West Wing, South Hall 2-B

[tightsofmight]

[From here.]

It might be quicker to check the stuff at the end of the hall first and work his way back. That way he wouldn't have to back track in order to get into the main hall. Yeah. Yeah - the morgue was marked on his map, but there were a few rooms around it that weren't labeled at all. Morbid as the thought was, it would be practical to keep the Sleep Studies close to somewhere where they could dispose...

Not thinking about that. No. That was not a possibility tonight. Nobody had said anything about people dying during the experimentation.

Yet his pulse was pounding all the more wildly for it. Peter gritted his teeth and sped even faster to the door square ahead of him, barely skidding to a stop before he ran into it. His free hand twisted the knob viciously.

Locked.

Peter glared. Deep breath. He took two steps back, then shot his foot like a canon ball into the middle of the door. It hit with a raucous bang and a snap - he'd broken the lock clean out of the frame. The door had swung wide open and collided with the other side of the wall. Not as satisfactory as snapping the whole thing in two, but he had his way through now. That was all that mattered.

Peter's figure disappeared into the hall.

Comments

[product-of-fear.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately for Peter, there were other things he should be concerned about tonight. Like the faint, barely there scent on the air...

Of course, by the time either patient picked up the odour of Scarecrow's fear gas, it would already be far too late. The hallway seemed to elongate in front of Peter, twisting bizarrely around as though trying to make the floor into a wall and put the doors he was aiming for above his head. The darkness of the hallway seemed strangely deeper and more oppressive as well, pressing in and gnawing at the edges of the light, making the doors and other details of the hallway harder and harder to see.

[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

He heard the ricochet of a door being kicked solidly against a wall and he paused. For such a tiny boy, Kenny certainly had strength to him. That was good to know here where Grell's own strength was particularly diminished. Taking a few cautious steps after him, the death god paused at the end of the hallway, watching as the...

Hallway? It was a hallway, right? It seemed to be growing into infinity, stretching into blackness as dark as a moonless country night. It felt different though. It felt like he was in a box, closed in, pressed in from all sides. He could feel the walls touching his skin, pushing down and up and against him in uncomfortable ways, making him want to push back only to find that nothing was there.

Grell shook his head, gritting his teeth as he realized something was terribly wrong. Something was here, in the hall, something dangerous - something dangerous to him. Forgoing any sense of stealth for self-preservation, Grell pushed the little power he'd been given to his eyes again, staring into the dark hall to try to spot either Kenny or whatever else it was that was here. He'd find it - whatever it was - and he'd kill it. He'd kill it before it could kill him.

[tightsofmight]

Even though the darkness all but swallowed his figure, Peter hadn't made it far into the next corridor.

Yes, he had been running. But he'd wobbled into a stop about three yards in before he could get any sort of speed up. He blinked at his surroundings. Then took an unsteady step forward. Something was rattling in the back of his head. He wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light or not, but no matter which direction he waved his light in everything kept rolling out into the horizon.

There was supposed to be a door. Right over here, to his left. Peter wiped a hand over his eyes and rolled his head to the left. The door...was there. In a sense. He had to squint at it to even catch the frame. It seemed to be shrinking away from him, crawling out of the rim of the light. Like how the ground rolled away from you when you came off an amusement park ride.

Okay - so. Point the light at it. Peter nodded to himself. That was the next logical step. It would stop sneaking away once he'd trapped it with the light, right?

He swung the flashlight around. There was the door. Except now it seemed to rise up to the ceiling, thinning around the sides like a piece of taffy when you stretched it wide between your hands. Then the base lifted too. The whole door stretched and stretched until Peter was craning his neck to look up at it. Had he fallen? It was so high up, he had to have fallen on the ground. Yet when he tried to pat the floor around him with his free hand, all he felt was the same cool air. And he was positive he could feel the weight on the soles of his feet.

So...so...

Peter blinked up at the door again. His breath had grown heavy, still catching up from his mad dash to this point. Was this where they were doing the experiments? Was that why they'd made it so wonky, totally impossible to reach? He had to get in if Brainy was there, because Brainy was in danger. His head was pounding along with his heartbeat, urging him to reach up for the knob.

