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damned_institute2010-05-20 11:16 pm
donetakinorders.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2010-05-20 11:16 pm
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Nightshift 49: Patient Possessions Storage
[from here]
Raphael stepped through the door that opened onto the Rec Field and... found he wasn't in the Rec Field.
"What the hell?" he said, shaking his head to clear the weird feeling of dizziness and staring around the room with blatant confusion. This sure as hell wasn't outside, in fact, it didn't even look like anything he'd seen in the patient blocks. Just where the hell was he anyway?
"Somethin' musta happened when I went through that door," he muttered to himself. The dizzy, faintly sick feeling was kinda like what he'd felt some of the other times he and his bros had been thrown around space and time and other dimensions, but if whoever was running this place had done something to him or something to the building, Raph couldn't tell.
"Great, so where the hell am I now?" Edging away from the door and flicking his flashlight on, Raph took in the numerous boxes around the place and the names written on them, none of which gave him any better idea of what the hell this was all about. There didn't seem to be anything else of interest around though, so he cracked open the closest box and checked what was inside.
Some photos, an empty wallet, and a notebook was the reward for his curiosity. Useless, useless, and useless. He'd have been better off outside.
"Screw this!" Raph snarled, tossing the box away from himself to smack into some others in the dark He picked up a couple of closer ones and threw them as well for good measure. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder 'en that to slow me down!"
He wasn't sure if whoever was responsible was listening right now, but it made him feel better. He'd retrace and try getting outside some other way then. It wasn't like this was the only door, after all.
Turning to head back the way he came, Raph opened the door again to head out to what was hopefully the hallway in the dorms.
Raphael stepped through the door that opened onto the Rec Field and... found he wasn't in the Rec Field.
"What the hell?" he said, shaking his head to clear the weird feeling of dizziness and staring around the room with blatant confusion. This sure as hell wasn't outside, in fact, it didn't even look like anything he'd seen in the patient blocks. Just where the hell was he anyway?
"Somethin' musta happened when I went through that door," he muttered to himself. The dizzy, faintly sick feeling was kinda like what he'd felt some of the other times he and his bros had been thrown around space and time and other dimensions, but if whoever was running this place had done something to him or something to the building, Raph couldn't tell.
"Great, so where the hell am I now?" Edging away from the door and flicking his flashlight on, Raph took in the numerous boxes around the place and the names written on them, none of which gave him any better idea of what the hell this was all about. There didn't seem to be anything else of interest around though, so he cracked open the closest box and checked what was inside.
Some photos, an empty wallet, and a notebook was the reward for his curiosity. Useless, useless, and useless. He'd have been better off outside.
"Screw this!" Raph snarled, tossing the box away from himself to smack into some others in the dark He picked up a couple of closer ones and threw them as well for good measure. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder 'en that to slow me down!"
He wasn't sure if whoever was responsible was listening right now, but it made him feel better. He'd retrace and try getting outside some other way then. It wasn't like this was the only door, after all.
Turning to head back the way he came, Raph opened the door again to head out to what was hopefully the hallway in the dorms.
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Indy charged through the doorway with a flicker of righteous indignation, ready to demonstrate that they were exactly where he'd said they'd be, and it really was just a problem with the maps, so if the kid would just-- That was as far as he got into his mildly satisfying mental victory before it came to a crashing halt. This was not the room with the counter.
What it was was a fairly large room filled with boxes, each labeled with a name. A few of the ones close to the door looked like they'd been thrown around. Indy had never seen the room before in his life. Looking down at the map still in his hand, he struggled to match what was in front of him to one of the labels--one of the storage rooms? Patient possessions?
It didn't matter. There was only one way out of the mail room. This wasn't possible.
"Either of you ever seen this room before?" he asked in a tight voice.
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However, that all changed when they stepped through the door and ended up somewhere completely different. More than that, the place was foreign to him. There was no way they'd been turned around, so what the hell?
More of Landel's tricks, no doubt. That would also explain the confusion with the other patient, but that didn't mean Harvey wanted to admit that he was wrong. He didn't know how this was happening, but he felt less inclined to theorize when there was a third party around.
Glancing to Jones, the only answer he gave with a tight shake of his head. He didn't need the younger man to rub their noses into the fact that they'd been wrong. Then again, technically all of them had been wrong, but that wasn't the important point in his mind anymore. What he wanted to know was how Landel was even doing this.
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He took a good long look around the room while the two older men were preoccupied with realising that something strange actually was going on. "Yes," he replied, glancing back over his shoulder. "Patient possessions room, second floor, far north east side of the building," he said, perhaps wanting to prove that he wasn't some foolish child a little more than he cared to let on. "Perhaps we just accidentally missed the right corridor," he added lightly.
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Now instead of the map, Indy was fumbling for explanations: some kind of trick architecture, maybe. But nothing he could come up with fit. There had to be some kind of rational explanation, he reassured himself. Could be future technology, something from past Dent's time, even. Like any so-called magic trick, it would all seem childishly simple and comprehensible as soon as you heard the explanation.
He saw the kid smirking and didn't want to give him the satisfaction of any more surprised looks, so instead Indy focused his attention on the boxes. "Patient possessions, huh?" he muttered, opening the nearest upright one without bothering to check the name. It contained a keyring, a simple shirt and pair of waist overalls (not his size), and a few similarly mundane odds and ends. Indy wondered what his had in it, but as he had in the mail room, he decided now might not be the best time to check.
"Want to pick anything up here, or shall we move on?" he asked, talking more to Dent than the punk with the hair.
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Or rather, who they wanted him to be.
