a hiss. McCoy glanced back. Spock stepped in, a memory tape in hand. There was an oozing green gash on Spock's forehead, but other than that, he looked unruffled. The only greeting he gave was the slightest nod. The Vulcan drew close to the bio-bed, looking over Clark with an air of distant curiosity.
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McCoy delayed. If he could just get an idea of what happened-- "You mind telling me what happened down there?"
"The yeoman went off to take some readings. When we didn't hear her report, Mr. Chekov went to check in on her, and found her trapped in some kind of gaseous substance that seemed to be sentient. It said, I believe, 'I got here first'."
He puzzled that over for a moment. It didn't make it any clearer as to how gas could shatter only bones.
"That doesn't help me, Spock," McCoy said. "I don't know what's wrong yet. Everything about this is medically impossible."
"Medically 'improbable," Spock corrected him. The doctor shot him a sharp look.
"No, it's medically impossible. She should be dead! She's got bones going into several organs, yet there's not a damn sign of any puncturing or internal bleeding."
Spock didn't reply to that or seem to show that he'd even felt McCoy's irritation. He didn't even react as if this was something no one had ever encountered before. The Vulcan just favored the patient with another cool stare. With the way Spock went about things, McCoy doubted even coming up against the Creator Almighty would pull an honest-to-God reaction out of him. Looking at him now, you'd never know he was looking at what was a medical mystery.
Before the doctor could even demand that he remain behind to get treated for the wound, Spock suddenly turned on his heel, heading towards the exit.
He turned to look back at McCoy as the doors slid open. "Then I imagine she would want them put back in their correct places."
-------------
He'd wavered for a few seconds on exactly what to start with, but in the end, he'd decided on dealing with the that left hand first. It was a mess, but he wasn't anywhere near ready to deal with the mystery going on with the organs. For all he knew, he could kill her if he shifted those bones out. He needed to get more information on what happened, what happened to her physically, and what was keeping her from dying on the spot. Information was something he didn't have right now. So far the bio-bed showed her vitals as strong. That could easily change if he jumped in without looking first.
McCoy tried to ignore the sweat beading on his temple, even as he applied the osteo-regenerator. They were already over an hour into the procedure. It was one thing to regrow bone or heal a fracture. It was something else when you had a hand with most of the bone floating around or just plain gone, and not much left to reconstruct from. Judging from the scans, there were some portions of the the phalange ends intact. He could start regrowing the bones there, and slowly guide that growth in the right direction. It was going to be tricky; he was essentially trying to to fit new bone exactly into what might as well be a glove. There wasn't any room for error.
At best, he'd have her hand working as good as new. At worst, she'd have limited mobility, but it was better than the limp flesh resting on the bed right now.
Christine hovered nearby, changing out tools, taking notes and checking vitals. Two more patients came in, although only with a few minor cuts and bruises. Thankfully Christine handled them. He barely noticed them leave; at this rate, he was going to have every pore and wrinkle in Clark's hand stuck in his brain the next several days, after staring at them so long. Several minutes after the last patient left, the doors hissed open again. This time McCoy didn't look up. The doctor's attention was focused on the painstaking work on Clark's hand. He'd judge about a centimeter or less before he had to stop regrowth of the current metacarpal. There was just enough of the proximal phalange intact to go off of next, but it didn't look like there was enough for the intermediate phalange ----
He could tell it was Jim without looking at him. The captain had a certain unmistakable walk. It was the way he carried himself, set him apart from everyone else. Jim drew close. He stopped somewhere at the foot of the bed. McCoy could feel him looking the procedure over.
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"Cultural misunderstanding. Happens to the best of us." The way Jim said it, you'd almost believe that "us" didn't usually include him. He was being suspiciously vague too. "How's she doing?"