No. That wasn't quite right. His head wasn't pounding, it was buzzing.

You dumbass. Dumbass dumbass dumbass.

They knew that someone would come. They'd booby-trapped the hall. That was why his spider-sense was flaring up - they'd sent something after him. Warped the door so that he couldn't follow until it finished him off.

His heart leaped into his throat. Suddenly the light was no where near the elusive door, bouncing off every corner in search of what was hiding from him.

And in the shadows of the previous hall, it fell on something red. Vibrant and shiny red, like velvet curtains.

Peter blinked heavily again, and ambled back the way he came. His steps were much more tentative this time. Dread was creeping its way into his chest, oozing around his lungs and constricting them so that the fear showed in his voice.

"...Hello?"

[product-of-fear.livejournal.com]

He could have laughed in amusement - and no small amount of pleasure - as the boy suddenly realised that there was something off about the hallway he was in. Realised it far too late, but he got there eventually. Scarecrow had to wonder what he would see, what fears the gas would draw to the fore and what they would tell him about the boy and his red-haired pursuer. But there would be time enough for that later, as his toxin worked its beautiful magic in their systems and they gave voice to their fear in a song of screaming he never grew tired of. But for now he would watch. And wait.

The darkness had an almost thick, oily quality to it that seemed to consume the light of Peter's flashlight more and more with every passing moment. A heavy curtain that drew in closer and closer, like a living thing...

Exactly like a living thing. For it became apparently that the darkness itself was moving, slowly at first but faster by the second, zeroing in on Peter's position. And almost as quickly as there came that revelation, it struck, grabbing for his hands, racing up his legs... winding him tightly in its oily substance, a snake of shadow that swallowed his head and face last of all.

Which was when Peter would have felt it pushing into his mind, familiar, ruthless, hungry...

With the strange shadows gone more of the hallway could be seen, stretching out an impossible distance in either direction and bizarrely twisted around in an almost dizzying fashion. The doors that Peter had been aiming for and that both patients had come from were visible as well. Though now there were far more of them, dotted at regular intervals along the walls all around them and impossible to differentiate from one another. They'd come from one door and been aiming for another, but the question was: which ones?

akdfja;js so late

[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

A light cut through the dark and was swallowed by it again. No, not a light, something else. Like a yellow rod it appeared and disappeared in the fluid shadows, heaving up through the waves like a ship at sea, engulfed by the inky black again like there was no hope of it ever resurfacing. Grell stumbled as the floor seemed to give under him, rising to meet up, falling away to leave him hanging in the abyss. He threw a hand out and felt a wall, but when he looked there was nothing and he fell again. The wall stretched and bubbled away from him and he watched in horror as faces seemed to appear in the black - indistinct enough that it could be anyone, but with just enough features that Grell knew them. He knew these people.

And when he looked back, the darkness was receding and with them went the faces. They grew thin like glue being stretched, like candlewax being pulled, and then twisted into horrific shapes that couldn't have been faces if they tried. And that's when Grell realized the darkness wasn't just receding, it was forming. It was becoming. It was...

"Hello?"

The voice was unnatural. It sounded like gravel on sandpaper, like nails dragging on cobblestone and Grell tried to back away, tried to find a way out.

Too many doors.

That thing. That thing was what was doing this. That horrific demon was the cause of this. The darkness solidified into a shape, a person, an inhuman mass and Grell felt his heart stop. That thing was going to kill him. It was going to do to him what it did to itself, twist into darkness, swallow him whole. "....stay away." His voice was too thin. He reached for the doors, but they bowed away from his fingertips like this was all some sort of joke to them. He made a mad grab for one and failed, then whirled around and sneered at the creature, wishing now he had more than just a few scalpels up his sleeves. "Stay away! Demon, come any closer and I'll gut you like I did the rest of them!"

