The meal shift had come to an end without being able to ease Seishin's confusion. In fact, the conversation with Vino-san had only served to raise even more questions than he initially had. It had all sounded so strange and unreal, though he didn't think the other man had any reason to lie to him. He couldn't help but to be a little skeptical, however.

Though, he had been as equally skeptical when Toshio had first told him about the Shiki.

Toshio...he wondered what his former friend was doing right now. Had he been among the group chasing him? He and the villagers would've killed Sunako on sight. Toshio hated losing, though the former priest was no longer certain how well he knew him anymore. They had grown apart, as if a gap had formed between them during the last couple of months, one they were unable to cross. Seishin could only hope that Toshio and the others hadn't been the ones to find them, that Sunako was safe.

There was a certain irony in the situation. All his life he had been doing what was expected of him, but in the end he had forsaken the village, had wished destruction upon them. According to them, their village priest had done the unforgivable. He had betrayed them. Were he to find himself in Sotoba once more, he would face persecution and exile, if not death. He had already been facing it as he fled from them with Sunako.

Then, had he become Cain?

The male nurse from before had returned - though with the new information the former priest had to wonder whether this person really was a nurse, though it would explain the cold behavior - to escort him towards a new area. Seishin managed a quick stop in the lounge he had passed through earlier, which now had been set up as a movie theater in accordance to the announcement. On the wall he noticed a bulletin board. The darkness made it a little difficult to read any of the notices on it, but he had managed to make a quick copy of the maps someone had posted upon it. If he was indeed free to wander the halls at night, then these would surely come in handy.

He briefly considered asking if anyone knew about Sotoba, but he decided against it. Considering the circumstances in that tiny village, it may be best to keep a low profile for now. Asking about Sunako on such a public place may be far too risky as well -- she hardly needed others to find out what she was. Furthermore, the "nurse" grew increasingly more impatient with him and his 'dwindling'. The apology he offered was ignored as the other man brought him to the library, as he had requested.

Seishin wasn't certain what he hoped to find here, so he began wandering between the shelves as he scanned the titles of the books.

[Free to a good home.]

It figured that night would end before Rita and Taura could progress any further. Rita wasn't particularly disappointed to wake up abruptly, as they had reached a dead end. Really, the institute was doing them a favor by bringing them back to the starting point, where they could regroup.

What she didn't appreciate was the loss of valuable time, and the fact that her equipment had been confiscated once again. Rita didn't have time to mess around... which was precisely why the cheery voice broadcast over the intercom only served to grate on her nerves more than usual. In fact... how was the Head Doctor even giving that announcement? She doubted he'd managed to take the institute back in such a short amount of time, though the broadcast itself was suspicious for a number of reasons. Even though she could clearly hear the man's voice, it didn't necessarily mean that he was there. She had to look at things critically.

Still, it seemed almost as if everything had returned to normal... with a few exceptions. The different staff was one, and her lack of possessions was another. It didn't seem like the staff was expecting to fool the patients into thinking this was the same old institute, so why...?

Even as she went about preparing for the day and walking to her first destination, Rita kept her most pressing questions in mind, coming up with multiple hypotheses to explain what was happening. Since she didn't expect that the Chapel would hold anything of interest to her, Rita opted for the Sun Room instead. She was interested in seeing the bulletin board, for one.

When she entered the Sun Room, Rita brought a pen and her journal with her. If no one approached her, she would at least have a chance to document her discoveries from the previous night. First, however, she checked the bulletin board, only to find it completely empty. That confirmed a few suspicions of hers. Content to see evidence supporting her ideas about the strange occurrences, Rita sat down on a couch, opened her journal, and began to write.

[Free!]

[M20]

There had been no orders from Sora as far as Kratos was aware of; it gave him cause to worry only because he tended to do poorly without some sort of direction or objective. This might have persuaded him to indeed take the night off again, but he had by some miracle managed to finish all of his dinner, and it had granted him enough - or at least, the illusion of enough energy for him to completely abandon the idea of erring gratuitously on the side of caution.