McCoy's voice was muffled, head down still as he continue working. "Wish I could tell you. I've almost afraid to even try fixing the more major damage. I could kill her on accident. "
It was pointed, and McCoy got away with it because he was both Jim's friend and because he was the CMO of the ship, saddled with trying to piece one of his crew back together. Either the captain didn't know, or he was keeping something on the down low for some reason. McCoy sincerely doubted it was the first. He'd been down on Kaleiya for awhile now, hours in fact. Surely he'd found something out. Jim had that brisk air about him, the one that said he was onto something and closing fast. Jim only stopped to check on a crew member, his responsibility, but McCoy knew that he hadn't finished diplomacy with the Kaleiyans... which meant that they were at least on atalking level with the natives. Jim had to realize that there was only so much he could risk doing without more details of what had happened down there, and that there wasn't any good reason to withhold anything--
"Well, I won't take any more of your time from Miss Clark then. Keep me posted," Kirk said. The captain was gone, just like that, before either he or Christine could press him for more information. Chapel looked as unamused as he felt.
"Am I ever going to get a straight answer here?" McCoy grumbled.
-------
------
Two hours later, the wall speaker blipped on. Jim's voice came on the line; his voice was distorted, strangely grainy. No doubt due to interference from the nearby ion storm. McCoy had to strain to understand him. The hum from the regenerator didn't make that any easier.
"Bones, I need you planetside in ten minutes. The Kaleiyan Empress is requesting your presence," McCoy didn't even have time to wonder at just how fast Jim had gotten on friendly terms with the ruling power of this planet. Or what a doctor had do with her. Jim went on. "She wants to apologize to you personally for the extra workload her son caused you."
Of all the-- this wasn't the time for this. McCoy trusted Kirk and Spock to have a good handle on the diplomacy end. But right now, his place was in sickbay. He couldn't go and drop everything just like that, just for an apology. He didn't need one. 'Sorry' wasn't going to put all his patient's bones back where they belonged. She could easily just tell him later if she felt she had to, Clark's condition was a lot more serious than anyone's pride here. Testily, McCoy stabbed at the button underneath the speaker. "Look, I don't have time for social calls, I got a patient here who-"
"Doctor M'benga can pick up where you left off," Jim said firmly."And She asked for you specifically. That's an order, Doctor McCoy."
M??
----
Ten minutes later, Scotty greeted him at the transporter room with a jovial grin.
"Going down at this hour, doctor? I didn't know you wanted to see the light show that badly," the engineer's eyes twinkled. Scotty knew full well what he thought of space travel, and space travel with transporters at that, and he couldn't resist reminding McCoy at every opportunity. "The storm's picking up out there, it's turnin' out to be a real beauty."
McCoy gave him a grim smile. He stepped onto the transporter panel. "Don't even remind me."
Scotty chuckled and took his place behind the console. His fingers danced across the settings as he set the coordinates; he treated the computer less like a machine and more like a lady. At least one of us is enjoying this. McCoy took a tiny breath to calm his nerves and busied himself by adjusting the shoulder strap on the tricorder bag. He heard Scotty flick the transporter on.
There was a heart-stopping moment right as he heard the hum of the transporter activating. Something was wrong. McCoy had happened to look up from the tricorder just in time to see Scotty's face suddenly twist with panic and the engineer lunge towards the control panel. In that single, sickening instant in time, McCoy knew it was too late. The transporter was already going off (instinct made his eyes slam shut for a second) and the next moment, the Enterprise was replaced with a brilliantly sunny white room.
"What the devil?" McCoy blurted out. Hurriedly, he patted himself down, frantically checking for anything out of the ordinary. With the way those damned machines went, he'd either just been put down a few miles away or he could die the next second from an appendix trying to function where his lungs used to be.
When he didn't just asphyxiate, go into cardiac arrest or start hemorrhaging out every orifice the next second, McCoy finally let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. Everything, all the bones seemed in order. He couldn't feel any sudden sharp stabs of pain inside, no problems with his vision or breathing. Yet. Two eyes where he'd last had them. Same numbers of fingers. Everything looked like it was working as it should.
He'd rather have an actual scan before he relaxed. McCoy reached for the tricorder at his hip and came up with nothing. He looked down. Not only was the tricorder missing, so were his medical supplies. Even his clothes. The blue science uniform was replaced with some gray fabric, complete with a brilliant yellow face. His eyebrows climbed upwards.
M??
Perhaps it was the smell that caught him off guard first. It was too clean, but an odd sort of clean that he didn't recall from any of the inns he'd stayed at before. Then there was his clothing, a bit of shifting under the covers bringing him to realize that it wasn't his own. It was one thing to move him, another entirely to change his whole outfit. He didn't think he'd been out of it enough for that.
