[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]

Anise woke up feeling lucky to be alive. She still felt a bit waterlogged, even though her skin, hair, and clothes were completely dry. During last night's adventures, she'd swallowed a lot of water, and it still felt heavy and disgusting in her stomach. Her arms and legs were tired from treading water. Lying still in her bed, she still kind of felt like she was floating and bobbing in the water.

But she was alive.

Knowing how close she came to death last night, and remembering the lengths her friends had gone to in order to save her, there was no way Anise could let a little discomfort get her down. She had to be at her best today so she wouldn't seem ungrateful to Guy and Claude. On that note, she had to remember to thank them properly, now that she was better able to express herself.

While getting ready, Anise was surprised to actually run into Claude that morning. He came to her room asking for the notebook he stored there (or maybe it was an excuse to see her cute face again), so Anise happily located it and handed it over. She was pretty tired, but the big smile she gave him was genuine. Who wouldn't be happy to see her savior so soon after a dramatic rescue?

After he left, Anise finished re-tying her pigtails into a low position so the military beret would fit on her head, and then she was ready! Even though her stomach wasn't feeling that great, she figured sitting down to a decent meal would help normalize it. And luckily for her, she was among the few who had the privilege of eating such a meal. Anise filled a plate with french toast topped with syrup and fruit, accompanied by small portions of each of the available side dishes.

It looked like she was early, which meant there weren't a lot of people around. That was okay, though. Anise could get a good head start on her meal before any company came around. She sat down at a table by herself and started on her sausage first.

[for Tolten!]

[From here.]

Empty. Again.

Whoop-de-doo.

Less witnesses, good thing, yadda yadda yadda. Peter just wanted to get it all over with and get down to the good stuff. (Good being a subjective word here.) The basement. The coliseum of...whatever the coliseum had in store. A fight. Probably with lions. Three headed lions. The point was that they were finally getting somewhere, and now that the hour had come all Peter wanted to do was slice through every other bogus problem barreling his way and head straight for it. He was sick of worrying about Grell, about monsters, about the godawful crap Jessica and her attitude had brought him, about all the people that had left. Being fiction. Kirk had put a better spin on it, but that still did little to ease the grip on his insides every time the subject popped up. And if Captain freaking Kirk couldn't assuage him, then what could?

Getting down to business might. A chance to get answers would be even better.

[To here.]

[From here.]

Oh wow, what a surprise. He was alone in a big empty hallway. This never happened.

God, he wanted to be back in New York. He missed that hobo who lived in the alley by the 7/11. He always waved to Spider-Man when he swung by and shouted Bible scripture at him. Peter assumed this was a form of blessing, no matter how many times the word 'abomination' cropped up. Even in the loneliest alleyway of the dingiest part of town, there was always someone around. Collecting pop cans or sticking their noses into little plastic baggies.

It was a land of miracles and he missed it so much.

[To here.]

Aw, poor Aguilar. You could hear the big, wet pout he had going on through the fuzzy speakers.

Yeah yeah yeah, the military treated them with such wondrous respect and reverence for their special snowflake individuality. That's why they had them in identical military uniforms. That's why they kept going right ahead with the brain washing and the experimentation and the pepto bismol sludge that may or may not be recycled kittens from the sun room. Because they loved them for who they are.

Douchebutts.

Well, Peter certainly knew better than to follow the orders of a faceless man telling him to run up to a hospital and try out all the pills he liked. That only had two endings: rivers of tears and surprise superpowers. Having achieved both results at the same time, Peter figured that he would pass and carry on with his totally independent quest for suicide. The basement awaited.

First, though, was the nigh unsolvable problem of Brainiac 5 and how to keep him from kicking the bucket. This was more difficult than it seemed.

Peter had the customary pillow case slung over his shoulder, this time with the radio included in the swag, as well as the extra flashlight and radio he'd found in Brainy's side of the room and the sword-lite from the basement conquest. He tied the ends together to fit his arm through it, shouldering it like a clumsy purse. Duffel bag. Yes, duffel bag. Purses were for girls. He needed his arms free to gently scoop up his roommate from the bed. Which, creepily enough, still wasn't enough to wake him. It was difficult to not immediately imagine a thousand terrible causes for this. Should he be watching out for suspiciously placed spinning wheels?

