[From here.]

Edgar crossed the wall with relative ease, his hand slipping from the stone as he fell. The snow cushioned his landing, crunching beneath his boots. He had to admit that the military's shoes were preferable for snowy travel to the slippers issued by the institute. Though the chilly wind nipped at his bare face, the fire in his chest kept him warm against the falling temperatures. The cold was soothing, that flame always lapping at him from the inside.

A good night to test out his abilities, then. He surveyed the landscape around him: the rocky terrain, increasingly so as it headed toward the quarry, was hidden by the white that blanketed everything it touched. He listened for a moment, but heard nothing to disturb the stillness. That made it all the more unnerving: there should have been wildlife about, bringing some minor disturbances to the area, but there was nothing at all.

However, no noise also meant there might be no one else around, and given he wasn't sure how his abilities would behave or if he could control them, that was something Edgar had been hoping for. He had barely contained them only one night before- they were suppressed now, but that didn't mean he couldn't lose control. He couldn't risk hurting others; he could only hope his spells would be of some use and that they could be mastered quickly, before he became a slave to the infusion himself. That was not an option.

Trekking from the wall, he chose an area clear enough for his work. It felt so different from the magic he had learned: the words came no easier, but the energy itself dug further into him, teasing his senses as it twisted its way through his body and down to his fingertips. He could already feel changes between the cast from the night prior, the spell taking more energy as he worked his way through the incantation. It would wear on him, but it had to be done.

He could feel his palm sweat as seconds ticked by, his concentration wearing thin. Keeping at it was going to be the key- good thing he had never been one for giving up so easily.

[Rita! Sorry this is way late, man. D:]

[from here]

...

To be honest, it was colder than he had expected. It very well hadn't been the middle of winter in Makai, so Kurama cited that as the reason why he would be so unaccustomed to the sudden climate change now.

He allowed his demon core to burn a little stronger to counteract the outward chill, for the moment ignoring his initial decision to mask his demonic aura for the night. Really, if he had known, he would have just taken the coat with him, but since he hadn't... well, then he best do what he'd come here to do as quickly as he could. Such was one of the things he missed about having fur. But he wasn't going to try for any transformations yet -- not until he had figured out what limitations had been placed on him first.

Holding a hand up to keep his hair out of his face, Kurama took in the surroundings around him that had been labeled as the 'Recreation Field' on his map. It was a moderately-large field and the grass was neatly trimmed. Nothing here that would be useful for him then. Grass was hardly a good type of plant to channel youki into, anyway. In a pinch, it could be useful, but if he wanted a sturdy weapon, he would had to go find something less flexible.

[From here]

Again he paused, this time just outside the doorway. Toward the end of the hall he saw a bit of light, which probably meant that was the door to the outside. And immediately on his left was another door, open, which just lead to another hall. That was the direction he wanted, according to his memory. He took another moment to listen, but heard nothing of interest other than the vague sounds of humans moving around. Which was only to be expected, since he wasn't the only rat starting his run of the maze.

[To here]

The intercom jingled at its standard time, with the Head Doctor still in his over-the-top, jovial mood. It seemed not even the evening light could keep down the love he held for his job.

"Good evening, everyone! I hope your soul is filled with music from last shift; I know mine is."

There again was a stretch of silence. When the Head Doctor continued, he sounded marginally disappointed.

"But now it's time to wind down the day with a bit of dinner. Tonight, we'll be serving turkey breasts and quality gravy, with sides of garlic mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, grilled asparagus, and a small salad. For dessert, we will be having pumpkin pie with optional whipped creme. As per usual, we will have our vegetarian alternatives and a wide selection of drinks available. Turkey lovers, be sure to take advantage of the food; it'll be an entire week before you can have this delectable meat again."

He chuckled at the statement. One might have labeled it as dark.

"Anyway, enjoy! I will wish you all a good night momentarily!"

The intercom clicked off.

Anise had been lying snug in bed, only vaguely aware that she was awake, when her rest was disturbed by the one sound in the world she'd never wanted to hear again.

"Good morning, everyone!"

The girl's eyes shot open and she immediately sat up straight. There was no doubt about it. That was the Head Doctor, that bastard, and he was back! Now that she was wide awake, Anise realized she was wearing the institute's old uniform again, and that the decorative items in her room had been left alone.

