James T. Kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doneinthree) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2010-10-22 09:44 pm
doneinthree) wrote in damned_institute2010-10-22 09:44 pm
Night 52: East Wing, Hall A (1st Floor)
[from here]
"Yup," he confirmed, and suddenly veered off into the hallway containing the doctor's offices. Uhura was following close behind anyway, as he could see from the beam of light traversing the walls ahead of him. Kirk had been here twice before, once during the day for his own therapy session, and once during the night with Chekov. The corridor they entered now existed in an eerie world in between those two trips: claustrophobically half the width of the main hall and shadowed at the dead end, but the single flickering, functional light overhead at least told him that they weren't walking into a frog-shark-man-monster ambush. Small favours.
Second door on the left was Dr. Kisugi's office, but Kirk didn't need a flashlight to see the absence of a name plate. He frowned slightly as he touched the empty slot on the door. "Her name was Kisugi. Scary woman. No sense of humour. You would've liked her." Kirk shot Uhura a smirk at that, but there was no real amusement in it. Had something happened to her? True, he hadn't exactly liked Kisugi, but he also hadn't forgotten the possibility that the doctors were as much victims as they were.
Still, on the hierarchy of people he needed to worry about, hospital staff ranked several levels below crew. He knew his goal for tonight. Information. "And I have no idea how they schedule appointments," he added, dropping his hand and continuing down the rows of doors. "I didn't sign up for anything before a nurse directed me here. Same with Bones, I think. And Spock didn't have a session either, so it's not that everyone gets therapy— well, assuming they didn't just take one look at his ears and decide it was a lost cause."
"Yup," he confirmed, and suddenly veered off into the hallway containing the doctor's offices. Uhura was following close behind anyway, as he could see from the beam of light traversing the walls ahead of him. Kirk had been here twice before, once during the day for his own therapy session, and once during the night with Chekov. The corridor they entered now existed in an eerie world in between those two trips: claustrophobically half the width of the main hall and shadowed at the dead end, but the single flickering, functional light overhead at least told him that they weren't walking into a frog-shark-man-monster ambush. Small favours.
Second door on the left was Dr. Kisugi's office, but Kirk didn't need a flashlight to see the absence of a name plate. He frowned slightly as he touched the empty slot on the door. "Her name was Kisugi. Scary woman. No sense of humour. You would've liked her." Kirk shot Uhura a smirk at that, but there was no real amusement in it. Had something happened to her? True, he hadn't exactly liked Kisugi, but he also hadn't forgotten the possibility that the doctors were as much victims as they were.
Still, on the hierarchy of people he needed to worry about, hospital staff ranked several levels below crew. He knew his goal for tonight. Information. "And I have no idea how they schedule appointments," he added, dropping his hand and continuing down the rows of doors. "I didn't sign up for anything before a nurse directed me here. Same with Bones, I think. And Spock didn't have a session either, so it's not that everyone gets therapy— well, assuming they didn't just take one look at his ears and decide it was a lost cause."
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She wasn't nervous, not yet anyway, and Kirk certainly helped keep her distracted from said nerves with his remarks. "I'm sure she had a fantastic sense of humor, even if you didn't find it to your liking." Uhura half-hoped it was because the other woman possibly used her sense of humor at his expense, like she liked to at times, but she wasn't going to voice that.
The thought of Spock receiving therapy worried her slightly, not because she thought they would be at all successful in their brainwashing (or whatever it was they tried to do) but because of the lengths they would take to try and achieve that. Surely they wouldn't have used the same techniques that they would use to manipulate a solely human mind, so what could they possibly-
No, she wasn't going to think about it.
"What is it exactly we're looking for here? Besides the opportunity to severely anger the wrong person, or persons." There, that was easier to focus on. How completely vulnerable they would be if they got caught, sans the bat. "We're not prepared to deal with any kind of security systems right now. Or even the nurses, I'd assume." This was a hospital after all, and she had heard about patients being sedated to keep under control. That wasn't appealing to her, at all.
