damned_institute | Night 50: East Wing, Hall A

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Night 50: East Wing, Hall A

[from here]

Mello hadn't been back to this hallway since that bogus therapy session he'd been too out of it to use to his advantage, a missed opportunity that still rankled. If he hadn't been sedated, he was sure he would've had his wits about him enough to find out something about that file the Institute had on him, or whether or not being let out was completely random.

But a lot of things would've been different if he hadn't been hampered by the drugs. Mello stubbornly clung to the belief that it would have made a difference that night. He refused to accept that the Institute could do whatever it wanted to them, no matter how much the place tried to rub their faces in that very knowledge. Some people might have been able to find consolation in thinking the game they were losing was rigged against them, but not him. That presupposed a system where winning wasn't possible at all, and he couldn't stand that idea, not as long as he could push himself harder, find more to try.

He refocused on the task at hand, which should have been getting easier due to practice these last couple of days, but wasn't; and took a sniff of the hallway's air. "Heh. I'm thinking that one." He pointed to the first door on his right. "You want to bust it, or should I?"

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Muraki followed the pair out at a more leisurely pace, his own blood warm and sticky against his palm. For the moment, such a shallow wound wasn't much of a concern, but it recalled the cold mercy of a much deeper mark and a burning hunger that lived and consumed and destroyed. There was no reason to mask his eagerness with the boys so busy struggling against each other, but it was an effort to keep his words even, to hold onto the charade of civility.

It wasn't every day that he had teenage boys wrestling around on the floor for his sake after all. Maybe 'finish it' was the wrong choice of words. No matter what transpired tonight, this would only be a start, a baptism in blood.

What the hell is his problem with you anyway?

Well. That was hard to say. He had probably molested the boy one way or another, but how was he supposed to be sure? It wasn't like he had marked his territory this time.

"I have no idea. He seems to think we've met before, but I only woke up here last night." Muraki replied, almost amused at the truth of the statement. He switched to Japanese easily, "What did I do to you, boy? You'll understand if it wasn't quite as memorable on my part."

A solid counter and then an attack that smashed them through the door -- they must have been inside a room and fallen out into a hallway, judging by the depth of the faint echo caused by the door they'd broken. Which hallway was beyond Sasuke's ken, but at least now there would be more room to manouevre and defend against two lines of attack. Letting momentum carry him a yard more than the interference, Sasuke twisted into a defensive position in time to catch the end of a growled question (still unintelligible) and Muraki's response in the same tongue.

The tones were unlike those of subordinate and superior, but why else would they be speaking the same language? That question fell away with ease when Muraki switched to an understandable question that gave Sasuke a moment's pause.

He didn't remember? Certainly one doctor here must have had multiple patients, but there was a curiosity in the tone that suggested that Muraki didn't remember Sasuke at all. It didn't make sense -- but it was doubtless Muraki, from his voice and the way he spoke. There had to be a reason for him to be lying: perhaps the man who had interfered was merely a do-gooder after all, and this was a show for his benefit.

"You are a doctor of the Institute," Sasuke replied evenly, and let the Sharingan flood his vision again. "Is that not reason enough?"

The chakra was bright enough to leave ghostly afterimages when he deactivated it again, Muraki on the right and further away, the other patient between them and just a shade sort of having completely steadied his stance.

An opening that could not be missed; before Sasuke had quite turned completely he was driving forward, attacking on a straight line -- until the last second, when he dropped to the left and swept a foot out instead of his blade, aiming to catch both ankles.

"Well you tried tellin' him that?" Raph snarled. Seeing it looked like, for whatever reason, the pale guy was the only one who could talk to the both of them now, so it wasn't like Raph could explain. Even if he'd wanted to waste time trying to mouth off in the middle of a fight like this, that was.

He hadn't quite managed to stabilise himself before the guy was lunging back in, and Raph's sword came up to block the attack--

Or at least, it would have if the guy hadn't switched at the last second. Cursing himself for not seeing that coming, Raphael tried and failed to avoid the sweep, tumbling back as he lost his footing to sprawl in the hallway.