By the time the door unlocked, he was already gently sliding the broadsword into the holster at his hip, adjusting it until it sat comfortably. The positioning was slightly different than he was accustomed to, but overall, it seemed to be working nicely - and left him with a hand free, as well. Granted, his speed was also because he had chosen to not wear his usual outfit: the tight fit of the fabric was difficult to manage in his condition. It was really in times like these that he almost wished for his Cruxis uniform despite all of its unnecessary belts and buckles: he didn't mind continuing to wear the Institute's uniform, but wearing his own clothes put him more at ease.

He still had no idea what he was going to be doing this night, but mercenaries by their nature needed to be flexible about those sorts of things; if he was going to continue to use that story, he might as well play the part properly once in a while. So, if some work came his way and had sufficient benefit, so long as it seemed less strenuous than what he'd usually been doing for the past week or so, he would accept it. Otherwise, at least he'd get the chance to stretch his legs for a bit before heading back inside.

Casting a swift glance back at his roommate, Kratos gave Kenshin a curt nod as per usual before leaving stiffly.

[to here]

"Hold on a second. I want to check something."

Lunge paused in front of the book store, frowning a little. He'd looked in the little shop a couple of times, just to get a better sense of Doyleton as a whole, but had yet to explore inside properly- understanding Doyleton hadn't especially been high on his list of priorities, but after their conversation last night he found himself curious about a few details here and there. It didn't seem that L had any plans for the rest of the day, so there wouldn't be any harm in stopping in to chase up his hunches.

'Artificial'. What did that mean, precisely? Precision, that was what they needed now, hard evidence instead of aimless, endless stabbing and theorising. It was also exactly what they were lacking. What constituted evidence in a place where everything experienced around you seemed to fall to the whims of one man and his computer?

Ah. Not quite one man. Aguilar apparently had at least one man under him to do the less notable jobs, like working the intercom back at the Institute. At any rate, it was likely that their reality was just so easily moulded as it had been before. It would be interesting to see how far that applied to Doyleton, if they peeled back the corners and took a good, hard look at what lay beneath the obvious. Details, details; the people seemed genuine enough at a glance, but what about after an interview? And the books? He hadn't yet found a town that didn't pride itself on the single non-fiction novel written about it, its heritage. But did this town even have a heritage? Or was it purely the invention of two men, Landel and the man it was potentially named for?

A gust of wind ripped past his cheeks, chilling the Inspector to the core even through his heavy coat. He hadn't felt especially bad leaving Edgar at the Twin Pines- he'd lived through his own session, after all, and they weren't ever fatal- but even so he couldn't help but think that the cold would hardly be what the man needed.

Pushing the door open, he held it aside for L to head in before him. Silently, he wondered if they were thinking the same thing- they were generally on the same page for the most part, but occasionally it felt as though he were somehow working lightyears ahead of him, consuming and digesting information at an unthinkable rate. Most of the time, though, it was clear that the man was just as in the dark as he was.

[TEAM LARS VS HARRISON FORD THE FIRST, GET]

Having spent almost the entire morning in the cold, Edgar finally decided it was time to address his groaning middle. It was hard enough to focus as he thumbed through the coupon book without his stomach doing flips: he was shivering, but still felt tremendous heat radiating from within him. The attempt at a nap on a park bench hadn't helped his fever, it seemed. Perhaps some food would.

That was granted that he was primarily hungry and not nauseated- after a while, they began to feel exactly the same. He had to assume it was mostly the former at this point, given how he'd eaten like a bird the day before- with what was on the menu at the institute as of late, it was easy to lose one's appetite. He'd been looking forward to the Doyleton trip for one last chance at a decent meal before a week of the pink slop; it was unfortunate he'd spent most of the day feeling as though he couldn't hold down anything he ate.