The same moment he was about to sit up, the door opened and shed light over the room, illuminating an unfamiliar dormitory that immediately sent warning signals through Cloud's mind. It was like a hospital, and the woman that entered was no one he recognized. If something had happened to him, he wasn't aware of it. Perhaps he'd entered the Lifestream again, but there were no traces of mako poisoning now. He knew all too well how that felt.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Stratus!" the woman greeted and Cloud made a face.
"Strife."
"Mm?"
"It's Strife. My name." He pointed vaguely at the clipboard in her hand, sure she'd merely read it wrong or had been thinking so much about actual cloud types because of his first name that the mistake had slipped out without her even realizing it.
Whatever reaction he'd been expecting, it wasn't the one she gave. The woman sighed, looking disappointed. Muttering under her breath (Cloud caught something about "so many others" and "getting better") she marked a few notes down before tucking the clipboard under her arm. "Well, it's time for lunch, Alfred. I'm afraid you've slept half the day away already."
The first slip-up had been forgivable. This one was simply ridiculous.
"Look, you must have the wrong person." Cloud slid to the edge of the bed, ignoring the slippers right below his feet. "Or the wrong information sheet. My name is Cloud Strife and there's no reason for me to be in a hospital. I'm fine. Now if you'd return my clothes and tell me where my friends are..."
But the woman shook her head. "No there's been no mistake, Alfred, and I'm sure you're quite physically capable. This is Landel's Institute. We handle patients suffering from... illnesses of the mind."
Cloud froze, his blood instantly running cold. This was wrong beyond reasoning, and there was no way that those close to him had allowed him to be brought here. It was true he could easily have been called unstable in the past, but if they hadn't turned him over to a loony bin when he was handing off weapons of mass destruction to their greatest enemy then there was definitely no reason for them to do so now. He trusted them.
"You remember, don't you?" The woman, a nurse most likely, appeared to be running out of patience. "Now come along or we'll be late. I really don't want to have to get any orderlies involved."
The blond stayed where he was. His gaze strayed down to his shirt, and he pulled it out so that he could get a better look at it. A smiley face. If there were still remnants of Shinra remaining, this might be something they would do. And here he'd thought he'd done them a favor. This was just degrading.
"Please? It's a good lunch. Tacos! I love taco day."
"No." Cloud shook his head. "Not like this. You acknowledge my name and I'll consider it." He'd had enough, after all, of pretending he was somebody else.
The nurse sighed again, more exasperated this time. "Alfred--"
"Cloud."
"Alfred, you know I can't indulge you with this. As your nurse, it's my job to help see to your recovery. That'll be slow goings if you ignore your very identity."
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It was unfortunate for her that he cared very little about her job or what trouble she might get into for going along with the fantasies of one of her patients. He could sit there all day if he had to, even if it was probably best to move along and find his answers more quickly. "I know who I am and I'm not going to put up a fight. You say my name right and I'll go."
The nurse had other patients to deal with, and it was obvious she didn't want to spend any more time arguing with him than she had to. Cloud noticed then the presence of two rather large men outside his door and stiffened. He hadn't meant to fight her, but he'd fight them if they got forceful.
However, she didn't call them in. "...All right. All right! Just this once, Cloud. Hopefully a little talking with some of the others will put you back on the right track." It was indeed quite clear from the tone of her voice that she didn't intend to use the name again. Still, his word was his word. Cloud stood calmly and even slipped his feet into the offered slippers before following her out.
Someone outside that room was bound to have better answers than she did.
M??
He sighed and pulled the sheets closer around him; a protective shell (however flimsy) against the rest of the world. Misato had already tried to get him up once, but Shinji had just stayed quiet until she’d left. He wasn’t that hungry, but maybe some music-
He reached for his bedside table, hand trying to find his SDAT. It came up empty – and something else was wrong. The table just felt wrong. He blinked and carefully shifted the sheets and blanket away from his head. He was staring at a ceiling that seemed strangely familiar. He’d seen ceilings like this before, many times. Usually after nearly getting killed.
“A… hospital?” he murmured to himself, beginning to sit up. He ground to a halt halfway through the movement as a distinctly feminine voice that wasn’t Misato’s spoke up from nearby, “Oh, good, you’re awake.”