It was hard to contain her frustration at hearing the man run through the breakfast menu as if it were any other day, and she ended up throwing a pillow against a wall before pulling herself out of bed. Didn't Marc get a chance to kill that guy? What about the army? Landel had to have pulled some dirty trick to end up back in the Head Doctor's seat.

Seething was only going to get Anise so far, though, and she knew she'd have to go out and face the day. She wasn't surprised when a clueless nurse came to pick her up, though she wasn't any less annoyed that the hag was carrying on as if nothing had happened. At least she had Tokunaga back with her...

Finally, she reached the Cafeteria, where Anise instinctively moved to line up at the real-food counter... before realizing they weren't divided anymore. More importantly, though, the food looked and smelled not only edible, but delicious. Whatever happened yesterday seemed to be over, thank goodness. She loaded up a plate full of waffles topped with strawberries and made her way over to a seat.

There was a lot to think about, but she needed to take things one at a time. Since she'd gone all of yesterday with nothing to eat but candy and chocolate (something she may not have objected to if she were a little younger), getting some real food into her body was Priority Number One. And Priority Number Two was... oh! Luke had to be around somewhere. He promised he'd meet her that day, so she had to keep an eye out for him!

[for Luke]

[From here.]

After a point, the hallway cleared out entirely due to them passing all of the other pairs of patients that had been meeting up or waiting around. The sirens had shut off by now and it had left everything deadly quiet as a result. Harvey clenched a fist around his metal pipe, fighting off the paranoia that something was lurking around the corner waiting for them.

"So... you were here last night, right? I know it's somewhere around here, but..." His guess was that it was one of the doors straight ahead, but he figured that he'd let Jones take the lead from here on out, at least until they got to an area that was uncharted for both of them.

Harvey realized that he was probably going to have to bust open any locked doors. It was a mild annoyance, but he had to admit that it would be detrimental for both of them if Jones strained his wounds by going even one round with one of those locks.

[from here]

Kirk ran into the main hallway and found nothing there except more pink light coating everything. His gut feeling said that if something was happening, it should've happened already, but he was a loss to explain what was going on. The system (if he could call it that, vague as it was to describe the whole Landel's torture/experimentation assembly line) had broken down at least once already, on that night when I.R.I.S. had first(?) appeared, and the whole of the building flickered like a malfunctioning hologram. Was that what the glowing cover was for? To prevent... he didn't know. Something. Something bad enough to warrant a Code Red.

(What had killed that creature?)

Waiting around here was already bad enough on normal nights, what with it being an open space with high traffic, but he'd picked it because it was the quickest and most obvious meeting place for all of them. Now with the whole area lit up like the inside of a strip club, Kirk was starting to feel like a lone piece of meat wrapped in a gold ribbon and tossed out for the wolves. He made a face for a second as he considered the unfortunate implication of mixing those similes, then decided that the dumb thoughts which crossed his mind ranked considerably lower in priority than, you know, paying attention to his surroundings and not getting himself killed.

Kirk swung the lead pipe in his hand once, just to focus, and shook his head as pain rippled out from the still-healing gunshot wound on his right arm. Take it easy, Jim, he admonished himself silently. It was still early in the night. Someone would be along shortly. And if not... he was giving his crew one minute. One minute, and then screw it, he was tracking down everyone himself.

[KIRK TO ENTERPRISE]

[from here]

Just like last night, Vino turned the bend to find that he was first in the main hallway again. He couldn't decide if he preferred it or not. Patience wasn't his favorite virtue, but he supposed he'd have to wait. The two meeting places he would have to be at were right next to each other, right? So that was fine. If he had to wait a while, perhaps he could do some hunting while he was at it.

Vino waited, but tonight, his patience was wearing thinner at a faster rate. He didn't settle on leaning against a wall to wait. He paced, swinging the railing all the while. It was still bloodied from the night before. In his excitement, he'd quite forgotten his intention of stopping by a restroom and cleaning the thing off. Obviously, there were more important things he could be doing. In his mind, there was no time for anything else.

He was impatient. I wanted to be somewhere, he wanted to see everything, he wanted to explore, to experience, to hunt, to destroy--

But all in good time. Tonight was his night. Every night was his night. He owned all this. All of it. It would be fine if he bode his time. He had all the time in the world. He controlled it.

The shadows whispered and scratched. And Vino listened and watched. But stayed where he was for the time being. For the time being.