[tightsofmight]

His spider sense wasn't stopping. The light trembled in Peter's grip and he had to grasp it with both hands to stop the shaking. It was a person - he could see that much now - and though it was difficult to make out the features Peter knew that they were looking straight back at him. He stumbled back. He wanted out. But the doors were everywhere, he couldn't think. Couldn't remember which one would get him out of here, out of this curving, twisted mess. The hall stretched on forever.

It hadn't been like that before. When had things...gotten...

What was that?

Peter snapped to attention. In the edge of the flashlight's beam, he could see something moving. Like the shadows were rolling in, only a few feet to his left. He took one last glance at the stranger before nervously licking his lips and turning the light towards it. He was going to go deaf from his heartbeat, he could swear.

He was pointing it in the right spot, but the shadow was still there. It reflected the light. Then it bubbled. Rolled forward.

His spider sense screamed when it puckered, and suddenly there was a streamer shooting straight for his leg. Only then did Peter realize what was happening.

"No - no no! NO!"

Eddie Brock was gone. But the symbiote had stayed behind.

Peter shrieked and cursed at the top of his lungs. He was distantly aware that he had somehow banged into the wall trying to get away from it, the shock of the impact rattling his skull. He was scrambling against it. It was oily and viscous, but the streamers moved like vipers. Rearing up and snapping onto his legs and his arms, making anchors for the fluid to follow. He tried to claw at it. Grasp it and pull it off piece by piece, but it just snapped back like rubber. It was cold, sinking in through his clothes, prickling all over when it entered his skin. His scream stifled all other noise when it finally reached his face.

And then there was silence.

Peter was still there. But he couldn't reach his body anymore.

Hungry...

It could hear the other man shouting at it, calling it a demon. It could tell it was a man now. Flat white eyes could see better in the dark than hazel-brown ever could. The hall was still twisted and riddled with tall doors, but it paid that no attention now. It's gaze was still on the man. He was scrambling for the exits and failing.

It watched.

A split formed in the smooth black face, jagged fangs sprouting. A tongue pushed at the back of the new teeth. Struggling for a moment. Speech was a difficult thing with this mouth.

"...So hungry..." The sound wasn't quite a hybrid. It was two voices at once: one old and one new.

Oh god, no! No you can't!

The man was alone.

Slender.

Meat.

Starving.

Eat him whole.

No one would know.

An unearthly, ear splitting shriek echoed through the halls. It was already moving.

[human-sponge.livejournal.com]

And so they were almost there. Peter wondered if they were the first group that was going to make it into the hallway, but he knew that it wasn't a contest. All it changed was whether or not they were going to have to break open another door. They'd been doing a lot of that tonight, it seemed.

Though the nurse was distracted when he realized that there was a solitary light come from further up the hall. It was past where they needed to go, but he couldn't help noticing it, especially since he was pretty sure it was coming from a flashlight; one that had been dropped and abandoned. He was pretty sure that that filed under eerie, and it also answered his question. Someone had been here before.

Still, they didn't need to find out what had happened. In fact, investigating something like that would only be asking for trouble, and so Peter ignored it, moving to the door that they needed to get through. (The second one down was it, since the first was one of those impossible-to-open doors.) He grabbed for the knob and found that it was still locked, which earned a sigh from him.

"I guess I shouldn't have expected it to be that easy. But once we get through here, we'll be in the hall that all the experiment rooms feed into." Which meant they would be able to anticipate any traumatized patient that might be stumbling out, and also try the doors to see if someone was still trapped inside for whatever reason (such as not being able to move, he realized grimly).

[autophoenix.livejournal.com]

In the most rational part of her mind, she acknowledged that Peter had a point. No good could come of testing her ability here when there was no telling what Landel had done to it in order to best screw them all over. But, her own mortality was a scary thing to face when she's gotten used to the reckless idea of never being able to die, and it was easier to just argue with Peter on it and keep doing what she'd always done. At least that way she could say it was because of her uncle that she wasn't doing it and not out of her own fear.

