They just didn't make monsters like they used to. Then again, it hadn't helped that the specimen had been lanky before the infection. He probably would have snapped like a twig with a small breeze before mummifying. At least he stitched well.

Repairing Brook from his first night out had taken a great deal of work from the staff in not only returning him to working order, but retrieving all the pieces he'd managed to lose over the course of the evening. The right arm had been easy enough to get, once cleanup had all but remodeled the pantry, however the smaller pieces had proved difficult to locate between the pantry and the West Wing hallway. The staff could always add some things here and there, but the skeleton had to be whole for this patient, especially if they intended to send him back out. As easily as he broke, they weren't taking any chances.

Metal clanged as the door to a cage slammed shut and clicked to lock, the now repaired form of a mummy slumped back in a corner. He was as lifeless as an undead creature needed to be, but the important thing was that he was whole. Another clang sounded, this time from outside of the cage with the release of a samurai sword. The staff member had lost hold of it for only a moment, enough for it to hit another of the kennels before grabbing it back up. The sound wasn't that loud, however the rattling it caused to the metal sent a shudder through the cages. A dull ring ran through the empty space between his ears before Brook lifted his head.

The breakfast bell...? Brook wondered at the distant lull.

[teleporting from here]

S.T. didn't notice the nausea teleportation usually created. Because there was a sword sticking into him. Attached to a guy that he really didn't want to see. "Shit. Who invited you?" he said, gasping, and reaching his hand back to see how bad it was. It came back drenched in red. He sniffed. Licked. Red cranberry juice concentrate. The blade had gone through his shirt and into the container.

There was at least a bit of blood in there, because the ring had a stone again, underneath the goo. Also the part where there was a line across his ribs that felt like he'd been stabbed. Because he'd been stabbed by a psycho who had just given up his possibly-a-brainwashed-buddy immunity to intentional mayhem. He shoved the ring into his pocket, grabbed the pipe before Zombie Boy figured out he had something in his eye. This time it squelched out like hipwaders from knee-deep mud.

S.T. swung the pipe, which slammed into the rails of the shelf instead of turning Zombie Boy's head into a pop fly ball. Oops. "Little help here, Harvey."

The X-ray room mentioned on the intercom seemed to be just where Brook needed to go, and although he had absolutely no idea where the room might be located, he was going to do his best to find it before the night was up! He couldn't very well do anything else really. Not until he got himself feeling better. Of course, he would have preferred a doctor he trusted telling him what to do but, unfortunately, beggars couldn't be choosers right then.

He was careful peering into the hallway from his room. No one was about that he could see, and no thing was visible either. With an encouraging rub at his most affected arm that he couldn't actually feel anymore, he forced himself out. He didn't have a choice anymore; he had to get a cure. If he went any more numb, he was sure to turn back into bones, and not in a good way!

"Doesn't matter who you are, Someday you'll just be bones..." he picked up his favorite song at the most fitting of places: the last verse.

[gone here]

It had taken some doing, convincing his nurse to let him go for a walk instead of heading for the cafeteria, but Brook had always been quite persuasive when he put his mind to it. He hadn't felt much like eating after awakening and, thinking a nice walk in the morning air might do his aches some good, he'd sweet talked (or maybe just annoyed) his nurse enough to have been allowed to skip breakfast. So long as he took a coat and some supervision, that was.

He shook off the initial chills the cold air caused before giving the watching orderlies a wave and heading off. He didn't often want time to himself, but every now and then such a thing was good for a person. Avoiding problems only made them worse after all, and he really did need some time to think. If he'd gone to the cafeteria, he'd have wanted to talk with someone and that, while always a good thing, wouldn't have let him think at all! Besides, he needed to start feeling better some time. Cold air was good for fevers. Or was it warm? He'd been a skeleton for so long that he couldn't remember. He'd figure it out soon enough.

In the meantime, he enjoyed his stroll with a hum on his lips and no worries of being attacked.