Aaron Eckhart, he reminded himself as he started to move through the room looking for the right one. "Well, we're here now, however it happened. Might as well see what there is before we try to work out what the hell just happened." At least the kid didn't have any ideas about that, so the three of them were on equal footing in that sense.
Harvey really wasn't coming up with anything, though. The room hadn't been rearranged -- they were clearly somewhere completely different, like some sci-fi movie or something. So what, last week it was horror and this week they were mimicking those films about the people who traveled out in space?
After some searching, he found the right box and pulled it off of the shelf, setting it on the floor so he could look through it properly. He figured Jones would wait around for him to do this, and if the kid wanted to go running off on his own, then that was more than fine by him.
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He wondered how they could have gone to a room at the complete other end of the building, on a different floor to the one that he had been trying to get to. It wasn't exactly a normal occurrence, even for here and it wasn't anything that he'd heard of before.
He should have just left, he supposed. But he couldn't let the two old men hang around and get eaten now could he? Besides, a tiny (and growing) part of him wanted the opportunity to prove that he could quite handle himself and was better at doing it than they were.
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The stuff wasn't his. That was obvious at first glance, but he went over it all anyway, pulling each item out one at a time with his free hand laying it on the floor. On top was a piece of cloth that, when unfolded, turned out to be a dark-colored uniform. "Janitor's clothes," Indy muttered to himself in annoyance. The bastards.
Underneath the uniform were a nondescript white undershirt and belt, and under those was something that felt like a thick magazine. He inspected that more carefully, tilting the flashlight so he could read the cover: American Journal of Archaeology, 99:1. It was dated 1995, but it was so well-thumbed that the cover was threatening to come off in his hand. Indy leafed through it and found that it contained a long article on recent developments in archaeometry, which he made a mental note to read the minute he had time. The section on dendrochronology--still a relatively young field, at least as far as he was concerned--alone was already a worthwhile prize for the night's efforts.
There were still a few small objects at the bottom of the box, though, which turned out to be a set of keys and two slips of paper--no, two photographs. Both looked recent, in the sense that he looked at most a year or two younger than he did now, but otherwise they were mind-bogglingly futuristic. One was of him and Dad(!) at a baseball stadium, grinning cheerfully for the camera. The other was of him and Marion.
He'd never been to those places or worn those clothes, or even seen the type of camera that must have produced these photos. How the hell had they gotten them? And--the thought made his chest seize up with an uncomfortably strong sensation somewhere between panic and fury--did it mean they'd gotten to Marion too?
Indy stood up abruptly, shoving the photos into a jacket pocket in the same motion. He rolled up the journal (completely dislodging the cover, but he needed his hands free) and left that sticking out of the other pocket, then tied the white shirt to the belt and cinched the belt loosely around his waist. The uniform and keys he put back in the box. The box went back on the shelf, and Indy turned toward the door. "Ready?" he asked Dent. He wanted to get out of here.
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The next thing was a thick file of papers. He yanked it out and sat it in his lap, quickly realizing that it was notes on some sort of legal case with "Aaron Eckhart" as the prosecutor. Using his flashlight, he quickly scanned over the details. It seemed like a run of the mill murder case, but once again, the names and the specifics weren't familiar to him. Scowling, he threw the file to his side, ignoring the loud whump sound it made when it hit the floor.
From the sounds of it, Jones wasn't too happy with what he was finding either, but Harvey was too vested in his own box to pay too much attention to the other man. He pulled out a wallet next, flipping it open to see a fake driver's license (with his picture on it -- just the sort of bad-quality mugshot that would be expected) with inaccurate details. The city wasn't even right. There was no cash in the wallet, not even a few coins.
What he did find folded into one of the wallet's sleeves was a crumpled photograph. For a moment, he wasn't sure he wanted to look, but he forced himself. Instead of what he'd been scared of, the picture was of himself and Gordon of all people. He immediately gritted his teeth in response, since seeing that face again was enough to dredge up all of his anger and his need for vengeance.
It was the sort of picture that could have been taken of them before the accident. He was smiling in it, showing his teeth for the camera, while Gordon looked vaguely uncomfortable about the whole thing. They were standing close enough to come across as acquaintances, but not so close that anyone would call them friends. Just business associates.
This picture had never been taken. He knew that much. He would have remembered it, and so his mind wildly searched for a logical explanation. Maybe someone had manipulated it using computer software. It was hard to know for certain, but it had to be something along those lines. Regardless, the picture was clearly meant as a slap in the face and so he crumpled it in his hand and tossed it back into the box along with the wallet and the folder.
He shoved the box aside angrily, not even bothering to put it back on the shelf. The shirt and tie he picked up as he stood, right in time to respond to Jones' question. "Yeah," he snapped. This whole thing had been a waste of time.
Pushing past both of the other patients, Harvey exited the room.
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...this wasn't the room.
Nunnally froze in place, staring into the darkness with eyes wide as she struggled to reconcile what she knew with what she sensed. It was entirely possible that the lights had been turned off in that room after she left, but... this place didn't have the same feel. Or smell. There was none of that sickly-sweet chemical tang, the stinging odor of antiseptics -- this room smelled musty and closed off, like a room for storage.
She backed up one halting step, then another to the side, and half-collapsed against the wall next to the door. What was happening here? Was it another part of the doctor's insane experiments? She knew that was the door she'd just walked through, and yet it led somewhere else. Or did she only think that was the right door? Could she really trust her senses anymore?
Sudden panic gave her the energy to turn and grab at the door latch again, her breath catching in half a sob as she fumbled with it for a moment before managing to get it open. Please let me find someone this time, she silently begged as she stepped through.
[off to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/911237.html)]