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But Uhura was also approaching this situation like she expected Landel's Institute to conform to some sort of logical standards for hospitals or prisons. He remembered those days. "You saw what it was like ten minutes ago. The doors unlock, we're supplied with flashlights, Landel taunts us. He wants us to be out here... which isn't to say that there aren't 'security systems' to deal with, but they tend to— hang on."
Kirk abruptly turned on the spot, nearly bumping heads with Uhura as he leaned forward to check out the name on the door he'd just passed. Venkman. He grinned, then felt his grin slip a little when he came up against a lock. But the knob wiggled slightly loose in the frame... "And what you and I are looking for is information. This office belongs to Bones' doctor."
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And that was when Uhura decided she was done with trying to sort through things in her mind each step of the way.
Her hands moved up when Kirk turned almost right into her, and she couldn't stop her eyes from narrowing. It was either that or let some sort of remark slip, and she realized she shouldn't even bother. Not when he was fussing with a locked door that lead into a doctor's office. She tried not to sound too derisive once she finally spoke up again. "You want to look for his patient file." It's just stated, instead of asked, and in a way that made it known she wasn't exactly completely behind this plan. "Or is there something else specifically I should be looking for?"
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"Stand back," Kirk ordered, and without further ado, lifted one foot to kick open the door: it took two tries, but the wood splintered as he threw his strength into it, and they were in. Fleetingly, his thoughts returned to Uhura's earlier point — if it was that easy to break into the office, did Landel want them to be poking around here? — but the sound of his radio buzzing to life stopped it short.
Marc. He always thought he had her wrapped around his little finger, but she's always fighting to resist... Kirk frowned. They'd been wary about the information from the radio communications before (there was too much they didn't know about their present circumstances, too much that didn't make sense), but Marc's words seemed to imply something stranger was going on between the Head Doctor and the rebels.
Something stranger than right here, right now? That eerie feeling Kirk had had earlier — that something was... watching them — crept back. He didn't need Marc to tell them to be careful. Kirk glanced back at Uhura. "Come on. We can talk more in here."
[to here]
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He didn’t have to jog far to reach his destination: Dr. Yumeno’s Office, stopping once he reached the door. He tried the handle. Locked. Tch, figured.
Taking a moment to peer down the long hallway, his gaze flickered warily to the sputtering lights that had managed to survive the electrical surge. His eyes thought they caught a glimmer of moment out of the corner his eye, like a shadow darting across the carpet. He tried to track the movement, but he smelled nothing, saw nothing that would indicate an unwelcome presence, so he dismissed the movement as nothing, turning his attention back to the locked door. Kiba had never had any skill or patience for lock picking. It was too much of a hassle to bother. This meant, of course, that Kiba would have to do things the old-fashioned way, which was fine by him.
A momentary, fanged grin flashed across the teen’s face before sinking into one of focused concentration. This would show Yumeno. This was show him. The bastard could go and buy himself a new door. He set his pillowcase down, stuffing the flashlight inside before backing up a considerable length. Then, with all the force he could muster, Kiba flew at the door, crashing into it shoulder-first. There was a shudder, the sound of strained hinges and yielding wood. Kiba was mildly surprised when he was thrown back, used to most doors giving into him on his first try. Then again, he had had his chakra to aid him. Here, he didn’t, but Kiba had never stopped once to think about his loss at any great length, or on the very real effects it would have him and what he would be able to accomplish. Now that he was faced with a very real consequence, Kiba still refused to dwell on it.
It just meant he would have to ram it one more time, that’s all. Hardly anything to worry about.
Gritting his teeth, he retraced his steps, flinging himself once more into the door. It groaned, its resistance to Kiba’s blows crumbling, but it was still holding up despite mounting pressure, though there was a definite inward lean.
Kiba glared at the door with narrowed eyes, a lancing pain in his shoulder making itself immediately known. He backed up. Like he’d let something as stupid as a stubborn door stop him from getting what he wanted. He had to get his hands on that file. Find that photo. Taking another deep breath, he lunged.