[Free to anyone with a hall pass]

Though Brook had been led the way towards the waiting rooms before, he hadn't been expecting to have another visit so soon. Not everyone seemed to get one after all, and with how upset Yorki's grandson had seemed to be after their last meeting, he'd thought the young man wouldn't have wanted anything more to do with him. Despite all that, he did think seeing Yohan again might be a nice change of pace. He liked making new friends even in places like this.

After entering the room, he looked around for anyone familiar before taking a seat to himself. Like last time he was ready to see what would come but wouldn't be so jumpy as to think his visitor was a ghost. That had been a shock before! But he should have known better. No ghost would have been floating around during the day time.

As soon as Anise achieved wakefulness, the Head Doctor's words from the previous night immediately came floating back into her mind. People were getting sick. They were going to turn into monsters. That thought alone was chilling enough, but it was nothing compared to the terror that struck her when she sat up and saw her own hand. A red blotch covered the back of it, extending upwards to the wrist. Where did that come from?

The signs are already showing. That was what Landel said.

It couldn't be. Not her. If it was really true, then her life was as good as over. No... it had to be a mistake. Maybe the Head Doctor's words had scared her to the point that she was attributing random things to his threats. She was being paranoid. That was all it was.

And yet, no matter how many times she told herself that, she feared what might happen.

A nurse came to her soon, bearing an outfit for her to wear on the field trip. The striped shirt and gray skirt weren't particularly appealing to Anise, but the purple coat she was given wasn't so bad. It was a little big on her, but it was a nice, feminine color... and the extra long sleeves served to cover most of the strange rash. Anise didn't want to look at it, and she sure as heck didn't want anyone else seeing it.

When it was time to board the buses, Anise quietly took the lunch bag, climbed aboard, and sat down. She didn't look anyone in the eye. Even after sitting down, she merely stared down at the contents of her bag. The muffin didn't look the least bit appetizing - not while her stomach was busy twisting itself into knots, anyway.

[free!]

The line of questioning that Rita had begun at breakfast still plagued Loki, as did his own uncomfortable feelings about the entire concept of people being transformed into monsters. It wasn't a useful line of thought, and he needed a better direction to consider.

Hopefully, conversation with Soma would provide that. While she seemed quite stern at times, Loki found her presence oddly relaxing.

Though he had to wonder if perhaps he wouldn't end up seeing her this shift after all, since she might be included in the group that was being herded to the showers. (As much as the statement also was one he greeted with relief, since he was wondering when he'd get an opportunity to bathe. The thought of being trapped in a building with a great many mortals and no bathing facilities had been too horrifying to contemplate.) He'd always been a bit bad at guessing the ages of mortals, mostly because they were so ridiculously short-lived.

Having already established a neurotic fear of the cold with his nurse, there was no difficulty convincing her that he'd be much better off in the Sun Room. Loki settled into his habitual seat, taking a moment to coax one of the cats into his lap. All settled in, he propped his notebook on the arm of the chair and went back to writing.

[Soma?]

A misplaced sense of familiarity met Barnaby the moment he opened his eyes, and the sight of the blank, white ceiling from yesterday morning greeted him. After rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Barnaby sat up and felt around for his glasses. Had he blacked out again and wasted an entire night? Where was Kotetsu? And what had become of the man who had seemingly vanished before his very eyes at the end of dinner?

Once Barnaby slipped his frames onto his face, the world came into clearer focus, even if he didn’t get any answers out of it. He was in his room, and someone had apparently stripped him out of his street clothes in favor of the hideous hospital pajamas. Barnaby wasn't sure what he found more offensive -- that someone here had once again touched his things without his permission, or that he’d been undressed while unconscious for the second time since his arrival.

The thought made his skin crawl.

Just as he looked over to find a lump in the bed next to him, though, his assigned nurse came to retrieve him. He would have to confirm Klavier Gavin's whereabouts later. For now, he had no choice but to allow the nurse to escort him into the cafeteria. Strangely, she seemed to be under the impression that he and the other patients had slept soundly the whole night. While he might have assumed it was an act, Barnaby got the feeling that she genuinely believed what she was saying.