[Neku]

[Coming from here.]


Daemon glided out into the wider corridor and paused for a moment, letting Renji join him, taking a moment to probe the shadows with his senses, looking for anything out of the norm. There was a tingle down his spine, the sensation of being watched, though he couldn't find its exact location, just the knowledge that it was there. He paused, debating on whether it was worth the effort of searching out, or leaving it to others while he and Renji kept heading for the stairs. He could see them from here, the door illuminated by his witchlight just off to his right.

He waited for Renji to join him, figuring the Shinigami would want a say.

"There are things moving in the shadows," he murmured to the redhead as the male moved out from the corridor behind him. Daemon didn't look at all disturbed by this statement, floating a few inches above the ground with a relaxed grace that was utterly foreign for their situation. Looking almost bored, he studied his black-tinted nails with a sleepy, hooded gaze.

What in the name of all that was holy and good was going on?

Tolten couldn't begin to imagine what a 'red alert' in this place consisted of, but his instincts kicked in and he leapt to his feet with a frightened expression. He was suddenly very glad he'd eaten his weak dinner, and the greyness that swam behind his eyes didn't drag him back down to his bed.

Something was very wrong, clearly. With the prisoners or their guards? Had there been some sort of escape attempt? Night had fallen, his pipe was stashed safely in the closet as it should be....

Pipe. Weapon. Locke.

As much as the young king didn't want to venture out into whatever had just happened, he had to get to his friend. They had agreed upon the junction hallway as a meeting place, and Tolten would be there. He only hoped Locke would be, as well. What if there had been worse experiments on them tonight? And sometimes experiments went wrong.

Images of the shambling, almost-people beneath the city flooded Tolten's mind and he shuddered. No. Nothing like that had happened. He simply wouldn't accept the possibility could be truth. But it still hurried him along his way as he gripped his pipe and his torch and ventured down the hall.

[to here]

Guy's head was still spinning from finding out that his friend was back once again. He realized that he'd done a good job of keeping his cool while explaining everything to Luke, mainly because nothing would have been solved if both of them had been reeling, but...

What exactly was he going to do now? Tear and Natalia being excluded from the basement group was one thing, but Guy felt a duty to Luke that he was going to have a difficult time divorcing himself from. He realized he wasn't really Luke's servant anymore (Luke had said so himself), but with how often Luke had left this place only to return again, how could he not feel as if he needed to keep an eye on him?

Granted, it was something that they could split up among their whole group. Luke wasn't going to like the idea of being babysat, but Guy didn't know if he was comfortable with anything else. Tear and Natalia could stick with him when he headed off with Claude and Anise, but getting all of that information transmitted in the small time left before night came seemed impossible. In any case, if he made it sound more subtle -- like they were all just taking care to stick together -- then Luke would probably accept it.

The soldiers forced them apart when lunch ended, however, meaning that Guy's only option was to put up a bulletin notice and hope that things worked themselves out that way. He was pretty sure Claude still had an extra sword for Luke, so that was one weight off of his shoulders at the least. But he really didn't want Luke going off on his own at night, so any chance of preventing that was his priority.

Once a note had been posted, Guy finally agreed to go into the Game Room with most of the patients. He realized he had the ability to wander elsewhere, but it seemed pointless when there were barely any others who had the same privileges. Still, he couldn't help thinking of Sai; he still needed to track the man down at some point.

Upon entering the room and finding that it was still relatively empty, Guy started to wander in search of anything interesting to play. He could always check out one of those portable game systems again.

[For Edgar.]

Anise couldn't get out of the Cafeteria fast enough. The stench of rotted food was overwhelming, and she was starting to feel sick. Most of her nausea came from seeing the people around her eating it, though. Even her friends! Anise didn't know what to do... What if lunch ended up being the same?

The Sun Room didn't feel like it was nearly far enough from all the rot, and Anise was convinced she could still smell it even after leaving the Cafeteria. She considered ducking into that blanket fort to get away from it (wait, blanket fort?), but decided distance was a better buffer than a pile of sheets and cushions (but seriously, blanket fort?). After giving the bulletin a quick look-over (No one had said anything about the food yet. It wasn't just her, was it...?) she decided to duck into the Library. With her privileges, Anise probably could have run off to wherever she wanted, but she figured it would be too boring to do that if she wouldn't have anyone to talk to.