[For Niikura.]
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Niikura wasn't sure what had drawn him down this hall. Maybe it was the kid he'd caught momentarily in his flashlight as he'd walked down the previous hall, the one who was trying to break down a door and doing an absolutely fantastic job of it. He'd stopped for a second to marvel not only at the guy's tenacity but also at the apparent sturdiness of the doors around here, (Well--they had better be sturdy. What if the patients got unruly?) and in the process had watched an opportunity present itself. Breaking into locked rooms was fun and all, but usually they had a purpose. There had to be something in the room to make the effort worthwhile.
He'd never had therapy and thus had never gone down this way--in fact, Niikura at the moment didn't even have a clue what was in that locked room being so viciously assaulted. If it was something good, though, he wanted in. And if it wasn't, he'd just move on to the next...wherever. He was a patient man.
"Yo!" Niikura walked up, hand raised in greeting, as his fellow patient lunged for the door. "What's in there, huh?" Not exactly the conventional thing to say, but since when had he been conventional?
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As soon as he hit into the door for the third time, he finally felt it yield to the applied pressure, and with a definite crack like splintering wood, it swung inwards. He stumbled back, swinging his head around in the direction the unfamiliar voice had come from, the rest of him following suite. His eyes narrowed, body stiffening automatically to preparation to ward off a potential threat. He didn’t recognize the guy that had approached him, but it only took him a few seconds to visibly decide that, whoever the hell the other guy was, that he wasn’t much of a threat—to him, anyways. With that decided, Kiba relaxed, shooting a glare at one of flickering light fixtures as a bulb burst in a small shower of sparks just down the hallway.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, with an easy, casual shrug as he turned around to push open the door further, not bothering to return the greeting. "Maybe some files. Maybe nothing at all.” Though he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit he was mainly after a few photographs. That wasn’t any of the other guy’s business. “…Maybe all I wanted to do is to just let the good doctor know I stopped by. What do you care, anyway?”
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He gave the other boy a curious look. "Although, I thought the file and patient possessions rooms were elsewhere."
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"What?" he snarled, barely able to keep his voice from turning into a full-blown shout. "What do you mean they're somewhere else? Where?"
That didn’t make sense.
His frown turned into an annoyed grimace.
Actually, no, it did make sense, now that he thought about it. Of course the bastards would do something like that. It was completely logical, Kiba just didn’t want to admit he hadn’t thought of the possibility of the files n' crap being stored elsewhere himself. Though it wasn't like he wouldn't have come to that conclusion eventually. He would've.
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He raised an eyebrow. "What? Ya mean ya don't know? Second floor's apparently where patient stuff is at, or so I read. Anyone ever show you a good map of this place?" He sent a mental 'thank you' to Edward, wherever his roommate was--probably still stewing in the room, strapped into his wheelchair.
Just then, his radio crackled to life, and Niikura froze as a man's voice began filtering creakily through the speakers. Something about Jill...good, good, keep morale up...ah, and was he actually trying to help them? He didn't exactly trust these supposed do-gooders, but if this guy could fix whatever was going on with his shadow in particular, Niikura would definitely start turning his opinion around.
He scratched the back of his head as the broadcast ended. "...so anyway, where were we?"
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He could only raise a perplexed eyebrow at the proceedings, not knowing what to make of any of it. He still didn’t know who the hell these any of these people were, but if they were against the head bastard, then, well, all the power to them. He didn't care what they did, so long as they gave the doctor hell. As far as everything else went, they could stay out of his business, unless they had something of worth to bring.
"Patient possessions,” he said once the broadcast faded into empty static and then into silence, shooting a final glare at the door before starting to move down the hall, pillowcase slung over his shoulder. There was a staircase that led to the second floor, wasn’t there? He stopped, looked over his shoulder. “You said second floor or whatever, right? Where?”