Shinji glanced over, eyes wide, to see a nurse checking her clipboard, a smile on her face. As he watched, she began to speak again, “Glad to see you up, Sean. You’ve been sleeping most of the day. It’s lunch-time!”
Shinji blinked, trying to find the right words, “Sean…? Where… where am I?”
The nurse’s expression fell and she shook her head with a sigh, “You’re at Landel’s Institute, Sean. We help people with… mental illnesses.”
Shinji wanted to object. His name wasn’t Sean. He wasn’t crazy. Was he? Instead, he slowly sat up and dangled his legs over the edge of the bed, a bit gratified to find a pair of fuzzy slippers there. He was also surprised to discover his clothes had changed. After taking a moment to examine the smiley face on his chest, he glanced up at the nurse, “…oh.”
The nurse clicked her tongue, “You don’t remember? Oh dear… that’s not good.”
She made a few markings on her clipboard, “Either way, we’re here to help you. Now come along! You don’t want to miss out on lunch, do you?”
Shinji frowned, slowly standing, “I…” He hesitated then shrugged helplessly, “No… I guess not….”
She obviously wasn’t going to let him stay in bed any longer, anyway. As they moved from the room, Shinji’s mind spun. Where was Landel’s? Was everything he remembered really just a lie? How had he gotten here? Maybe he would find answers.
Maybe.
no subject
But it was too quiet.
Instantly, Bella’s eyes snapped open.
For a moment, she thought maybe she was seeing things, or that her eyes were unfocused. Reaching up her hands, she rubbed her eyes with her palms and blinked once, twice, three times before giving the room a second glance. Sadly, the view she saw didn’t change.
What? Instantly she was tense, her heart beating wildly. Where was she? How did she get to be in such a random place? And, upon looking down, caused yet another question to enter her already confusion ridden mind – who had changed her clothes? And where had all of her other clothes gone?
For a moment, her eyes lingered on her left hand, noting that nothing was sitting on any of her fingers.
Of course, she told herself, They took my clothes too … who took them?
Bella clutched tightly onto the scratchy sheets, a sudden, terrifying realization hitting her. The Volturi had seen her – still human – back in the clearing … and they had promised to come back and check on her …
Had they kidnapped her because they were too late?
She didn’t have time to finish that thought, because suddenly the door in front of her opened, and in walked a … nurse? Bella froze, confusion coloring her face. Where the hell was she that had a nurse? Was she in some kind of secret Volturi hideaway? … But if so, then why would there be nurses around if she was going to die anyway?
… Unless it was all a trap –
“Good morning, Kate!” the nurse said, smiling a little too cheerfully for Bella. Frowning, she opened her mouth to speak, but was instantly silenced when the nurse continued speaking. “You’re missing breakfast, you know! You slept straight through the night – fancy that! I suppose those sleeping pills worked like a charm for you, huh?”
Bella continued to stare, her mouth agape as she tried to process exactly what the nurse was talking about. “Hold on,” she said, lifting a single hand, “Kate? My name is not Kate. I mean I’ve been called nicknames before but Kate doesn’t even rhyme with Isabella, so-”
“Oh, Kate,” the nurse said, giving her a small smile before she moved over towards the bed. To her surprise, the nurse sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled towards her … a pity smile. “Don’t you remember? You’re in Landel’s – your father and mother put you in here after the tragic event you went through.”
“Tragic event?” Bella parroted, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
The nurse smiled and patted the blanket over her leg. “No matter, darling. We can talk about that later. For now, we might as well get you something to eat, hm? You’re so pale and small – we can’t get you sick, now can we? Come on, it’s tacos this morning, a special treat!”
Bella continued to frown, her legs unwilling to move from the bed. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
The nurse reached the door and opened it, turning back towards Bella with a smile. “Everything shall be explained soon, Kate. Now come on and let’s go get you some lunch.”