He was right, though. Arguments weren't going to get them far when they still had people to help, and Claire needed to stop focusing on her own indignation and start focusing on getting closer to those people so they could be, ideally, saved to some degree. Sure, Claire knew better than anyone that even her ability wouldn't erase the psychological damage of having someone carve you open and figure out what was inside, but not having the physical damage to overcome certainly made it easier to address the emotional aspect.

So, she followed after Peter like an obedient puppy, adjusting her grip on the bat she held, hoping it would make them just a little more prepared if something jumped out of the shadows. But, when they reached the next hallway, it was even creepier than it would have been if something had jumped out. There was a light pretty far down the hall, and the fact that it was in the middle of the floor was pretty indicative of it being a flashlight.

A patient's flashlight.

Claire's stomach twisted in her gut and she gave a hurried glance to Peter, wondering if he maybe had a better explanation for how it got there. Judging by the look on his face, though, he didn't. But, he was better than she was at keeping his eye off the creepy flashlight and on the prize -- in this instance, the locked door that they needed to go through. After she tried to strain her neck and eyes to see the light down the hall a little better without actually abandoning Peter to go take a look, she stopped to look at the door they'd reached and finally processed what Peter had said about it.

"Hold this," she said after a thoughtful beat, offering him her bat. After what she'd just seen down the hall, her flashlight wasn't going anywhere, but she wouldn't have a very easy time getting the door open if she had a bat in her hands. Hopefully this one would hurt a little less than some of the other doors she'd tried to force open and been disappointed by.

[product-of-fear.livejournal.com]

How did the saying go? No rest for the wicked? Not that the Scarecrow believed that description really, truly applied to him - despite years of tender care at the hands of his grandmother, hard lessons learned, fear, control, knowledge, power - he simply taught others what he himself already knew. Fear was everything, it motivated everything, and Scarecrow was the master of that fear and, ergo, master of those it controlled.

And it controlled everyone.

Even these two new patients were already dancing on the edge of it, even if his toxin hadn't been working its way into their systems. The nervous glances they cast at the flashlight lying abandoned in the hallway spoke volumes to his practised eyes, and his face, burlap sack mask, stretched into a twisted smile in the dark.

Soon enough he'd have them screaming, but first, he'd give the process a little nudge to help it along...

As the girl handed a bat to the man with her, a flicker of a grotesque, distorted shadow passed over them both, cast by the flashlight abandoned on the floor. The shadow was only there for a moment, all elongated limbs and spindly fingers grasping for them before it was gone again, so brief it could have been just the product of their own nervous minds. And who was to say it wasn't?

[human-sponge.livejournal.com]

When the bat was extended toward him, Peter thought for a moment that Claire wanted him to take a few swings at the door, just like he'd done downstairs. But he could tell from the girl's posture that she was very much intending to get the door open herself, and he frowned just at the sight of her. Maybe she'd built up some muscle as a cheerleader, but most grown men couldn't break down doors with just their hands and feet, let alone a teenage girl.

He couldn't keep the skepticism off of his face, but he did try to wipe the expression away as fast as he could, all the while holding onto her bat. Right as he was about to ask her what exactly she planned on doing, though, he got a creeping sensation, almost like...

Almost like something was watching them. There was a tingling sensation between his shoulder blades, causing the muscles of his upper back to bunch up. In the next second he could have sworn he felt something moving behind him or reaching out for him, and the feeling was strong enough that he ended up spinning around to stare down the dark hallway.

But all he saw was that lonely flashlight beam.

Despite the fact that he couldn't see a thing, the feeling didn't quite go away. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, and he wasn't sure if it was all in his head or not. In this place, one would never be certain. He rubbed his hand at his neck, trying to get rid of the sensation, and then glanced back at Claire.

"Did you just... get a weird feeling, or was that just me?" And he honestly wasn't trying to distract her from getting the door open, either. Peter wanted to get through and to those patients as much as Claire did, if not more so.