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It looked like all that effort to get into the good doctor's office had been for naught, but he wouldn't complain: he hadn't been the one body-slamming things needlessly. It did tell him something about his "partner" for the night, though: this kid, whoever he was, didn't really think before he acted. That was alright - Niikura could work with all types - but if they caught wind of a fight...well, perhaps he'd give the teen the benefit of the doubt.
Niikura gave a wide, easy grin. "Hope ya don't mind some company to tide you over; I got a fair amount of interest in that place m'self. Name's Niikura." Once again, his flashlight was tucked under an arm, this time to offer a hand to shake.
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As far as Kiba was concerned, Niikura could do whatever the hell he wanted, so long as he didn’t interfere with any of his current goals. Kiba certainly had no intention of stopping Niikura from coming or going, though having a partner for the night would certainly relieve the quiet tedium, and at least Niikura didn't seem like he was a complete idiot. Laid-back, sure, but not a moron, thank the Gods. He had put up with enough weirdos and condescending bastards for one day; he didn't know if he had the patience to deal with another with what little of it he had remaining. He could be wrong, of course, but Kiba had no qualms with going his own way or socking the guy in the face, partner or not, if he turned out to be wrong in his assumptions. He worked perfectly fine on his own, and wasn't about to put up with any crap from anyone or anything.
"Better get there as fast as we can move though,” he said, picking up his own flashlight that had long since been switched off, "before the Head Bastard gets any more bright ideas.”
Mentally envisioning where the room was based on Niikura’s directions (Up the stairs and down the hall. Piece of cake, right?), Kiba didn’t hesitate in taking the lead, setting off at a brisk pace down the hallway, keeping his eyes trained on his surroundings, vaguely unnerved by the odd shape of his own shadow as the lights routinely resurrected and died.
[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/994960.html?thread=73885840#t73885840).]
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Kirk was right on Uhura's heels after he heard her pass through the door... and just as the lieutenant had said, the first thing they saw was his erratic shadow rising on the opposite wall of the corridor, painted there by the light of the room they'd left behind. Landel's voice was coming in through the intercom, sounding tense, even distracted. While it seemed Jill had been detained since the last message, his tone suggested that she'd done something to set tonight's plans off-course. And what were those plans, anyway?
There is no cure without a test subject; there is no success without a challenge.
His earlier guess was right. "Another experiment. Something's about to happen," Kirk told Uhura grimly, but he might as well have not bothered. It was clear enough from the audible electric buzz that suddenly jolted through the hospital, or the way his shadow was going haywire, not even cowed now by direct light — until suddenly it snapped back to normal, and the buzzing stopped.
Kirk held up his right hand like he was waving, and his shadow obeyed, not a single inch of blackness out of place. He opened his mouth to wonder what was going on, at which point the silhouette of his flashlight dropped from his shadow's hand, followed by the baseball bat. Whispers seemed to seep through the edge of his hearing, strangely familiar... and suddenly Kirk knew what was coming in the second before it actually happened: his shadow stepped out from the wall.
But he couldn't have predicted this. At first, it looked like him (it was his shadow, after all), but as colour and detail entered the opaque dark shape, Kirk made out the gold shirt, and the military cut of the black pants and boots. He should have raised the bat in his hand, ready to defend himself, but he couldn't do it, not until he saw the head: the haircut was different, and so were the hazel eyes that looked from him to Uhura, but the face... His face was unmistakably that of James T. Kirk, ten years down the line.
It was him... but not him. Of course Jim knew who this was. The Head Doctor knew too, and so Kirk straightened, not ready to fall for another one of the Institute's mind games. "Well, there's one difference between us," he remarked. "I'm taller."
The shadow matched his cocky smile, but there was something else in it as he looked at Kirk: disdain. "Ah... another swaggering young rebel with an attitude." His voice sounded slightly older, his words measured in an odd rhythmic way, but a way that was still eerily familiar to Kirk. (Did he really sound like that?) "Should I be impressed?"