There was no pushing it, Bella could tell. She could see outside the door a strong looking male nurse walk past … and she knew she couldn’t force it. “Alright,” she said, sliding off of the bed and towards the smiling nurse, following after her with one last fearful look into her room.
no subject
The two of them – Ashton and Celine, swordsman and symbologist – had spent the day carelessly, shopping for this and that. And he'd come back with all sorts of things, though he'd probably spent a little too much fol on that rainbow-diamond necklace for himself, and they'd charged him a ridiculous amount for the scarf he'd bought Celine for their journeys in the mountains. Of course, whether or not she would actually wear it was a coin flip. Celine was very particular with what she would wear and what she wouldn't. He understood her pride as a Marze symbologist, and that she wouldn't want to detract from her 'spell efficacasy,' or whatever her excuse was for not wearing things that people bought her...
Ashton just hoped that she'd like it. She probably wouldn't, considering his poor taste, but he liked to do nice things for his friends. If anything, she might be a little happy. And that would be enough to consider it a success!
So he'd settled into bed at the inn that night with a sheepish smile on his face. He'd wrapped up the scarf in a little bit of brown paper, and tied it up with two ribbons, red and blue. Creepy and Weepy had insisted that he use both colors, which was... fine, he supposed. It meant it was from the both of them, as well. And Ashton certainly wasn't going to disagree. He was fine without frostbite on his ears, or singed bangs.
They were a team by now. Creepy and Weepy were as important to him as Claude, or Rena, or Celine... as everyone. They were his friends, and Celine would be happy to get a gift from the one-man-two-dragon trio. So, with warm thoughts in mind, he drifted off to sleep.
And when Ashton woke up...
…He was on his back.
….
...He was on his back!!
Temporarily pushing down the imminent panic that flooded his brain, he sat straight up in bed. No. No matter how comfortable he was on his back, and how he actually felt kind of, um, well-rested and comfortable, like he used to feel before he was forced to sleep on his side or stomach, it meant that Creepy and Weepy were gone, and this was a big problem. Huge problem. Extremely problematic problem.
Ashton put his head in his hands dramatically. Creepy and Weepy... He'd just told them last night how important they were to him and everything! They hadn't – hadn't left him, had they? No, no. They were too flashy not to leave without saying some kind of goodbye, or whining about how they'd miss picking on him, or... something.
When he looked down, he wasn't wearing his pajamas, or his clothes, or anything he'd seen before. Just some soft grey material with a huge smiley face on the front. No jewelry, no nothing. Ugh...
Hadn't they already taken care of the ultimate evil in the universe? Then who had put him here, wearing strange pajamas in an unfamiliar room... without his dragons? There was a bad feeling pitting up in his stomach. He hoped his scaly friends were okay, but what could he do at this point? Ashton was just a swordsman, whose main ability was... swordsmanship, if anything. And he'd already convinced himself that he was nothing without his friends, which was pretty much true.
Nothing if not Ashton Anchors, the king of... finding things! Yesss! Hanging out with nosy dragons and a reputed treasure hunter might pay off!
Hopping up with a sort of second wind, he tried the door first. Locked, and there didn't seem to be a way to pick it or get out. No windows in here, either. Trying not to feel a little bit claustrophobic, he turned away from the obviously closed door.
no subject
Also, there was a strange, long, soft-looking lump in the other bed. A... person? He walked over to the lump, and was about to prod it experimentally, when the door opened. Ashton spun around, a little surprised. If he'd had his swords, he might think about drawing them. Instead, his muscles just tensed, ready for fight-or-flight.
...It was a woman. A young woman, with a nurse's outfit on. Possibly a nurse. Ashton relaxed a little bit.
“Good afternoon, Paul! You're up just in time for lunch.”
Ashton stared at her for a second. What was the woman trying to say? … Was she holding a clipboard in her hand? Either way, it was certain that she had the wrong person. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not Paul.”
The nurse made a clicking sound with her teeth, then wrote something down. “Ah, the doctors were right. It's such a shame that you've had to come back to us, Paul, but we'll fix you up again... You don't remember being here before?”
He looked down, then clasped his hands in front of him. “No, I don't. Is there something... wrong? And, like I said, I'm not Paul. My name is Ashton. Ashton Anchors...?” He doubted she knew the name, but it was worth throwing out anyway.
She sighed, explaining. “This may come as a shock to you, but you've been living in a delusional world. Your name isn't Ashton Anchors, hon... it's Paul Pritchett. Here at Landel's Institute, we help you remember your real life.”