Regardless of her intentions, he knew she wasn't going to be any help. Instead of trying to ask her anymore questions, Barnaby left a note on the bulletin board concerning his roommate. If his observations from yesterday were any indication, he'd get some responses, at least. While he could have taken the time to leave something for Kotetsu, Barnaby didn't feel inclined to do so, especially when he knew he probably wouldn't check the board anyway.

He had no appetite this morning, but his nurse wouldn't leave him alone until she'd assembled a tray of fresh, fluffy pancakes for him. Honestly, Barnaby didn't see why some people felt the need to butt into his personal choices like this. At least there wasn't anyone forcing him to eat -- for now, at any rate. He sat down at an empty table close to the wall after setting his food down, privately hoping that she wouldn't try to find a "friend" for him to eat with this morning. He was tucked out of the way, so maybe she would forget about him for a few minutes as long as he didn't draw any unnecessary attention to himself.

Hands neatly clasped on the table, Barnaby didn't look at anyone in particular as patients filtered into the cafeteria for their morning meal. There were too many questions buzzing in his mind for him to focus on the names and faces of people he didn't care about. If Kotetsu wanted to find him, he could. It wasn't like Barnaby was going anywhere.

[For Kotetsu.]

[from here]

Had Brook taking his time a bit more, he might have noticed that he was the only one about in any of the hallways he crossed while heading for the second floor. He had always known his block to be a bit less populated than the others, yet had never questioned the matter as it was a good thing - the less people trapped here, the better! Still, it was strange, and on any other night would have warranted both a comment and the subsequent humming that accompanied his strolls whenever he was nervous.

Purpose drove him though, and save for keeping his eye out for any beasts that may come for him, Brook kept his focus trained on getting to the second floor and, he hoped, to his friend in time.

[gone here]

Again, Brook had been forced to watch as his roommate was escorted away, and again Brook was determined to assist the man in any way possible. But first things first: he had to make sure that stepping out of his room wouldn't have him warping to the Arena. Things were just too similar to the night before that he couldn't be too sure the same wouldn't happen twice.

Taking up his sword, the man was quickly into the hallway where he willed with every fiber of his being that he would remain there. Which, thankfully, he did. The good luck continued with a few more dared steps that took him into the connecting hallway. There he finally accepted that, no, he would not be teleporting anywhere that evening.

"Don't worry Michelangelo-san!" he assured as he drew his sword and lowered it to his side, "Even if my sword finally breaks this night, I'll be sure to help you this time."

Brook wasn't about to let Landel experiment on his friend a second time. Not if he had anything to say about it!

[CHARGE!]

While Vincent hadn't been the chattiest patient, he also hadn't been completely impossible to deal with, and so Wilson counted his morning session as a decent return to this whole pretending-to-be-a-psychologist thing. Granted, what he really needed was a session that lasted a few hours so that he could start to really get a feel for the people who was supposed to be helping, but that was clearly too much to ask for.

He was going to have a return visit this afternoon, though, so Wilson decided he'd just have to try and make some sort of progress there. Florian Rousseau -- or Brook, as he seemed to prefer -- was one of the more upbeat, excitable patients that Wilson had dealt with here. He didn't know if that was a sign of him being manic or if Brook was just closer to recovery than a lot of the others, but he could get a better idea of that this afternoon.

The one thing that still stuck with Wilson after their first session was that Brook had been put in here because he believed himself to be a skeleton (or rather, that he was only made up of bones), and yet now that delusion seemed to be gone. What was it that was keeping him here? That was what Wilson was hoping to understand.

Either way, he had to admit it would be nice to deal with someone who wasn't going to glare at him sullenly from across the desk like most of his patients did. Hopefully Brook would be in as good of a mood today as he had been the first time they'd talked.

Needless to say, her night was a bust.

It wasn't that Ramona was trying to turn it into an absolutely safe evening in which she got nothing done. A part of her wanted to test the limits of her abilities and see what she could actually do in this place, but outside of the absolute confirmation that subspace was no longer a go, she couldn't bring herself to go much farther. Scott's words hung over her heavily. The fact that he had made it clear that he was going to continue being as affectionate as possible wanted to remove any chance of her dealing with anyone. So, though she hit another hall, she turned back around and headed back to her room. Ramona was the type of person who sometimes preferred sulking with company, but that wasn't on the plate for the night. (And she didn't want to call it sulking, either.)

