Night 49: Pantry 1 - First Floor

[noifsandsorbubs.livejournal.com]

[from here]

An average man in good shape can run about ten miles an hour. Logan was not aware of this, but that was how fast his bike was going. Something had caught his eye on the road ahead, and he'd slowed way down to avoid slamming into anything potentially huge; and then, as he was veering toward the side of the road to get a closer look, the feeling of standing on the edge of an abyss and looking down washed over him.

And then, at the speed of a flat-out run, he'd crashed.

He stayed where he was for a full ten seconds, half-buried in - what? Debris? Pieces of the bike? He definitely hadn't been going that fast, and damn it, the road had been empty. He shifted and sat up, and the debris, or whatever, shifted with him. It sounded suspiciously like aluminum cans.

Pitch black, clearly an indoor space, and - what the hell was crunchy under his hand?

Cereal.

It was a goddamn pantry. And his ribs hurt. He could've invented a small journal's worth of new and creative words for the situation and whoever thought it was funny to jerk people around like this, but instead he said: "You okay?"

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[36-24-35.livejournal.com]

Tifa felt the same lurching feeling in her stomach as if it were falling into her sneakers. Her fingers curled tight around the material of Logan's shirt in a death grip as the bright white of the snow disappeared into blackness. Her face hit the solid muscle of Logan's back and all she could do was twist her head away and ignore the pain in her nose.

Something heavy hit her on the skull and rolled across a linoleum floor. Floor? She lifted her head from Logan's back, noticing first she no longer wore his jacket, and looked around the black room.

Oh

my

fucking

god.

She knew it! SHE KNEW IT! What did she say? They were not getting out of this easily. She said that! She fucking said that and she was right! Ha ha! Ohh she wanted to scream that she told him so, but instead she said: "Saved yer beer..."

Oh.

It would probably best if she got off Logan. She rolled off his back and sat beside him. Something was dripping down her chin. Lifting her hand, she dabbed something warm from her lip. Oh good, blood. Nice. Tifa quickly wiped what she could from her face so Logan couldn't see. Not that there was enough light in order to do so.

[swornandbroken.livejournal.com]

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/898630.html?thread=69586758#t69586758)]

Fifty miles an hour, maybe sixty, through wide-open empty streets, and Mello was grinning, buoyed up by the freedom, however illusory; feeling better, more like himself, than he had since waking up in that godforsaken house of torture.

And then the world went black and cracked into splinters around him.

Nausea drove him to his knees and pitched him forward. He caught himself on his hands, and retched, but nothing came out. The back of his neck felt like it was on fire, like all of last night was happening all over again, condensed into a split second. Someone was groaning, "No, no, fuck no." After a moment, Mello realized it was him.

The sickening whirl of the darkness slowly settled to a level he could handle, and its totality had lessened, though he still couldn't see much. He had an impression of being closed in, and smelled, weirdly, he thought, cinnamon and an underlying earthiness. He could feel he was in the much-hated sweatpants, t-shirt, and coat again, but what was-- He reached to the small of his back and pulled the Sig out of his waistband. And laughed, a brittle laugh with an edge of hysteria in it. He would have traded the gun for feeling right again, in a heartbeat.

Dimly aware of Matt, and wanting to prove he was still in control, he reached for the certainty he'd felt only a second before, the absolute conviction that he was going to take on Landel, Kira, and Near, all three, and win.

It was gone.

It was gone, and Matt was dead, dead because of him, and how had he ever thought he could change something that had already fucking happened? The two of them had just gotten yet another vivid demonstration of how inescapable this place was. How it could yank your whole damn world out from under you when you least expected it.

He had to get back out. That was the only way to fix this. He pushed back to sit up on his knees, fought another bout of nausea. "Bloody buggering fuck, that was a bad one."

[dual-worlds.livejournal.com]

((From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/904133.html?thread=69616581#t69616581).))

Once again, they arrived at a completely new location. This room was considerably smaller than the previous room. Judging by the rows of shelves packed with food, they were currently in a storage area used to hold food to feed the captives. It appeared they were not the first here, however. Damaged boxes, cans and bags were scattered across the floor, mixed with a variety of breakfast grains that had been crushed to dust. It appeared as though something -- or someone -- had entered the pantry at roughly 16 kilometers per hour. Whether it was because they had not anticipated on arriving at such an enclosed space, or because of something else entirely, was not clear.

Regardless, it was clear that lingering here too long was probably not in their best interests. There was little room to move in case they were attacked or had an unexpected encounter with other captives. Furthermore, there were even fewer items of interest to examine here than in the other rooms they had visited. The food here was highly reminiscent of early 21st-century Earth cuisine, which was quite expected by this point in their investigations. They would likely not learn much regarding their situation here.

While it was true the last room they visited also contained some sort of food, so far Spock had yet to identify a pattern regarding the areas they were transported to. Perhaps further exploration would give them something else to consider.

[emotionl4arobot.livejournal.com]

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/911715.html?thread=69721187#t69721187)]

...and now they were back in the food storage area. A food storage area, Brainiac 5 corrected mentally. This one was different to the other. He wondered bitterly if Sangamon would want to help himself to the contents of this one as well.

"This is frustrating," he complained aloud, mostly to himself though the fact there was someone else to listen as well helped. "I don't know what your goals are, but I am going to continue until I find something worthwhile."