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damned_institute2009-12-12 07:55 am
damned-intercom.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2009-12-12 07:55 am
Day 46: Intercom, Dawn
As daylight came upon Landel's Institute, it was through an uncharacteristically grey sky, leaving the building without the usual sunny, blinding brightness that came in through the windows of many of its larger rooms. The flourescent lights, however, were still in full effect, as was the Head Doctor's cheery voice as he began speaking over the intercom.
"Good morning, everyone, and I hope you slept well! Today should be a very rewarding day for those of you who are assigned to their weekly therapy sessions – and, of course, I'm sure the rest of you can also be very productive on your own! You might see some new faces during therapy, but not to worry – each one of them has been certified personally by myself.
"In any case, that won't happen until second shift, right? Hmmhmm, right. For now, what you should worry about – or rather, look forward to – is a delightful breakfast of piping hot Belgian waffles topped with your choice of syrup, butter, powdered sugar, whipped cream, or assorted fresh fruits. On the side are sausage patties, scrambled eggs, and tater tots; our salad bar is, of course, always open, and our usual assortment of drinks is readily available.
"I hope you enjoy the meal and, though it seems that forecasts today predict rain, we're lucky that today will be strictly indoors, hmm? Yes, yes... Well, I'll speak to you all later!"
The intercom clicked off.
"Good morning, everyone, and I hope you slept well! Today should be a very rewarding day for those of you who are assigned to their weekly therapy sessions – and, of course, I'm sure the rest of you can also be very productive on your own! You might see some new faces during therapy, but not to worry – each one of them has been certified personally by myself.
"In any case, that won't happen until second shift, right? Hmmhmm, right. For now, what you should worry about – or rather, look forward to – is a delightful breakfast of piping hot Belgian waffles topped with your choice of syrup, butter, powdered sugar, whipped cream, or assorted fresh fruits. On the side are sausage patties, scrambled eggs, and tater tots; our salad bar is, of course, always open, and our usual assortment of drinks is readily available.
"I hope you enjoy the meal and, though it seems that forecasts today predict rain, we're lucky that today will be strictly indoors, hmm? Yes, yes... Well, I'll speak to you all later!"
The intercom clicked off.
M57
Still, he'd gotten him far enough, and he had faith that his friend would make it the rest of the way. That's what he expected from his legacy, after all. Cloud just had to think a little more of himself and what he was capable of, and he'd go far. Zack knew it.
It was sad to be leaving so many people behind—he'd wanted to see her, wanted to let her know that he'd gotten at least one of her letters—and yet he got to die a hero. He got to die for a reason, and that was better than what he could say for some of his dearest friends. Besides, after taking the lives of so many people who he truly cared about, it only seemed fitting that his death would be bloody.
In a way, though, death was one of the only ways to be free. He would have loved to become a mercenary with Cloud, would have loved to spend more time with Aerith and make more of her tiny wishes come true, but...
He was pretty sure he counted as a hero now, and that was something.
- - -
The serenity and peacefulness that should have come with one's final rest was shattered when Zack felt his eyes opening once again. While his head felt foggy for a few seconds, SOLDIER instinct forced him to wake up completely and get off of whatever surface he was on.
He looked back at the bed once he was standing and frowned down at it. This place, he realized, wasn't familiar at all. Placing his hands on his hips, the SOLDIER (or was it ex-SOLDIER now?) tried to piece together how this was even possible. His hands quickly scoped over his chest and abdomen and found no sign of the bullet wounds that had riddled his whole body in those final moments.
Weird. Really weird. Noticing the bizarre shirt he was wearing, Zack lifted it up to check for scars and found that he was as clean as he'd been before that last stand.
Was this the Lifestream? He'd expected a lot more green and a lot less happy-face shirts, but it wasn't like anyone knew what the afterlife was really like, so how could he really say? A lot of really good Curaga spells could have accounted for his good physical state, but he was ninety-nine percent certain that he'd died on the cliffs of Midgar.
It was only after giving the room a better look that he realized he wasn't alone (he needed to be sharper! A First Class always had to be ready), but it looked like his company was fast asleep. While he wasn't sure the stranger would have any better idea of what was going on than he did, Zack still strode over to give the guy (and his weird hair) a few hard shakes.