Ashton didn't want to hear any of this. Was everything that he'd remembered a lie? Of course not! He had very important memories that were not fake! Not one bit! If he was crazy, he'd do whatever he could to not be crazy, of course. But he wasn't crazy, right?
“Um, what about my dragons?” His question was a little shaky. but he had to have it answered.
But the look on the nurse's face told him everything he needed to know. Not judgment, so much - more something like pity. “You don't have dragons, Paul. Dragons don't exist.”
Ashton (Paul?) swallowed hard, and his shoulders sank a couple of inches. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't. He didn't want to believe that Creepy and Weepy didn't exist. Dragons had always existed! What kind of world was a world without dragons?
“...Oh.”
“Now, Paul, I'm sorry that you've had to come back here – but we'll get you fixed up. For now, how about some lunch, hm? We've got tacos today!”
...Tacos? Ashton wasn't sure if he knew what tacos were, but he guessed he'd go along with her. It seemed like it was the only way out of here, and maybe he could find someone else in his predicament. What had she meant when she said he'd been here before?
And the smiley face that he stared down at as she led him through the halls? It was no longer friendly – instead, it seemed to jeer at him, laughing mercilessly. Something like “Don't you just love your luck, Ashton Anchooors?” or “Sorry, you're stuck with me noooow!”
Yeah...
This was his luck.
M??
I have to be the one who ends it, he thought. It was partly an affirmation and partly a silent challenge. Not just because losing this race to Near was unthinkable, but because who else could do it? The fake L and the Japanese police were laughable, and the SPK would always be hamstrung by Near's passivity. No one else on earth knew enough, could be ruthless enough, wanted it as badly.
He leaned his head back against the wall, and tried to ignore the throbbing ache of the burn. It hadn't yet been two weeks since the explosion, but painkillers were an idea even more distasteful than sleep.
He had information about the notebook he was certain Near lacked, and he didn't believe Sidoh's story for one second, though he believed the shinigami hadn't known he was feeding them lies. The fake rules were too specific, too tailor-made for Kira to exploit. Mello could dole out the revelation that they were fake at all in exchange for the photo, and save the specifics for later, if he needed something else. He didn't intend to, but knowing more than Near never hurt.
It still rankled that Near had obviously guessed Mello would pick Lidner to contact, all the more so because Mello thought of the little wanker deciding to let him do it. Two can play that game. He's using me, I'll use him. And he won't expect this move. He'd send someone from the NPA, surprise Near. It would have to be Mogi. Soichiro Yagami was gone, and Mello still felt a twinge when he thought of that--of course it wasn't conscience, or anything so cheesy, but it had all gone so sideways from what Mello meant to have happened, and it was a fucking shame to not have a known quantity to deal with anymore. And that Matsuda, they had him playing L. Mello didn't fully believe that, but there had to be a reason they wanted him to.
When Hal gets home, he told himself, you'll be ready. Despite his determination to stay awake and alert, his thoughts were becoming disconnected. Thinking on your feet, that's what makes you better... much, much better... And he closed his eyes with that mantra still ringing in his mind.
He knew before he opened them again that he wasn't in Hal's bathroom anymore.
He was curled up on a mattress instead of the floor, with a pillow against his face instead of cold tile. His clothes felt loose and wrong: the jacket, the leather vest and pants, were gone, replaced by something soft. He groped for his gun in the bedclothes and came up empty. "Fuck."
His immediate thought was Near, of course. Did Hal sell me out? No, if she meant to, she would've done it already, not given me a chance to heal up some.
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The room wasn't familiar, but something about it instantly called to mind a place Mello hadn't thought about in years, the state-run orphanage in Ljubljana. After a moment, he realized the same vaguely institutional scent, bleach and lemon, pervaded this place. The horrible clothes added insult to injury. Mello plucked at them, holding the t-shirt away from his body with distaste. Gray, with a smiley face.
"You have got to be shitting me," he said, certain the room was bugged, and furious enough not to care.
This was bad. Institutions meant paper trails, and he didn't remember getting here. The Morgan Kielty ID was the only one he ever had on him these days, but they'd taken his gun, they could've taken a fucking picture of him...
He had to get out.