"It isn't something personal?" Muraki replied in the same mild, even tone. He almost laughed, but that would translate well into any language and he couldn't have the meat shield turning on him just yet. It would be a shame if this grudge wasn't personal, but he somehow doubted if this boy was working entirely on principal.

"What do you think I've been doing all this time? Taunting him?" He asked, almost distracted. He stayed out of the way as Uke-kun took the meat shield down. It was just a matter of waiting for the most opportune moment - or creating one. The next time he struck he wouldn't miss.

It's both nearly snarled its way out of Sasuke's mouth in response to that flippant question, but there was no way to make room for it with the fight finally speeding up into something more acceptable. The interference went down and Sasuke sprang up from his crouch, Sharingan flickering.

In order to keep the man pinned he would have to deal with Muraki's potential point of threat to the side -- there was no avoiding it, but Sasuke could move fast and Muraki was talking. With one motion he leapt forward and buried his hand into the prone man's collar, pushing forward and dragging him up in an effort to pin him against a wall with all his strength.

"Get out of here, and I'll let you live," he growled, and assumed that (language difference or not, and especially given that they'd all been speaking the same tongue before Muraki and whoever this was had started comunicating in their own) his message was clear.

Raphael wanted to point it that it wasn't like the tall, pale man was doing a very good job of it, but the kid psycho was charging forward, dragging him up by his collar before he could get a blow in, let alone say anything. He snarled silently, struggling against the guy's grip both to test how strong it was and to see how much movement he could get away with. Language differences or no, it wasn't hard to figure out what the asshole was implying.

"Screw you, bastard," he snarled in the guy's face, his lips twisting into a feral smile. "I ain't backing down for you."

The sword was just a burden at this range, so he dropped it, bringing his hand up to knife in towards a particularly sensitive point in the guy's neck insead.

As with Sasuke's words, what the interference spat into Sasuke's face was more than understandable by tone alone. And it was irritating, but simplifying -- it meant that Sasuke could strike to disable more fully, gave a freedom of tactic that dumbed this down to little more than an Academy brawl.

That seemed to go the same for his opponent, though: less than a second after the clatter of a metal weapon hitting the ground, Sasuke registered a flare of chakra intent to his right and dropped down and leftwards -- the strike grazed hard at the top of his skull and knocked his head slightly sideways, but it wasn't enough to damage.

How much time left for the Sharingan? If he could finish this one off in under a minute there would be enough for Muraki. Without losing the flow of movement, Sasuke reared a hand back and brought it in, closed fist smashing with full strength towards his opponent's solar plexus.

The silence was telling, though he made allowances for fact that the boys were deeply engaged. He could play this to his advantage. According to Ritsuka's account of his own doctor, the staff here held some power even if it might not be strictly magical. But Uke-kun had come after him despite his misguided beliefs, so he couldn't see the bluff working to his advantage, especially once the boy's attention was focused entirely on him and he started to pick out the incongruities. Pretending to remember wouldn't serve him any more than the truth, and who knew when this little language game would come to a close?

Hmm. His meat shield seemed to be on the losing end, so maybe he should disappear before this little fight came to a close. One of his hands was slick and sticky with blood. Though the wound had been shallow enough that he tolerated the pain, a little more blood and a few more like it...

He liked fighters, the way they resisted every inch, but there were easier ways to steal a taste of power. One more exchange. After that, he would decide to flee or kill.

The blow would have been hard to avoid even if Raph's movements weren't restricted by the loser's grip. Coupled with the fact that he was still instinctively used to having a harder surface covering that part of his anatomy? He hardly deflected it at all before it struck right on target and he doubled over, gasping for breath.

The strike connected with a satisfying, solid smack, and the man curled in on himself in obvious pain. Not losing any time, Sasuke kept his grip tight and snapped his hand in rapid succession towards the same pressure point that had been targeted on himself a moment prior, hard enough to stun with pain.

