damned_institute | 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."

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Kiba had barely time to peer inside the partially obstructed doorway, where the lights flickered on and off with unreliable frequency (everything inside looked as pristine and as disgustingly professional as he had left it), before he jerked away from the door, his pupils widening.

"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.

Niikura had expected the boy to say something along the lines of 'yeah, I know, but this place has XXX and it's really rare/cool/necessary for survival!'. But no. Instead, he'd gotten open ignorance, which, while disappointing, was somewhat understandable.

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?"

The teen shook his head with an annoyed scowl as he walked away from the door, picking up his mostly empty pillowcase. No map. But then again, he had never asked for one. He didn’t need a map, anyways. He could find everything just fine on his own. The best and safest map was the one all ready in his head. "Would've found out eventually," Kiba finally mumbled with another deliberate shrug of his shoulders as the radio transmission cut his reply short.

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?”

Niikura took the other boy's pause as an invitation to tag along, whether he'd meant it to be or not. So, in an instant, he'd come up alongside his new-found friend. "Eh, should be right above us." He jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. "And...maybe a little bit farther down." The finger moved accordingly.

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.

Kiba paused for only for a fraction of a second, hesitating only long enough to give the his new companion a brief, evaluating glance, before taking the hand offered him, shaking it firmly. "It’s Kiba,” he said with a slight smirk, tension giving way to an easy sort of informality. “And don’t let me stop you.”

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).]

Night 52: East Wing, Hall A (1st Floor)

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