He got up, but before he reached the door, it opened, and a nurse stepped in, carrying a clipboard. Mello crossed his arms and glowered at her.
"Michael, you're awake. Good," she said, with nauseating brisk cheer.
"You've got the wrong guy, lady. I'm Morgan."
She made a "tch" sound, and Mello dialed up the glare even before she glanced at the clipboard and went on. "You're suffering from amnesia... hm, among other things. This is Landel's. You're here to get better."
He ticked them off on his fingers. "Narcissism, amorality, superiority complex, or inferiority complex, or both, if you're amused by paradoxes. Is that what your little notes say? Your notes are bullshit. You can't hold me here. I'm an American citizen." This was a lie, but one his ID backed up.
"You're very unwell," she said, seriously. "You've forgotten all the progress you made before." Then, like someone had flipped a switch, she brightened. "But it's time for lunch. You're bound to feel better after tacos."
Before? "Who put you up to this?" Mello demanded, abandoning the tactic that was getting him nowhere fast. There was no fucking way this was Kira's doing; he'd be dead already. Probably Mafia, and after he'd left LA wide open for them, the ungrateful bastards. "Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it."
The nurse sighed. "Michael, the sooner you accept that you need to be here, the sooner we can get back to helping you."
Mello was sure he could take her down, but then what? He was god only knew where, with no weapon, no phone, no wallet, not even real fucking shoes. He felt normal, physically, but they had to have drugged him to get him here. And this business about having been here before... he didn't like any of the possible explanations one bit. If these people were in the habit of kidnapping--and the nurse certainly seemed to have done this little routine more than once--they'd be prepared for physical resistance. Better to play along, stay sharp, and get more information before getting branded right off as a flight risk. He smiled, and didn't bother trying to make it convincing. "All right. Tell me all about... Landel's, was it?"
The appearance of compliance seemed to be good enough for her. "Wonderful. We're going to get along just fine this time. Now, follow me."
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Then the pieces began coming together. Keiichi remembering. Rena, and Mion, and Shion...but more than remembering. Things had begun to actually change: the card game changing to another game. Keiichi giving Mion the doll. Rena talking to Mion...the little things that showed her that Fate could be changed. It had come to a head when the entire village banded together to save Satoko from her uncle. The Sonozaki family had even come to her aid - that was more impressive than the rest of the village, simply because it was their power that let the others feel free to act. That time, Rika thought that was it; they had faced so many hurdles, and she had tried to protect herself. It had to be the last Hinamizawa...
It wasn't, but it was easier to accept her fate that time. It had led to knowing who the mastermind behind it all was, and that had been one of the last two conditions that needed to be cleared. The other...she smiled at the sky. Thank you for believing, Hanyuu. That had been the final piece needed to make the miracle happen, and to break that fate. Rika remembered waking that morning, thinking it had to be a dream...but it wasn't. It wasn't, and the past two months had been happy.
Rika giggled, then, speeding up on her bike and bumping against Satoko. She felt like being a bit reckless - what could go wrong? Her friend laughed and gave chase, then everyone else followed suit. She laughed, weaving in front of them all. She didn't hear her friends' cries grow more panicked, ignored Hanyuu's voice in her ear telling her to be careful...
The truck driver wasn't able to stop in time, and neither was she. They collided in a loud squeal...
---
"Rachel? Wake up, dear."
Rika blinked, staring up at the ceiling. She had expected a hospital bed, after the crash. But...this wasn't like any hospital she had seen before, and, well, to be honest, she had expected a lot more tubes and things. Those, and bandages. She didn't seem to have a scratch on her. That fazed her more than the unfamiliar name did.
"W-where am I? Where is everyone else?" She had to admit, she was disappointed that everyone wasn't at her side...and where was Irie-sensei? Surely he would be there?
"Rachel, you're in Landel's Institute, dear...and come on. You don't want to miss lunch, right?"
Rika stared at the nurse in disbelief. Hanyuu? Hanyuu. Where are you? No answer. She had to swallow a wave of panic. Where was she, and why couldn't she contact Hanyuu? This couldn't be good. Had she managed to somehow wind up in a completely different kakera? That had to be the case, but...how?
She finally stood, following her in thoughtful silence.
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