[autophoenix.livejournal.com]

Once he took the bat from her, she set herself up to try and pick the best approach for the door. She could go running at it -- maybe that would help her build up the momentum necessary to bust it open. She'd seen it in procedural cop shows before, the whole busting in the door with your shoulder thing, and was pretty sure that as long as she wasn't too concerned about whether or not her shoulder dislocated in the process, she could pull it off. While she was assessing the door, though, she got lost in thought, only to be jerked out by Peter's words. She looked up, vaguely surprised.

"What, you mean like the fact that it's super creepy in here? Yeah, I've got that feeling. Just more reason to move fast, right?" She cast a last glance at the lone flashlight. "Okay, you know what? That might belong to someone, we should grab it. Post to the bulletin board about it so they can get it back." She sighed and turned to head over down the hall to where the flashlight was, getting progressively more creeped as she got progressively further from Peter.

Suddenly, she started to feel a clenching in her gut that told her Peter didn't just mean the general creepiness. There was an overall eerie feel to the room itself, like the walls themselves would reach out and grab you if you stayed still too long, or like any minute now Jason was gonna come running out with his machete. Surely it was just the mood of the institute, though. She'd been basking in self pity and pessimism for days, it was no surprise the inherent creepiness of the darkness was getting to her. She was a little surprised that Peter would admit to it -- wasn't the guy thing supposed to be hiding when they were scared? -- but at the same time, relieved that he mentioned it first.

It didn't take long to reach the flashlight, even though it felt like forever because she was perpetually checking over her shoulder in a kind of nerve-wracking discomfort. When it was in front of her, though, she crouched to pick it up, turning it over in her hands like maybe someone would have sharpied their name on it for identification purposes. No such luck, but not a bad idea in the future for her own. Or maybe it was just extensive cheerleading experience that made her think it wasn't a bad idea. She'd throw it around with Peter later. Slowly, she turned to look at him with what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, holding the flashlight up like it somehow made her victorious and clicking it off.

"See? Spookiness eliminated."

[product-of-fear.livejournal.com]

The flashlight snapped off with a decidedly final click that seemed much louder than it really had any right to be. But it wasn't only the abandoned flashlight that Claire was holding that shut off with the click of a button, but their own lights as well, plunging the two of them into a suffocatingly thick darkness that almost felt alive.

Fortunately (if such a word could ever really be applied in a place like this, a situation like this one) it slowly became clear that there was something of a light with them. It was ever so faint at first, the soft glowing of a firefly perhaps, but growing slowly stronger.

And as it grew stronger, its origin became apparent. It was coming from Peter, or more specifically, his hands. They were glowing as if lit within by burning, churning energy... that was spreading and building fast.

[timedork]

[From here]

There were two doors on the left side of the hall almost immediately. Dean's information hadn't included what door to take—or if it had, he hadn't shared that part—so there wasn't much choice but to check any door they came across until they found the right one.

"Check the other door," he called to the other men, heading for the first of the doors himself. A quick test of the knob revealed that as locked, and the Doctor reached the inner pocket of his coat for the sonic screwdriver automatically. Now that he had the screwdriver, this would be a cinch.

The Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the lock and turned it on, the familiar blue light looking particularly bright in the darkness. A few seconds would be all it would take, as long as it wasn't deadlock sealed.

...Which it... unfortunately seemed to be. Maybe. The Doctor redoubled his efforts with the screwdriver.

[product-of-fear.livejournal.com]

The sonic screwdriver whined suddenly, rising in pitch rapidly almost like it was letting out a shriek of pain before it shut off of its own accord.

And so did the flashlights, plunging the trio into inky darkness that made it impossible to see even an inch in front of their own faces. Only the feel of the doorknob under the Doctor's hand would have made it apparent the door was there at all and that they hadn't somehow been thrown into an infinite void.

Or that at the very least the door had been brought along with them.

Several long, agonising seconds passed before, just as quickly as they'd shut off, the flashlights came back to life. The three men were standing exactly as they had been before. But the hallway itself had changed. It snaked off as far as the eye could see in either direction, seeming to twist as it did so, so that in the distance it almost looked as though the walls became the floor and ceiling. They could tell because the walls were now lined with doors, hundreds of them set about a meter apart, all exactly the same and, if any of them decided to check the closest, apparently locked.