She wasn't certain when she fell asleep, but when she woke up, she was sure the people in charge here had some kind of fast-forward button that they could hit whenever they got bored. That was definitely not the entire night, nor had it been the night before. Sometimes night just ended. Of course, Ramona could appreciate the need for a scene change. This place was already running on enough lame clichés to last it a lifetime. Sometimes they need to return to the daytime status quo to hit reset.

That all said, she was getting the feeling that her own waking up process was a little boring. Ramona was glad that her hair was short now because it made her feel a lot less neurotic about the lack of allowed primping. She cast a glance in the direction of her roommate's bed before she plodded out after her nurse. The woman was kind looking, which, of course, meant that she was evil. Then again, anyone could be evil. Ramona just wanted everyone to be evil right now.

(Maybe she was still sulking.)

"We've noticed that you haven't been socializing as much, Sandra," the woman said while grabbing her attention, and it was as if Ramona finally clued in that a conversation was supposed to be happening. Great, she was fitting the bill for crazy on top of incredibly irritated already. The nurse was definitely evil. And maybe a bitch, with the way her fingers freed her shoulder and she stepped back, snorted softly, and gave a shake of her head. "It's always when you're new that it's hard," the nurse added. "And we can tell you're rebellious."

"Wow, it's been a while since someone thought I was a punk rocker. Don't worry. I can socialize," Ramona assured her as she hit the cafeteria. But it looked like she was one of the first arrivals.

Ramona decided she'd get the woman off her back by grabbing a tray of food and not sitting too far from it. At least people might stumble upon talking to her if she looked available enough.

(And hopefully, that someone wouldn't be Scott. Even though she highly doubted his ability to get out of bed, he seemed to acclimate to this place enough to make an appearance with his face and his smiles and his stupid "I love you"s.)

[for America]

[from here]

Taura pondered the announcement she'd just heard as she jogged down another empty hallway. Who was she? Jill? Who he'd tortured himself, though that could have been an act on her part as well? Whose side had she been on? And what could have happened to her that would be permanent?

Death was usually pretty permanent, but even that had its exceptions around here. Taura didn't have to like it to know it was true; what had General Aguilar done that could change that? And why was Doctor Landel so angry?

It was an uneasy thought to stomach; revenge drove people like nothing else did, and being one of the people in between was a hell of a way to go.

[to here]

[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]

Stepping outside sent chills all over Brook's body for how cold it was. He'd welcomed it when there was snow for him to play with, but given the absence of the white powder this evening, Brook only shivered and crossed his arms to rub away the sensation.

"Must still be winter then," he laughed and watched as his breath condensed.

Telling what time of year it was in this place was difficult anyway, but the temperature at least gave an area for them to consider. Snow meant winter, or just nearing spring, and then the cold temperatures had to be either Winter or Fall. And since they couldn't go backwards from snowy winter to fall...

"Ah, but that would be a shock!" The place had seen stranger occurrences that Brook actually had to consider that the seasons could try to go backwards on them. At the very least, that gave him the potential for making another snow angel or having that snowball fight that he'd overlooked while in the town.

Eventually the cool of the night air overtook Brook's wild theories about weather patterns and reminded him that he shouldn't be dallying. He was supposed to be searching out his friend! Brushing his arms over once more, he turned for the door at the opposite end of the field.

[gone here]

[from here]

"I wonder where everyone is at?" Brook paused a moment in his humming to question at the empty hallway.

He knew he'd left his room in a bit more of a rush than was his usual, but still, more patients were about at this time of night. It was strange to see not only so little of a number, but even stranger to have no one else passing him by. He thought back to what announcements had been made only to realize that only one had broadcasted. That short message at the beginning of the night: Code 1-8. The message had been mysterious enough to warrant an equally short comment from Brook to his guard about it, but the lacking response had caused Brook to let the man alone. Now though, he had the feeling that he should have pressed more about the reasoning.