The restaurant looked pleasant enough from the inside- it was only a moment before one of the waitresses showed Edgar to a lone table and asked him what he'd like to drink. He sent her for water, not even bothering to attempt his usual flirtations (alas, a surefire sign he wasn't feeling like himself). As soon as she'd left, he pulled his sweater over his head; his brow was already feeling damp again. He put his elbows on the table, burying his eyes in his palms. He ached all over, worn from the oppressive blaze and the accompanying frustration. Who even knew if he'd live long enough to gain the magic that supposedly came with all the sickness?

No, he'd survive. Edgar took a deep breath- it rattled through him, the cold air of the day having not soothed his scorched throat in the least. While this was possibly the most ill he'd ever been, it wasn't the worst situation he'd faced. The feverish shakes and physical discomfort would go away eventually. What was truly worrying were the after effects: the promise of fire magic, introduced into him in a way that had left at least one notable person with shattered sanity. Even if his mind was intact and the sweltering suffering hadn't driven him mad- yet, anyway- the thought of magic presented in such a way left him uneasy. Fire was an immensely destructive force, and if it turned out it was beyond his control...

Edgar sighed, his hands cupping to cover the front of his face as he fought away another wave of queasiness. He closed his eyes- he could worry until he'd thought a hole in the ground, and it wouldn't do him any good. There were no other options: if he was truly going to be a magic-wielder again- or a Magitek Knight, as the doctor had put it- he'd learn to handle it. He wasn't certain of what would happen, but he knew he couldn't let them get the best of him.

[Lunge and L]

Five boondollars wasn't going to go very far. Nor would a couple of tickets for restaurants and salons, unless Mystic Healing Spa was a euphemism for more prosaic forms of repair work. Since she hadn't been injured aside from her pride, last night, it was superfluous either way.

Rose would have to be circumspect in her purchases. No new laptop. Five minutes at an internet cafe might be pushing it. Maybe she could find a connection just lying around. It wouldn't be the first time.

The largest building bordering the park looked promising. Black Rock Inn. Real life didn't come with save points, but what kind of adventurer would she be if she didn't hit up an inn or two? Sentimental nonsense, of course, but she couldn't rely on the designers being as immune to its wiles as she was. She strolled over to the door, and flung it open as if she owned the place.

The inside was, in a word, quaint. A fireplace burbled merrily away, welcoming weary souls with its dancing, ephemeral visage, and an empty bar promised ale and wenches to roaming heroes who had reached the age of wanting one or both temptations.

Rose just wanted an internet connection. Or a clue. Really. She wasn't picky. Any sort of indication towards the next step would be welcomed with open arms. If by open arms one meant biting sarcasm, of course.

[free!]

Dinner was just as unappealing as lunch had been. A plain, tasteless gruel that had the same consistency as okayu without any of the flavor. If it were up to him, he would have flavored the broth, maybe topped it with pickled plum or green onions. He would have preferred salted salmon on top, but that was a luxury now. Worse than the taste was the color, an odd pink color that convinced him more and more that this place had to be somewhere in America. Only America could make such strangely colored food. Although...the taste was more like England's cooking, only less burnt.

When the silence started on the intercom, Japan put down his spoon. And when the silence turned into static, he politely covered his ears, waiting for it to end. This new person didn't seem to believe in the chimes he'd just recently grown accustomed to, but Japan wished he would use them. The static grew unbearable and he pressed his palms harder against his ears until - suddenly - the noise vanished. Shaking his head slightly, he looked up at the speaker and frowned to himself as the man on the other side spoke.

What he had to say sounded ominous indeed.

Even more so when he considered that this wasn't some game, but real life or some strange approximation of it. Japan still wasn't sure what to believe when it came to the Institute. Was it a mental hospital? A military prison? Some weird cosplay LARP where the people were real? He was still hoping for the latter, but every moment he spent here took that one remaining ray of sunlight away from him.

With a heavy heart, Japan got up from his desk and eyed the metal box that he'd found in his room. He had an inkling of what it was as it reminded him of military trunks and so, very cautiously, he crept over and pried the top open. What he saw both took his breath away and caused his blood to run cold. He hadn't seen the uniform since he put it away over 50 years ago and now here it was, pristine as the day he'd first put it on; none of the rips, tears, stains and patches anywhere to be seen. Was this a joke? Was he supposed to put this on? He had no other clothes, but this?