Maybe it was an effect of the walls and the hundreds (thousands?) of doors, but the area seemed closer, like it was pressing in on them, the shadows reaching out like dozens of hands trying to catch at them. The air stank as well, old sweat and the tang of blood and fear, overlaying something faint and chemical.

Of course even if they realised what had happened, it was far too late to do much of anything about it, and somewhere close by a voice started laughing, building steadily louder until the odd shape of the hallway had the echoes bouncing back at the group, making it seem as though the building itself were laughing.

[kindalikedit]

Dean didn't bother arguing with the Doctor - not when he was worried about that girlfriend of his and he was holding it together pretty well, all things considered. It'd be another thing if he was some screaming, borderline pissing his pants civilian.

Heading for the door, he started to reach out to try it. He didn't make it, not when the Doctor's screwdriver gave off this godawful screech, piercing right into his skull and forcing Dean to clap a hand to his ears; didn't much help but he couldn't help it and -

Suddenly it was gone. The flashlights went at the same time.

Oh hell. Dean should've figured this was coming - place with this much evil wandering its halls and they were bound to run into something, especially all three of 'em wandering around in a group like this. Tended to draw all sorts of attention. Dean turned on the spot, one hand reaching back to make sure the door behind him was secure and wasn't gonna open up behind him, his other hand drawing the bowie knife in a smooth motion. Fun times. Still, of all the stuff he'd been expecting - spirit to suddenly be standing bloody right there, werewolf prepping to charge - he wasn't ready for a hall stretching out to infinity. Dean didn't lower his knife, his eyes flicking and taking in the surroundings.

Hundreds of doors that weren't there before, a hall way that couldn't be real. Okay, pretty sure couldn't be real, 'cause he'd be lying if he said this place didn't get on you after a point. He wanted to say pretty sure. He'd walked this way with two other pairs of eyes, so that had to amount for something. There was always the chance this was like another group hallucination.

It felt damn real to him.

Dean's mouth set in a line at the laugh. He'd heard a lot of creepy-ass noises in the past and that? That was pretty up there. Dean's fingers tightened around the bowie's hilt as he tore his eyes off the hallway for a second. McCoy was still in one piece and the Doctor wasn't suddenly a body on the floor.

So far, so good. He could work with that.

[hes-deadjim.livejournal.com]

The Doctor whipped out a device he'd never seen before, then proceeded to aim it at the doorknob. Curiously, McCoy leaned in a little closer. He couldn't resist a look at new technology, even if taking it apart wasn't his department; that kind of thing was more like Scotty's area. That sound was certainly distinct, as the design, but there was no screen, no way to input a function in there that he could see. The Doctor didn't just happen to carry a lock pick, did he? McCoy doubted it. Where did he even get it from? The institute? Did he make it?

Some sort of probe, maybe?

Whatever it was, he didn't think the lights going out like that was supposed to happen. It felt like they'd all be submerged in ink, or looked into a black hole. It was the kind of darkness you could easily lose yourself in.

Just as suddenly, the lights came back on again. Dean and the Doctor were there, just as he'd left them, although why he'd suddenly thought it possible to have been separated from them in the first place was a good question. The hallway, however, wasn't the same. McCoy stared into what was the equivalent of infinity, or what the human brain was capable of comprehending as it. The hallway seemed to spiral on forever, the floor and ceiling switching places as it twisted, and infinite doors lining the infinite walls. The air smelled foul, sick.

McCoy had to wonder if this was what a patient going mad must experience. He was certain he was sane. Mostly sane, those moments he'd zone off or experience those strange moments of disorientation, as if his thoughts weren't quite his own had to be related to strain, work. But if he'd ever seen a visual and olfactory representation of a descent into insanity, this would do him.

It was then that a terrible laugh echoed throughout the hall. It seemed to come from all sides, rising and rising.

There was a very pregnant pause. "What in hell is going on?" McCoy blurted out.