His humming resumed as he took the usual left and tried not to worry even more for what might have been happening this evening. "Code 1-8" didn't sound good. Then again, in this place, nothing did.

[from here]

[from here]

The moment Brook entered the hallways, he began humming as he always did when venturing out - the tune of Bink's Sake accompanying him as if it were a presence of it's own. Though he tended to hum it slowly, just in case something nasty was listening in, the song was still one he considered uplifting. It had gotten him through years without companionship, as a reminder of the wonderful times he'd had with his friends. Not to mention it was his favorite.

I'll have to let Sai-san hear it sometime... he determined after realizing that he'd never actually sung it for his friend. That would have to be the first thing he did whenever he next saw the young man. And the others should hear it as well - Sasuke, Sakura, and especially Aidou. Brook had a feeling the blond could use some cheering up, what with that scowl he always seemed to have.

[gone here]

From the day he had learned that two of the four he'd been with were, for the most part, safe and sound. That he'd not seen or heard from either one of the remaining though had left him worrying through his dinner, which he'd not felt like eating. Having friends turn up missing was one thing that he knew very well, but after that Arena... Brook could not feel comfortable just ignoring a day's absence. He had to figure something out. Something other than Aidou's own opinion that one or both might not have come back.

"His room first," Brook muttered to himself as he took up his partially damaged cane and looked it over. If nothing else, finding some clue that Sai was still a resident of room 55 would help to ease Brook's worries. And if he was lucky, he would find the young man there - hopefully in one piece. If not, there were other places that he could check. The Medical Wing where the Infirmary was to be, and potentially the basement as well - he could only hope the Sphinx would not mind another visit, or answering questions Brook may have.

There was one other as well, though that was to be the last resort. Brook had not been able to overlook how others had questioned on the bulletin for where the place stored the dead. Just thinking that one of his friends may be laying in such a place had given Brook even more drive towards searching out the other areas. He would not believe that another of his friends had died, not while he still had hope and places to look for proof to the contrary.

[gone here]

[ from here ]

Sesshoumaru had not been in the building for nearly long enough to really know it, and his knowledge had not been expanded yesterday as it might otherwise have been, because of the poisons that had been fed into his system - poisons that somehow worked, which had been a disconcerting and unpleasant experience. In the end, though, all it meant was that he had one more person to kill - whoever it was who had invented the poison capable of subduing him.

He either avoided or ignored the memory of last night, of Niikura telling him he might as well be a human now. Avoided thinking of how weak he had become.

Sesshoumaru absently flexed his fingers, and felt his poison began to pump. If he was not still immune to toxins, surely his own venom would burn him, sear his veins and his hands, but it did not appear to have any more affect on him than it had ever. Just like always, the poison might as well have been blood, or water, for all the harm it did to him personally. This was not a double-edged sword. It was designed to harm others, not the wielder.

A thread of sweetness curled through the bite of the cleaner as Sesshoumaru stood for a moment, his claws becoming saturated with their natural poison. In any case, claiming that he was - that he could be - so weak as that was ridiculous. He was Sesshoumaru.

[ for Terra ]

Touching the sandy grounds of the coliseum was a catalyst, and the progression of day did not mean the end of the process. By fortune or otherwise, this group's efforts were not allowed to halt simply due to the rising sun. Therefore, when nighttime was pronounced, those who had undergone the beginnings of an incomplete trial were pulled from their rooms, to be deposited without warning in the spots they had held in the previous night.

And at the center of it all, under the glint of the coliseum's light, stood the Eagle.

Unlike his impassioned speech, the General appeared relatively cold, the picture perfect image of an indifferent man. With arms crossed against his chest and nose high in the air, one might have assumed Aguilar to be displeased with the overall setup. Playing the part of Landel, after all, had never suited him. In truth, he was merely tired of waiting. Five individuals shouldn't take such time to recover from a simple "trip".

But recover they eventually did, and the man waved a hand as if to call attention to the south-center seats of the stadium, an aspect unneeded thanks to his projected voice.

"You're late."