Pushing the lid from the box, he reached in and pulled the uniform jacket out. It was just as he remembered... But he couldn't wear this. It was a symbol of his country in its darkest hour. And yet...

Japan pulled the outfit out and looked at it, frowning. Not now. He folded the pieces back up and was about to put them back into the box when he suddenly changed his mind. Pulling the pillowcase from his bed, he stuffed the clothes in there along with his flashlight. Maybe he could use the fabric for something else. Italy would have made flags out of it, but he made flags out of everything. Perhaps he could use it to carry things. Somehow. Whatever the use, it was something familiar from home and it meant this place knew who he was beyond just "Honda Kiku."

Bowing to his roommate, Japan headed out the doors, not entirely certain where he was going for the night.

[For Prussia]

.....Ow. Okay, uh. Was all that static really necessary? If that guy was hoping to give everyone a migraine, he was certainly on the right track. He excelled at being annoying as much as he did delivering creepy, cryptic messages. Alright. Good for you, whoever you were.

But no matter. The strange speech over the intercom was the least of the prosecutor's concerns. He hastily finished  writing and then slid the journal inside his desk, leaving his empty dinner tray right where it was. Yeah, somehow he'd managed to eat all of the pink sludge. He should get an award for that. No, actually, he'd deserve an award if he was still alive when morning came. Hopefully Badd had come to his senses by now and wasn't still assuming Byrne was a spy or something. Hopefully.

Oh yeah! Flashlight, yeah, that'd be really helpful! Byrne opened the desk drawer again to peek inside, but then frowned when he couldn't find the elusive flashlight in there. Aww, man. For a moment he'd hoped that these soldiers would have been merciful enough to leave him one. It wasn't really fair that everyone else seemed to have one except for him. They just had to torment him, didn't they? Sigh.

Well, if he had to go without one, he had to go without one. No use whining about it. He'd survived the previous night without it and he'd gone on several heists without needing one, either. Tonight would be no different. Byrne reassured himself with these thoughts, then, with a quick "see ya" and an added "be careful" to his roommate, he headed out the door and into the dark hallway.

Right. Time to go pay Badd a little visit.

[M41; to here]

Snow doubled in number as the day transitioned into the evening hours. Unfortunately, none of the patients were allowed the time to enjoy the weather changes. They were instead greeted by the telltale jingle of the intercom, signaling their cue to return indoors.

Once again, they heard the voice of a familiar female. She sounded unchanged from her previous announcements, her intonation as clear and as flat as ever.

"Attention all subjects and personnel. All subjects are to return to their assigned rooms for their evening meal. Lights Out will commence shortly after."

The woman paused, seemingly for effect.

"All personnel: you are to report to your stations. Thank you."

The intercom clicked off.

[ All room threads go in response to this post; please post your character's room number as the subject line of the initial post. ANY NEWLY ACCEPTED CHARACTERS MAY POST TO THIS SHIFT (but are not obligated to if you would like to wait for Nightshift or Dayshift); please refer to the new room assignments before posting. Thank you! ]

Erika had no interest of going out in the courtyard, where it was snowing. Snow meant that it was cold, wet, and exceedingly unpleasant, so when she was presented with the option, she refused at light speed. Unfortunately, she also wasn't one of the lucky ones who got to roam freely, so the Sun Room was the only option left. Erika supposed it wasn't so bad, since she had business there. And the first order of business was on the bulletin, where she went about her daily task of reading everyone else’s messages before reading her own, because it was left up in a public space and that meant she had every right to read it. It helped her kill time while she waited for her mysterious “friend” to show up, at least.

There were few in this place who would recognize her signature, and it was very odd that this person didn’t want to name themselves on this board. In fact, that whole conversation had been a little odd… The person knew her, but Erika had the feeling that she didn’t know them. It was just a feeling she had, since there was really nothing in their conversation that hinted towards that. Still, it was just odd to her that this person refused to name themselves on the board, yet was willing to arrange a meeting. She supposed it was just something that would be better explained in person, though Erika couldn’t imagine what that was. It wasn’t like she minded a face to face meeting, anyway.

