damned_institute | Day 45: Intercom, Afternoon

"Hm!" The Head Doctor gave a small, thoughtful exclamation just after the intercom jingle came on. "It's only afternoon and yet I'm already feeling a bit tired. I suppose it's because I had such a busy night last night. Some rare occurrences that caused a great deal of paperwork, I can assure you..."

He trailed off, as if realizing he'd let some of his Nighttime fun slip into his Daytime facade. He cleared his throat and continued.

"In any case, it only seems natural that such a well-behaved patient body should be rewarded by some very fun activities in the Game Room, doesn't it? Ha ha ha... Remember that today is a day that should be celebrated, not frowned upon, and those of you who are still struggling should be happy for your fellow patients instead of trying to dissuade their progress.

"But now I'm simply being unfair, aren't I? Yes, yes, we all have to go at our own paces, though I am sure some of you will soon be making your way out of the Institute and perhaps be making some more room for the very new batch of patients that has already begun to join us.

"In any case, I've rambled on for quite long enough, haven't I? Enjoy your fun and I'll be back to speak with you later!"

The intercom clicked off.

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Roxas’s return to consciousness was violent; he ripped through the covers, tearing away from the bed, scattering a handful of pens from a desk by his side. Scouring through the drawers, he looked for something – anything! – to write on.

His saving grace was a little notebook with the word “Journal” imprinted in black on its gray cover. Choking one of the pens that had rolled near his foot, he etched a name onto the paper.
The word was an arrangement of ink scars haphazardly forming letters. The ink stained the pages, smearing when his finger touched the tip of the last line. It didn’t matter that it was messy, a wound driven into the paper. He had remembered the name just long enough to write it.

But he struggled to remember her. The clock tower was perfect – he could see the golden shine to its roof, the swirling designs of rock right along the eave where their feet would swing above the town.

Twilight Town.

He could see Axel’s flame-red hair, a testament to his element, moving stiffly in the cool breeze. He could remember the taste of the sea-salt ice cream – the icing on the cake – the sweet-salt taste and how it would always melt on his gloves because he tended to talk too much sometimes. And he could remember his elbow would be propped up on a third shoulder –

He was as rough with the pen as he drew the haphazard stick figurine as he had been with the letters. A shock of black hair that hung in front of… in front of…

Were her eyes green? Blue? Red?

Blue sounded like the closest choice. He wrote the word in question with a question mark at the end, next to a blank face. Roxas sighed, frustrated, throwing the journal away from him. It slid under the second bed in the room, clunking against the wall.

White was a familiar color; it stained the majority of The World That Never Was. At first, he didn’t even notice that this wasn’t his white. It didn’t have the gray edges; the swirls of carved architecture he always doubted were necessary. But white hadn’t been the color he had last seen – he had been outside of that skyscraper, the sky above dark and the only light coming from the yellow-tinted windows of the building. He had been fighting the blindfolded boy, the one who had gotten in his way – stopped him from stopping Xemnas! –

He had been choked, the strength squeezed out of him. The Heartless’s – he had only guessed that was what that huge, hulking black thing that acted as the guy’s shadow was – hands had been cold and dug into his skin. With his strength had gone his memories of her – “Xion. It’s hard to even remember her name, isn’t it?” – her form vanishing from the clock tower as the two – the three of them joked.

The blond picked himself off of the floor only after scrounging around under that bed to pick the journal up. Hugging it close to his chest, he walked past the beds; the dresser with its drawer guts hanging out in a messy pile; and he placed two fingers against the cold door to the room. This wasn’t his room, though the atmosphere was just as cold. This was no part of the World that he had ever seen. It even smelled different – a bitter-edged smell that made his nose hurt.

Roxas thought he heard a sigh of relief, though he knew he hadn’t opened his mouth. Don’t worry, a small little feeling told him. Don’t worry, it sighed.

And he found that he couldn’t.

The door suddenly cracked open under his fingers. Clearly, old habits died hard - the Nobody had jumped back to the furthest wall from the opening, holding both arms out at his sides -

- To have nothing appear.

"Good afternoon, Keanu!" the nurse greeted cheerfully as Roxas stared at his hands, saying, "Huh?"

Nothing had appeared. He couldn't feel the Keyblades. They had always had an almost physical presence, even when he wasn't wielding them... was what happened to Xion (he remembered!) happening to him? That didn't make sense.

This wasn't the World That Never Was. It wasn't a world he recognized. And though it shouldn't matter that he was interacting with a local - the Organization was long behind him, and so were their rules - he was hesitant to respond to the woman.

"I'm Roxas," he finally decided, staring hard at the woman's face. It dropped for a moment, then her smile appeared as if to hide her momentary disappointment.

"Well, that's why you're here," she sighed to herself, bringing a clipboard up under her nose, making a short dot with the pencil she was carrying. "If you'd follow me, Keanu, I'll take you to the sun room."

Without much choice, Roxas followed the woman, a thousand questions all screaming in his head. The dark corridor that dropped him here had to be somewhere nearby...

Day 45: Intercom, Afternoon

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