That didn't work, which probably meant he was sedated—which added to a theory that had been churning around in Zack's head since he'd woken up. This had to be a Shin-Ra facility. They were the ones who had taken them down, so chances were they'd dragged him back to headquarters and messed with him until he started breathing again. Because really, the afterlife idea wasn't holding up too well.
Gritting his teeth (hadn't they done enough with him already?), Zack went over and tried the door just to see. Realizing it was locked, he grunted in frustration and was about to send a sharp kick at the handle when it started to open.
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"Good morning!" the woman cheerfully said as she let herself into the room, a clipboard held tightly in her arms as she regarded him. "Mr. Findlay, correct?"
"Huh?" Zack gaped at her for a second before he realized that she was asking his name. "Nah, it's..."
But he stopped himself before he actually said anything. Now that he was a fugitive, maybe it was for the best that people didn't know who he was. He was kind of surprised that the woman didn't recognize him, but maybe this was all some kind of weird setup. He didn't know why Shin-Ra would try to act like he was anyone other than Zack, but he knew he had to be careful.
"Nevermind," he said after a pause. "Mind telling me where I am?"
"Of course! You're in Landel's Institute, and we're here to monitor your mental health, Mr. Findlay," the nurse responded, completely polite. "Now if you'll come with me, you can meet the other patients and have a nice breakfast. Today is waffle day!"
Institute, mental health, other patients—well, none of that sounded good. He was beyond confused at this point, but he really doubted this woman was going to tell him anything about how or why he was alive. He knew he'd done his share of crazy things in the past, but he didn't think they constituted getting institutionalized.
There was one other huge concern that was weighing down on him, and that was Cloud. Still, he wasn't going to be able to locate his friend until he figured out where he was, and how he could get out. He already got the feeling it wasn't going to be easy, but the first step was getting out of this room. If it meant going along with the nurse and heading out to breakfast, then Zack would just have to play along for now.
He didn't intend on sticking around, though. Four years in a lab was long enough. If he'd really been brought back to life, then he was going to find that freedom.
"Waffles sound great!" he finally announced with a nod, and the nurse was eager to lead him out of the room after that.
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M70
He had tucked himself inconspicuously into the corner of his seat in the back of the bus, his posture straight and graceful, his hands resting daintily in his lap as he readied himself for what was sure to be a long and less than comfortable ride. Not that he was complaining – the onsen was far away and nestled in the woods, so it made perfect sense that the road would be bumpy. And there was nothing the driver could do about the length drive.
It was selfish of him to even think that the ride would be unpleasant, when everyone was doing their best to provide his useless self with transportation to his home. He didn’t deserve to be inside this vehicle, to force the others inside it to share their space with him, to force the considerate and hard working public servant at the wheel to waste his efforts on such a lowly individual. Even walking home, all the way home, shuffling through the woods in his immaculate kimono of violet silk and his geta, would be too good for him.
Yes, walking home, that was what he should do. He should ask that the bus be stopped right now and walk the rest of the way home, if he—
Just as his frantic inner monologue inspired him to stand, tears already in his eyes, apology ready to flow from his open mouth, the bus made a sharp turn. The young man waved his arms to catch his balance, his kimono sleeves flapping like the wings of a clumsy bird caught in a sudden updraft – and somehow he managed to make a sound to match. Now the center of attention and unable to find his footing, he careened across the cabin, his head connecting solidly with the opposite wall.
“…o-ow…”
The murmurs of “Are you alright, ma’am? Er…sir?” seemed to echo from far away as the Sohma slumped into the aisle, and before he could even apologize for causing them concern with his endless list of personal short-comings, he was blissfully unconscious.
---
Ritsu was too deeply asleep to understand the words spoken over the intercom, but the noise was enough to rouse him from his slumber. He yawned softly, turning his head into the pillow as though hiding from the very prospect of leaving his bed.
Wait…bed? At home or when visiting Shigure-niisan he always slept on a simple futon…why would he be on a bed?
His eyes snapped open as realization hit him – this must be a hospital. He had hit his head, due to his selfish clumsiness, which had caused a group of strangers to worry enough that they had convinced the bus driver to diverge from his important schedule and take him to a hospital, where he further inconvenienced the staff by being unconscious and unable to answer their questions, and incurred a medical bill which would then be a bother to his family, and—
He shot out of bed with a sob, a look of abject horror already twisting his pretty face. “I’M SO SO—“
Re: M70
Ritsu reached up to touch his head in confusion, and found that, not only was there no bandage or dressing of any kind…but it didn’t even hurt. He was sure a collision like that would at least leave a goose-egg – had he been unconscious so long that it had had time to heal? The prospect of causing so much trouble to others made his lip quiver, and yet it didn’t seem possible…he was sure he’d be hooked up to more equipment had he done something so dramatic as to fall into a coma.