Since this person knew who she was, that hopefully meant they knew what she looked like, so all Erika could do was wait patiently for her “guest” to show up. In the meantime, she was more than happy to bully stupid people on the bulletin to pass her time, like that moron who threw juice at her hair. Oh, she was going to have fun with him…

It would have been very hard for anyone to miss the sight of Erika making creepy faces at the bulletin board.

[ hi lion…. ]

Having to be around food that he couldn't eat hadn't been nearly as bad as it could have been considering what that food was, and so Zack felt fairly decent as he left the cafeteria and headed through the Sun Room into the showers. Actually, it was his feet that were bothering him more than his stomach. He hadn't been allowed to sit down all day (he might have been able to in the courtyard if he'd thought about it, but he hadn't felt the need then). Even someone like him was starting to feel a soreness in the bottom of his feet after all this, but the showers weren't going to give him a reprieve from that.

He'd just have to hold out until dinner and then make sure to rest his feet before night came. He wasn't going to let something that simple stop him from heading out, after all. Zack realized that he needed to make better plans, but at this point all he wanted to do was find Cloud and have a proper talk with him.

It bugged him that he hadn't seen his friend all day, and he wondered if there would be any point in leaving a message on the bulletin for him. Seeing how Cloud was so new, he probably hadn't heard about the board yet.

Searching the rooms would probably be useless, but if he waited around in that same hallway where he'd run into him before, that would likely be his best bet. And maybe they could go hunting for weapons, too.

Even though his feet were bothering him, once Zack got undressed and was positioned under one of the shower heads with warm water pouring down on him he started to feel a little better. There was nothing more soothing than getting clean like this.

[For Snow.]

Though five days without bathing was hardly unusual for Rita, she was actually looking forward to showering today. To her, the last shift had been somewhat enjoyable, if only because it allowed her an opportunity to be alone with her thoughts for a bit. Of course, she couldn't be completely alone in the communal showers, but no one was rude enough to disturb her in there, which was good enough for her.

Once the shift was over, she re-applied the bandages on her leg and knee, dressed herself, and made her way to the cafeteria. The pain in her knee seemed to lessen as the day progressed, and her slight limp became less noticeable to herself. Hopefully it wouldn't impede her much come nightfall.

Upon entering the cafeteria, however, Rita found that she had more immediate problems to deal with. What was that slop they were serving?

Deaf to her complaints, a soldier quickly ushered her into the line for the pink gruel. While waiting, Rita became aware of a section in the room where edible food was being served... but apparently only to selected patients. Whose butt did they have to kiss to get that treatment?

After receiving her "meal" (using the word very loosely), Rita found an empty area to sit in. There, she made no move for her utensils, but instead glared at the plate of mush as if the food itself had somehow wronged her.

[For Woody]

After what seemed like an eternity of being amused, irritable, bored, in pain, in excruciating pain, and any combination of those, Guybrush was met by the same soldier who had led him to the cafeteria. He wasn't offered a trip to the Sun Room to check the bulletin board, but didn't push for it anyway. That would have been more walking, and moving was one of those many, many physical activities he didn't feel like doing in any capacity. Not today... or until next week, or whenever he'd stop feeling like he'd been on a date with a rough manatee named Large Marge. There was a slow minute of him feebly getting to his feet, then he followed the soldier without comment.

The comment came when Guybrush was handed a leather jacket on his way out the door. "A fine leather jacket... hah." He hissed as he pushed his right arm through the sleeve, settling to just leave the left draped over his shoulder. It was then he noticed the embroidery. At least Aguilar had a decent budget for clothing. If the pants worked, he'd be set.