With any luck, that would give him enough time to find the right nerve to pinch and put this idiot out of commission altogether, and then he could turn on Muraki -- strange that the man hadn't attempted to attack at the same time, but perhaps he was less of a fighter than a doctor after all.

He had never been much for brawling. He was capable, of course, but guns and dugs and tactics had always been more to his taste. It was irritating, making concessions. Fight or leave? The decision was simple, in the end. The meat shield wouldn't keep the boy occupied long enough to prevent him from catching up to Muraki and the doctor was too unfamiliar with this place for it to be used to his advantage.

He serged forward again just as Uke-kun began to move, aiming a hard blow at the back of his head.

The blow came before Sasuke could think to turn his attention from one opponent to the other. He had enough time to remember that for all the advantage Muraki took of his position (and wasn't that standard for medics or something?), the man was a doctor because he was a doctor.

Then even the sharp jolt of pain faded into blackness and he crumpled forward, hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud.

One down, at least for the moment. He crouched down beside Uke-kun and set the chainsaw down, checking his pulse and the injury he'd just inflicted with quick, skilled motions. (His fingers might have lingered just a little.) He was certainly unconscious, but it was doubtful that he might die from it. More importantly, he should stay down long enough.

"Are you alright?" He asked, obviously aiming the question at his meat shield. He picked up the young man's discarded sword as he stood again. "I'd like to thank you. What's your name?"

"Fine," Raphael ground out, struggling to force himself up and to his feet. The blow had hurt a lot more than he'd thought without his plastron to lessen it, and it was just as well that tall an' pale had managed to take care of things on his own. He wouldn't have even been able to shout a warning after that strike, so it was just as well that he wasn't inclined to warn the boy psycho about anything.

Once he was back on his feet, he dusted himself off a bit out of show, not to mention to cover the aches and pains he was still feeling. Bruises in the morning, but worth it in his book. Nothing like helping someone else out to feel like you'd managed something in a night here.

"Name's Raphael," he answered. "An' you?"

Injured obviously, but not badly enough that he couldn't force himself to stand. Raphael, was it? It didn't really suit him. He was neither angel nor artist. The boy was short-tempered and muscular, and if the light was better he might be able to map out the scars from a life of battle. He had certainly been trained for it. How many times had he come back from the edge of death? How many people had he saved or damned? That life of battle would end in futility.

"Muraki," He replied, smiling politely as he stepped closer, as if to return the weapon. It was so close now his fingers twitched at the memory of richwarm blood. The heart would be too quick a death; the throat or the eyes too gorey, the stomach be a slow putrid burn and the lungs would fill with blood as he choked. Yes, the lungs... An open spot in the boy's defence and enough time for him to take what he needed. "Thank you for everything."

Shifting his grip on the sword he thrust it forward without warning, hoping to pin the boy to the wall behind him.

Raphael shrugged, still doing his best to ignore the complaints from his bruised body after that tussle. He'd never been one to show he was hurt if he could help it. Too much of a sign of weakness, specially when he didn't know the guy he'd been protecting.

"No problem," he began, reaching for the sword.

He realised it left him wide open to attack a moment later, as the sword darted forwards in a surprisingly quick movement. His eyes widened and Raph instinctively tried to move away, cursing himself because hadn't Splinter always told them that a ninja never let his guard down? but the sword pierced his gut before he could stop it, driving him back until something stopped him. The wall, or maybe the door. It didn't matter, with the sword a lance of pain pinning him there to stare in mute shock at the pale man who'd killed him. It didn't matter if he wasn't dead yet, Raph wasn't stupid. A wound like this and no one else around? He was a dead man.

It was stupid, but the only thing he could think of right now was: "What... the hell...?"

He wasn't going to get to go home and see his family again. No Mikey or Donny or April and Casey or Splinter or even stupid Leo. He was going to die, and as a stinking human as well.

Like getting killed in such a stupid way wasn't already bad enough.

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Night 50: East Wing, Hall A

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