Come to think of it, Anise hardly ever came to the Library, even though she liked reading. It just never felt like there was enough time to read. The first and last time she came was the day she had that fight with Aidou. She wondered how he was doing. Maybe it was about time they made up...

The last time she came, she'd been looking up Earth myths and legends. Anise wandered back to that section, looking over the rows of books as she considered giving that another shot.

While she stood there, her stomach growled, and she set a hand on it with a groan. "Like I could even stomach a meal right now..."

[Tear.]

Billy surfaced into wakefulness. Sleep receded like an inky tide, and it didn't say anything to him before it was gone. His dreams had been nothing but the sensation of water, rocking him restlessly in his bottle. There seemed to be an ocean beyond his confines, but he couldn't see it and couldn't reach it. He pawed at the glass, but any progress he'd made had been washed out of his memory.

He tried not to be disturbed by the deja vu, but it wasn't the sort of thing one was in full control of. And yet, his heart didn't race. His nose didn't bleed. His hands were shaking, but with a different tenor than the last time he had concentrated on them. Everything felt still, and whole, and maybe not right, but for the first time in weeks Billy breathed without trouble. There was no weight of a terrified, dying universe crawling over his shoulders and clamoring for attention. He laid there in bed for a long time. Victory. Not his victory, but someone else's, and that was good enough. He hadn't needed to be the one who saved it, he was just doing what he had to. Truthfully, he was glad to have not seen it. There was a lot Billy wished he hadn't seen.

He couldn't bring himself to react much to the fact that he was still here. Billy glanced around a couple times, vision blurred without his glasses, but saw that the room was basically the same. This time lit up, of course, although it didn't help him to gather many precise details. He would have almost said his aimless adventure with Captain Kirk during the night had been a dream, but it was all wrong, thematically speaking. Maybe if Kirk had been a squid dressed in gold lamé, he'd believe it. It really didn't matter what his dreams meant anymore, though.

( Kraken spoiler cut for those who mentioned wanting to read it. )

Any further thoughts were interrupted by a soldier he hadn't noticed entering.

"Get dressed."

Billy stared at the military blues from the night before. Clean and fresh, no sign of any blood, not that he'd been the one injured. There was even a little hat that he had missed the night before. He was going to look ridiculous, he could feel it.

"I think you'll probably find I'm not actually registered here," he tried to tell the guard, who was not impressed by Billy's claim. The soldier wasn't even moved by Billy pointing out that the dog tags didn't have his name on them. (Frederick Aldrich? An eerie coincidence that made Billy quietly comply with demands for a few minutes.) The man spoke in nothing but orders, which were easy to follow when you weren't particularly attached to any final aim. Billy was listless. Flotsam and jetsam. Getting back to London was an eventual goal, but he'd put in a call to someone later, and go back to whatever. His life, he supposed. He was already exasperated by the taciturn and far too serious military man. Once upon a time he would have wanted to gain purchase with him through inoffensive smiles and falsely friendly comments. Today, he could only give the man a tired look and equally brusque answers that didn't hide his irritation. Did he really look young enough to be pressed into a military academy?

He was led down cleaner versions of the hallways he had seen the night before, and into a large cafeteria, basically devoid of anyone beside himself and the assembled guards. Billy uncomfortably found a seat, and took a few seconds to just hide his face in his hands and block everything else out. The tray he had been given was immediately forgotten, just to the side of him, and he blamed his turning stomach on the adrenaline that was still working its way out of his system. It was so fantastically quiet in the large room, he wanted to drown in it. He only peered through his fingers when someone else in powder blue passed close to his table.

[For Castiel.]

[from here]

The last stretch of hallway was even emptier than the previous one. Maybe people had learned to avoid the medical wing after last night. By all rights, she should have done the same.

Brushing that thought away, she glanced back at Kratos. "I did manage to explore part of the wing before night ended, though. Did you?"

[from here]

Turning the corner, Vino found that, in fact, he was very much early, it seemed. Huh. There was no one yet in this central hallway, though if he looked back towards the west side of the building, that strange person with the unnatural-looking white hair had gone down that end of the big hallway. He could still see the whiteness of their hair standing out from the darkness of the atmosphere around them.