There was something to be said about the General's methods, though. Why make the people who hadn't been in the food fight do the cleaning, while letting the guilty ones stand around? Sure, he wanted everyone to know who was responsible for the punishment, but wouldn't that just-

Oh. Wow, now that was a new level of crafty manipulation. Even LeChuck could be proud of it, if he wasn't behind it in some way. His disappearance made it possible- even probable- that his showing-up-and-playing-innocent-human-kidnapee routine had been an elaborate rouse, one even more diabolical than creating a carnival with which to recruit unsuspecting tourists into his undead army, more time-consuming than using a Mighty Pirate™ to look for a voodoo-sucking sea sponge so he could... get his mojo back? Oh yeah- Guybrush had died before that one reached Chapter 5. But if Landel's Institute was something LeChuck had cooked up so he could woo Elaine From The Past and change the future, then it was way, way more complex than his previous schemes.

And if it wasn't some incredible plot LeChuck had hatched because he finally grew tired of having his plans foiled? That made things even more complicated.

Guybrush made his way toward one of the benches, sprawling across it as he leaned his head against the backrest. Was the wall higher today? Maybe that was the aching in his chest talking. Either way, he didn't think he'd be going over it in an attempt to Escape from Aguilar's Institute™ that night unless they added a wheelchair ramp.

[Morgan]

 
He didn't often listen to the overhead announcements, but now it seemed like it would be a good idea, from here on out - especially with everything that was happening and changing all at once. Things were just going to get worse from here on out, and Matt had to wonder at the wide range of possible ideas the soldiers could have for the asylum. It didn't sound like this General was any nicer than Landel, so that probably crossed out pizza parties and trips to the zoo.

Gathering up his newfound clothes as quickly as he could, Matt shot Claude another grin as he stuffed them into his trusty pillowcase and edged toward the door.

"Sorry to cut things short, but I've got a lot of ground to cover." He nodded to his roommate before shuffling out in a hurry, making a mad dash down the hall.

[to here]

The jingle of the intercom seemed ill-timed this round, a fact that was further pronounced by the pleasant voice following suit.

"Hello, patients. This is I.R.I.S. again. Due to technical difficulties, we are unable to speak to you directly at this time. Until the matter is resolved, we will be announcing the remainder of today's events from our automated service.

It is now time for everyone to retire to their assigned rooms for Dinner Shift. Tonight's menu consists of premium spaghetti with Landel's signature marinara sauce, garlic bread, and a side of Caesar salad. Our dessert for tonight is chocolate chip cookies. In addition, we will be providing the usual selection of drinks, and vegetarian alternatives can be made available upon request.

We again would like to apologize for any inconvenience. Please contact your nurse with any questions or concerns you might have. Thank you, and have a wonderful evening."

The intercom clicked off.

[ All room threads go in response to this post; please post your character's room number as the subject line of the initial post. ANY NEWLY ACCEPTED CHARACTERS MAY POST TO THIS SHIFT (but are not obligated to if you would like to wait for Nightshift or Dayshift); please refer to the new room assignments before posting. Thank you! ]

And thus concluded a perfect start to a perfect day. Making him explode from every facial orifice was a totally justified response to Peter not doing anything at all.

The nurses' hearts had defrosted just enough to permit them a change of clothes and a desperately needed wipe down. Nurse Joyce - Rachel had been apologizing the whole way back to his room through gritted teeth and steely side glares at the soldier stalking behind them. "So sorry, Tyler. Gassing children. I would have never thought it would come to that - but you were good, weren't you? You stayed under the table with your friend the whole time?"

"Flaht lodda gud id did meh," Peter had slurred through a mouthful of spit. He winced and squeezed another quadrillion tears from his eyes as he felt a string of snot drip onto his chin. His whole being ached with embarrassment.

Okay, yes, gassing was a common method for riot control. He knew this. Everyone knew this. But that so did not justify using it on a truckload of mental patients, half of whom couldn't legally drive and seventy five percent of which were currently incapacitated. Making people stumble around and fall on their broken limbs did not equal safe medical practice, no matter how hard they were rioting.

Not to mention getting gassed had totally cut off his conversation with this Gambit fellow. Whom he now had to spend some time sleuthing for, because Peter so did not trust random strangers with the deets on his secret identity. Even if they were friends with Logan. Especially if they were friends with Logan. Plus he had no idea whether or not Gambit existed in his sad, sorry version of the universe, and thus no way to check if he was a good superhero or a bad superhero. AKA super villain.