Brow furrowed in confusion, he moved to sit back down on the bed, an act which was far easier than it would have been in his usual kimono, or even a flimsy hospital gown. He stared down at his attire with dismay, noting the t-shirt and its strangely unnerving smiley face, and more importantly the plain sweatpants, which had replaced his delicate kimono. He squirmed uncomfortably, a blush creeping across his pale cheeks – he would have much preferred a skirt of some sort…pants, unisex nowadays or not, were not as reassuring to him as more blatantly female clothing.
Just as he was contemplating the possibility that this was simply a strange dream, and thinking it might be a good idea to crawl back into bed so he could wake up on the other side of consciousness, the door opened. A nurse, smiling pleasantly and with clipboard in hand, walked in soon after.
“Oh, Ryan, you’re already awake! Good.”
Ryan?
She was looking at Ritsu, or at least it seemed that way. He stood, quickly turning to check if there was anyone behind him – there obviously wasn’t.
“U…um, excuse me, but…Ryan?” His voice had reverted back to its gentle, soft tone, his hands clasped humbly in front of him, though it looked and felt rather odd to do so, without his kimono.
She frowned at his question, which, of course, caused him to have a small heart-attack at the prospect of disappointing or angering this perfect stranger in some way.
“Yes, Ryan. Ryan Summers. Your name.”
Even Ritsu Sohma, despite his tendency to agree to anything if it meant he could avoid upsetting someone even slightly, couldn’t go with the flow on this one. Something very strange was going on here.
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As furious as he was, though, Obito was still a ninja, so the glaring fact that he was no longer in a forest but in some kind of white room was not lost on him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, careful not to let emotion cause him to miss any details or make mistakes--asshole. Asshole asshole asshole. After Obito got out of here and saved Rin, he was going to--
"Shut up!" Obito said, shaking his head firmly, then, once his head was clear, trying to dispel whatever genjutsu must be at use here. Dispelling genjutsu had never been his forte, but this time he couldn't even sense its presence. In fact, he couldn't sense chakra at all. Obito considered this, anger rapidly fading as the seriousness of the situation made itself clear. This wasn't a spell he could break, and he had no ability to use jutsu. That didn't change facts, however: Rin was still out there somewhere, and since Kakashi had abandoned them, Obito was the only one who could save her. If it was an unconventional illusion, there had to be an unconventional way to break it, and if he'd been knocked unconscious and brought somewhere, there had to be an exit. Like a doorway. Like that doorway right over there.
Of course, he hadn't been left with any weapons. Even his clothes had changed to a drab grey. He started searching for something to fight with, careful not to rush into anything and, to be honest, a little scared about the prospect of finding out what was behind that door even with weapons. The only vaguely useful things he'd turned up by the time the knob clicked were a pack of pens and a flashlight, but he readied himself regardless. This was not Konoha, whoever entered was obviously an enemy, and if he went and got himself killed, he wouldn't be very much use to anybody. So, he quickly took a place near the hinges, hoping to use the door as some kind of shield, and when it opened, he swung the flashlight at whoever entered.
Obito had never been so quickly disarmed, and unfortunately, Obito had been disarmed a good number of times. This wasn't training, however, nor was the rest of his team there to back him up. "Let go of me!" he yelled.
"You won't be needing that in the daytime," a woman said far too kindly, one hand around his wrist while a second person yanked away the heavy plastic light. "It's only for emergencies. Come out for breakfast, Eddie. You'll feel better once you've made some friends."
He would not feel better once he'd made some friends. He'd feel better once he'd gotten his friend back. Obito again yanked away again, twisting this time, but the woman must have been trained in some kind of taijutsu he wasn't used to, because he wasn't free until she'd released him. He took a step back, wary and biting his lip, very much not wanting to follow her through the doorway but very much realizing that he had to. "What have you done with Rin?" he demanded (demanded might not have been the right word for something that contained a hint of a waver, but in his mind, demanded seemed appropriate).