He spent a few moments watching this person, then lost interest, instead finding the nearest wall to lean against to wait for the other person to show. Healing powers! He'd be able to see them in action, right? Vino wondered what it was like, having an injury healed with the kind of abilities that this kid had. Would it be like Czeslaw's 'healing,' he wondered? That would definitely be interesting to see, wouldn't it? Watching your own injury just mend itself like that. Like magic!

But while this ability certainly could be a useful one to have, Vino hadn't decided yet whether this would be an ability he'd want in his arsenal. Felt a bit like cheating, didn't it? What would be the point in challenging yourself to do things if there was no thrill in it? (Most people would call this the 'thrill of danger,' but Vino didn't believe in such a thing for himself.)

If you could always heal yourself from any injury, then how could you tell the difference between being alive and... not? There'd be no difference then, that's what!

A pause in his thoughts as Vino checks around again to see if he can spot any familiar head of spiky hair. Nope, no one fitting the description yet. He settles in to wait.

((From here.))

As he stealthily moved through the hall, Spock noted that it was quiet and dark. He didn't detect other patients, nor any hostile lifeforms. Perhaps the rest of the way leading to Dr. McCoy's quarters was in a similar state.

Regardless, it was best to move as quickly as possible. The early portions of the shift tended to be the quietest, which meant Spock needed to take advantage of the still hallways while he could. He hadn't forgotten about the military's cryptic message, or the unusual silence toward the end of their meal period. It was possible something would interrupt their plans later, which made time of the essence. If they were caught in the middle of a meld, the results could be disastrous.

Walking at a brisk pace, Spock allowed his light to illuminate his immediate path and continued ahead.

((To here.))

As one hundred percent thrilled as he was to find that his recent thirteen year old victim of good ol' traditional slaughter was alive and, unfortunately, not in pieces, Gabriel was significantly more thrilled that he had self-established himself as a guardian angel for the night to one very, very hapless human.

The irony was not lost on him. It was actually about as subtle as he usually was.

Of course, he could have stuck with the vague hope that Michael was intelligent enough - or boring enough, which seemed more accurate - to stay in his room and not venture out into the darkened hallways of a freaking mental asylum. Even if he was brainwashed, Castiel's habit of making sincerely bad decisions was, for all intents and purposes, very likely to continue.

This had better only last one night. Seriously.

Luckily for him, his angelic blade was still only on its second night of transformation so he didn't have to waste twenty minutes curled up on the floor, sucking his thumb. It didn't have near the familiarity of what he had wielded last night. There was a definite pang of disappointment that he was ignoring. What could you expect from a chained-up archangel? Last night had been his night for his peacock ass to fly. And he had. And it was Very Good.

So now it was back to the shitter. C'est la vie.

[To here.]

The dinner announcement came as something utterly unexpected. Rather than Harrington's excited tones, the calm accented voice of the General drifted through the intercom speakers.

"Code 1-8. I repeat: Code 1-8. All personnel are to report to your stations. No exceptions."

The intercom clicked off, leaving no explanation behind. The staff appeared to take the words to heart, however, as evident by their thin-lipped faces and snappy tones to the slower patients. They were in an obvious hurry to get everyone back to their rooms.

For what cause, they refused to divulged.

[ Those participating in the forced drug trials, please ensure to read this lounge post before posting to dinner. Thanks! ]

Firo was glad to see the end of lunch, if only for the fact that in a few more hours, the day would be over. Night was the only time he had any real freedom of movement, and it was the only time he could do something worth doing, instead of just sitting around.

The usual soldier came to fetch him shortly after the announcement, with only a curt, "Come along, Saviano." Firo frowned, but followed him out of the cafeteria into the Sun Room.

He would have been fine with stopping there, but the soldier apparently had other ideas. When Firo stopped, he went so far as to grab hold of his shoulder and roughly steer him into one of the adjoining rooms, ignoring his protests all the while. The new room was full of round tables with various items like colored paper and paint in the middle, and Firo had a sinking feeling about it. What had the activity mentioned in the announcement been? Arts and crafts?

"What am I supposed to do in here?" he spat at the guard.

"Draw a flower. Make a bracelet. I don't care," was the gruff response before the soldier disappeared out the door.

Firo had half a mind to follow him out, but no—he'd wait a few minutes first, just in case he got shoved back into the pointless room. In the meantime, he took a seat at one of the tables, turning his chair towards the door and leaning his head against one arm propped up on the table.

[For Battler]