He sniffled, hand firmly perched under his nose to catch any leaks (or god forbid, more drooling) as he was marched against his will outside. Apparently this was under military orders.

They were going to shoot them, weren't they?

It seemed the purpose was a touch more innocuous than that, even if they were immediately assembled into an execution line. A soldier stepped up with a clipboard, Huge Douche written all over his face, and began calling out names. Peter lost interest and gazed miserably at the men standing guard behind him. They didn't seem to be in attack mode. That was a plus.

"Karmichael, Tyler!"

He wondered if they would stop pushing them outside soon. It was getting colder all the time, he thought with a shiver, rubbing his sling arm gently for warmth.

"Karmichael, Tyler!"

It sure was dismal out today.

"Karmichael, Tyler!!"

Oh right. "Here!!" Peter shouted, embarrassment flushing his face. Then his nose wrinkled with distaste. "Wait, my last name is Karmichael? What? That's a terrible-"

Huge Douche gave him an evil eye. "Answer when you're called for!"

"...Yes sir."

Yeesh.

That over with, Peter hastily consulted with his nurse and convinced her to let him back in the Sun Room. He just wanted to sit on a couch and grumpface at the world today.

[To here.]

For once, HK was working very hard to hide a giddy facial expression as he met his nurse at the door. He'd already hidden his scalpels in his clothing. The wonderful, sharp implements of doom would be needed today. “Statement: Despite my reticence towards all processed meat and plant products, I am experiencing intolerable levels of hunger,” he informed his nurse. “I require an especially large meal.”

It was the easiest and best excuse to load his food tray with several of these 'inglish muffin sandwiches', and two glasses of white milk. He then found a table strategically located in the center of the refueling area, and waited. He needed the room as full as possible before the Evil Plan could begin.

[Free, but planning doom upon all.]

[from here]

The combination of experience and walking in silence even for a couple of moments, without the distraction of conversation, heightened Lunge's senses; he was able to pick out the angles of the ruins up ahead sooner than he had before, in spite of the fog.

Everything was as it had been during their last visit, just as battered and weatherworn and littered with debris. He hadn't memorised the area- there wasn't much of a point- but if he had, he wouldn't have been surprised if he found that everything was precisely the same, down to the last brick. A third viewing had worn most of the shock value off, but even so it was difficult to ignore the sense of melancholy every inch of the place seemed to breathe.

As for a more literal breathing the area seemed clear enough, though it was impossible to say for certain now that there were so many more hiding places available to whatever seasoned predator happened to be in the area.

Lunge lowered his flashlight. "There's little point in looking at the church again. Where should we start? Over there?" He gestured to the nearest shadow of a building to their left- between what he could barely make out through the remains of the nearest window with his flashlight and the scratched, battered old signage on the outside, it looked like some sort of a store.

[from here]

Lunge let a little of his concentration lapse while he examined the area more carefully. Still nothing obvious in the vicinity, but that was to be expected given the fog. From here it was a little way before they had to change direction again, so he could afford to listen carefully to the end of the radio message.

As for that, what he hadn't been expecting was for Marc to make such a sudden exit. That was refreshing- it implied a kind of proactive outlook that Lunge could appreciate better than he could the unsteady trickle of cryptic puzzles they'd had before. On the other hand, of course, it meant no more radio broadcasts, but given how unhelpful he'd been so far that didn't mean much at all. Better to take the risk and try something different rather than sit and stew.

The broadcast finished and the same unfamiliar song from the start began again. He trusted the younger man to switch it back off without prompting. Lunge glanced to the side, raising an eyebrow at L. "Interesting. I'd like to hear some of those guesses- I haven't heard of any key players we haven't heard from personally already so we likely wouldn't recognise names, but it sounds as though Marc knows more about the hierarchy of this place."  The than I'd thought was implicit- he didn't like to say so out loud.