[timedork]

The Doctor was startled by the sudden change in the screwdriver's sound, nearly dropping it in his surprise. But he didn't, and he would have inspected it for any problems—trying to get past a deadlock shouldn't have made it whine like that—but in the next moment, it had turned off, along with the lights. All of the lights.

One hand still on the doorknob, the Doctor tried to look for Dean and McCoy—McCoy had been near him and Dean had been heading for the other door—but he couldn't see them... or the door. Just as he was about to call out to them, to make sure nothing had happened along with the sudden darkness, the lights came back. Whatever had caused that darkness had left changes: a long twisted hallway lined with seemingly endless doors, and stale, stagnant air.

Absently, he tucked his screwdriver back into his coat pocket. They'd need it to open a locked door, but... which door were they supposed to open now?

And then someone began to laugh ominously and the Doctor straightened, craning his neck as he looked around. He couldn't see anyone else in the hall, but that 'whatever' that had caused the darkness must have been a whoever, or at least a whoever with a whatever.

"I'm not sure," the Doctor admitted. "Obviously the hall changed— Well, I say 'it changed'... Someone changed it; must have done. Or it's a very clever illusion, with an olfactory component, and it didn't change at all..." He trailed off, glancing quickly over at McCoy, then to Dean. "Alright, you two?"

[unmocked-lawr.livejournal.com]

Exhaustion was beginning to win over adrenaline by the time Javert stumbled into the next hall, wiping the slight smile off of his face with surprising speed. Impossible to tell just how many leeches had managed to land on his back; the feel of individual jaws sinking into flesh had long since spread into a general sensation of pain.

He halted just inside the next hall, leaning on his saber and catching his breath. It seemed the flow of leeches had finally halted. He glanced behind to make sure Mello and Matt had also made it, then, dizzy from blood loss, slowly set about removing leeches from his person.

[product-of-fear.livejournal.com]

This was almost too easy. So many people, so willing to wander freely into the area he'd claimed as his own, not even slowing down sometimes to check for any dangers as they came and certainly not noticing the ever so faint scent on the air, blood and sweat and fear.

But even if they did, it was too late, much too late. He'd had so long to perfect his toxins and gases (so many run-ins with a certain bat), that a mask was the best, and often only, hope. And sometimes even then...

This group had clearly already tangled with something, but like fear itself, the Scarecrow didn't select who the gas affected and didn't play favourites. They were all slaves to their primal fears, all subjects in his experiments. Soon he'd peel back the layers in their minds and then he'd see...

The first leech Javert removed, already starting to get fat with blood, fell to the floor with a plop and started to writhe around pitifully... before the shadows suddenly rose up around it and consumed it, leaving no trace of the unfortunate thing.

It was then that the group might have realised that the hallway seemed quite a bit longer and the doors that much further away than they had before, and that there were an awful lot of shadows pooling around the edges of their flashlight beams.

[gamingsostfu.livejournal.com]

As they followed Javert closely, Matt hung onto Mello - but he let go when he saw something move. Or, rather, everything moved, and it was difficult for him to tell for a moment whether it was the blood loss or-

Oh hell no, Matt thought when he saw a figure standing before them, not too close. Everything was dark, too dark for him to really see anything, and he took a few steps away from Mello - though it was hard. Another fight?! You've got to shitting me! Matt grit his teeth, trying his best to hold himself up by his own power. He'd definitely need it if they were going to fight again.

Turning a little, he set firm glare on Mello. "Dammit- Next time, I get to pick what we're doing at night!" Getting pissy was the best way Matt knew to deal with fear - and he was getting pretty damn shaken just standing there, watching the dark move.

[swornandbroken.livejournal.com]

Mello staggered to a halt as well, swaying and out of breath. He reached back and wrenched the leech from between his shoulderblades, muttering a curse in Slovenian before he threw it down and crushed it under his boot. The one feeding off his leg met the same fate. He couldn't tell if there were more; it was getting so dark, and he was sticky and bloody and felt weighted down, as if he were covered with the damn things.