"Hmm?" the woman said as the second person returned the flashlight to his drawer. Luckily, he had a few pens in his pocket, but this wasn't the place for close-range fighting. "There's no one here by that name."
There was no one here named Eddie, either, so that wasn't much to go by.
"Okay," he said, gritting his teeth and glaring at her as fearlessly as possible, even if it wasn't terribly convincing. "Okay. Take me to wherever this breakfast stuff is."
[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/771306.html?thread=62813930#t62813930)]
M28 1/2
Kanone’s face barely moved as his hand released the tea cup he’d been holding. He rushed the other boy, claiming Mizushiro Hizumi’s gun, turning it on its owner. This was an interesting development. Nothing much had happened since he’d been brought to this facility, kept under ever-watching eyes. He was one of the Blade Children and, as such, considered to be a danger to all of humanity at worst, misunderstood at best. At least in these circumstances.
He kept the gun steady on his opponent, but didn’t shoot. The other boy must have had some reason for being here. Some reason for asking that Kanone be willing to die for him, and while it might be true that curiosity killed the cat, Kanone was curious. He narrowed his eyes as Hizumi causally seated himself, as if for a chat among friends, and, with a mocking smile, asked that Kanone sit as well.
Hizumi looked slightly irritated at having a gun jabbed against his temple, but that mocking smile returned all too quickly for Kanone’s liking. “I have Kiyotaka’s permission to kill you.”
Kanone went limp and Hizumi brushed the gun away from his head, continuing to talk about Kanone’s impending death in an almost apologetic fashion. And Kanone would die at Hizumi’s hand. He understood that, at least, even if he couldn’t quite comprehend why. After all, Kiyotaka’s – God’s – word was law. He’d seen fit to give the Blade Children a second chance, and if he saw fit to take that away from one or more of them…
Kanone let Hizumi reclaim the gun. The weight of what he’d been told was almost a physical burden and Kanone rested against a nearby end table before straightening once more. Perhaps Hizumi was right and there was no hope left for them. Maybe they were all just getting played by Kiyotaka, but if Ayumu was Kiyotaka’s equal in any way, then he was still the only one alive who could provide hope for the Blade Children. And if there was even the slightest possibility that they might still be saved, Kanone would not – could not – die in defeat.
And so Kanone smiled softly at Hizumi. He had wanted to die, after all, so at least his death would serve some purpose. It wouldn’t, he was certain, bring Ayumu-kun to the despair that Hizumi seemed to desire. His death would provide Ayumu with what he needed to be able to push onward – would be meaningful. Hizumi glared at Kanone’s outward calm and he fought to steady his shaking hands as Kanone turned his gaze skyward. “Take it, Ayumu. This is your hope.” His last words were addressed to the camera in the corner of the room. And then Hizumi shot him. There was a brief pain, followed by nothingness.
------
Kanone stirred, opening his eyes slightly and blinked up at the white ceiling. His eyes widened as he bolted upright, his hands running over his chest, searching for the bullet wounds and finding a yellow smiley face instead. Had he survived then? He glanced around the room, taking everything in, including his interesting new clothing choice. But there where other, more important, questions than why was he dressed in such odd attire. Had the watchers taken it upon themselves to heal his injuries and move him to a different facility?
M28 2/2
The teenager stretched experimentally, waiting for the bullet wounds that should still be there to start acting up. Nothing. Kanone frowned, pulled the sheets back, and swung out of bed with practiced ease – and no pain. He peeked under his pillow, discovering that he’d been armed with a flashlight. Disappointing. He would have preferred a gun, but he supposed that beggars really couldn’t be choosers. Kanone pushed the pillow back down over the flashlight and walked towards the foot of the bed, glancing casually at the ceiling as he did so. No cameras? What was this place? He’d been healed, brought here with no explanation, and they weren’t even bothering to watch him?
Kanone looked over the desk, opening its drawers, and noting their contents: he might be able to find some productive use for them later, but for now… He turned towards the door as it opened and a smiling nurse stepped in.
She beamed at him, “I see you’ve already woken up. Are you ready to go down to breakfast, Thomas?”
He paused, processing the name that she’d called him by before offering her a friendly smile, “I would be glad to have breakfast. Thank you.”
The nurse smiled at him, obviously pleased by his cooperation. “Come along now.” She turned and started down the hallway, leaving the teenager to follow her.
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