The hall seemed to warp and stretch, the darkness closing in even more. For fuck's sake, what now? "Shut up, dickhead, and get back here!" He made a grab for Matt's shirt, but hissed and checked the motion at the burst of pain it sent through his back, at the sudden awareness of just how much blood there was, wetting the t-shirt through. At least Javert was making good use of the respite.

Pain is nothing, feel it later, you've done it before. But not like this. That was the thing about third-degree burns: they didn't hurt like fuck-all until later, and they didn't chase you down for more. Now he inwardly cursed himself for dropping his torch. He could barely see at all. What would happen if they died?

No, stop that. With an effort, he stood straight, feeling in the coat pocket for the ring. He'd rather take their chances with it than hang about to see what this was. He wasn't certain he could run any more. "Both of you. Grab onto me. Now."

[unmocked-lawr.livejournal.com]

Out of the frying-pan, it seemed. Javert allowed himself a short laugh; it came out as more of a cough. Apparently a moment's respite was too much to ask for.

The dark had never held much fear for someone who had spent years patrolling it without the aid of a flashlight, but he couldn't deny there was something unsettling about the way the hall suddenly changed and the shadows seemed to move in. Another of Landel's tricks, then: he had seen them coming. That was to be expected, though Javert was in no mood to appreciate the good doctor's creativity.

He didn't argue, only seized Mello's arm with one hand and nodded as sharply as he could manage under the circumstances.

[windstwilight.livejournal.com]

[from here] (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/968874.html?thread=72643754#t72643754)

Turning the corner only showed a mass of confusion. People all acting strangely in groups of two or more. She watched, wide-eyed, for a moment, and then moved towards the door on the left. This one. She was almost sure of it. They would get Soma, and then maybe try... To help the people here.

Senna no longer had the capacity tonight to expand herself fuller. One thing at a time. Her friend first. That was all.

[product-of-fear.livejournal.com]

More people wandering into his hallway, more people unaware of the danger they had already put themselves in, the gas already seeping into their lungs, their blood, their brains. Ready to have their fears dragged out and played out before their eyes to break down their minds and show him what lay within at the heart of it all.

As always, the Scarecrow wondered what they would see...


There was only a glimpse of the shapes of other patients in the hallway before the area beyond the pale light of their flashlights darkened and seemed to swallow the people up, hiding them, the walls and details of the hallway, and even the doors the little group was aiming for entirely from sight. Everything gone until they were in what must have felt like a void of darkness with only the waning light of their flashlights to keep them aloft.

Once the darkness surrounded them completely, a scream sounded from what seemed like every direction at once. And it sounded an awful lot like Soma.

[sheisthecause.livejournal.com]

There were a couple of doors right near them on the left side of the hallway. Just ahead of her, Senna turned toward one of them, and Meche followed suit. They had to be almost there now. She knew there was more than one room, but they probably wouldn't be able to find the right ones--not that it would matter much, if they really couldn't do anything to get in until the doors unlocked. They'd just have to wait.

Meche wondered if there was anyone else coming for Donna. Even after living with her for several weeks, she realized she really didn't know a lot about her roommate; as far as Meche knew, Donna mostly just stayed in the room at night. There was that doctor (spaceman?) she'd mentioned, the one she'd always meant to get introduced to, with whom Donna sometimes traded messages on the bulletin board. Other than that, she didn't have a clue. But at least Donna wouldn't have to try to make her way back alone, not if Meche had anything to say about it.

She was just turning for the door when the hallway suddenly got darker. Meche's head jerked up sharply and she looked around, but already she couldn't see anything--even her own hand in front of her face, unless she aimed her flashlight at it. The girls seemed like they'd disappeared into the darkness. And then she heard the screaming, Soma's screaming. She tried to pinpoint where it was coming from, but it didn't sound like it was from behind that door. It was all over the place.

"Soma!" Meche shouted as loud as she could, not caring what else the noise might attract. She wanted the girl to hear them from where she was trapped, and she wanted Senna and Hokuto to be able to tell where she was too. "Where are you? We're coming to help you!"