Whatever. The important thing now was speed. Peter jolted Brainy closer, carrying him bridal style (because even asleep, he knew the boy would hate him if he threw him over his shoulder and let his face bump into his butt the whole time) and reaching out with all the dexterity of a T-Rex to fiddle with the doorknob. He cautiously slid it open, peering into the dark as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. He didn't want to be caught. A flashlight at this point would be an idiot beam.

Silently and surprisingly nimble for such heavy cargo, Peter slipped into the hall with his sleeping roommate in his arms. No sign of Grell. No sign of anyone. He tiptoed to the opposite side of the hall and examined the number plates there with squinted eyes. Last time they had found an empty room, it was M78. The patient population hadn't seemed to suffer any huge influx since their little rendezvous with Dr. Creeptastic, so with any luck the room would still be empty.

The perfect place to hide your comatose pal from a scalpel enthusiast on the warpath. Should Grell sashay his merry way down to M71 and find it free of persons on his double whammy hit list, he would assume both had left for the night and stomp off in a totally fabulous rage. Probably while swearing in British, calling them limey gits and loads of tosh and other such adorable epithets.

How was this now his greatest nemesis?

After a number of haphazard grabs at what was clearly pure wall, Peter's hand finally wrapped around the cool metal of a door handle, the shadowed number above reading M78. He swiftly clicked it open, forming a sliver of a window into the room.

No sound. No movement. And soon enough, there was nothing in the hall either.

Moments later, Peter emerged alone, clutching at the strap of his pillowcase bag. He was down a roommate and a spare flashlight and radio combo, but his confidence reserves had now doubled. If he'd had to leave Brainy in the room when Grell was on the prowl, Peter would be about as useful as a squid on land the whole night. He'd flop over and cry, and that would be the end of it. At least now his friend had earned two more survival points, which should put him at a two on a scale of fifty. Short of carrying him down to the basement with them, there was nothing more that Peter could do.

He hurried on his way, hoping the note he'd left on his chest would suffice for explanations. He'd done it for the greater good.

[To here.]

Between yesterday's trip to Doyleton and today's visitation hours, it had initially been difficult to find the time to meet with any of the Institute's subjects. However, the administration under General Aguilar had proved themselves efficient in maintaining order while covering its true identity for the sake of the civilians. Given who was in command, that was hardly surprising, but it also finally allowed him the freedom to speak with some of their charges.

His office was sparsely decorated, with mostly the basic necessities, such as an orderly desk that included a computer, some writing utensils, a swivel chair for himself, and a leather chair for visitor use. However, there were some personal items, such as a shelf containing a few volumes of military history, and medals that were framed behind glass. Nothing hinted at his family or social life, but rather related to a profession to which he'd given his full devotion. As of today, though, his request for a small table had been granted, and it was placed against the left wall. A pot containing freshly-brewed coffee and a bowl of candy sat upon it.

With his back turned toward the office door, Berg straightened the files in his rough hands. He'd personally decided to meet with these men – and, after closely reviewing their information, Berg had to admit he was quite interested in speaking with them. All three came from various backgrounds: a well-educated professor who didn't shy away from danger, a young man carrying on the family business of hunting demons, and the embodiment of a nation with a long history. Of course, within the Institute itself they were all placed on relatively even footing, but that didn't make their skills and expertise any less valuable to the program.

Regardless, as Aguilar's second-in-command, as well as a representative of their cause, Berg hoped to meet with as many subjects as possible. It provided him an opportunity learn about the types of people they were dealing with. Hopefully it would also establish some form of dialogue between him and those within the Institute, which would in turn help them improve their methods.

He glanced at his golden pocket watch, one of the thin hands moving with each passing second, and waited in silence.

Brunch had tasted delicious as usual, but he still felt guilty for enjoying it when so many other patients weren't as fortunate as him and Ritsuka. Still, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't grateful for his meals. His appetite had been pretty spotty during the week after his "sleep study", so Claude wanted to think he was making up for lost time by packing it away now.

In the meantime, it looked like they really were playing a movie this shift. Claude had half wondered if they'd simply been putting on an act for the benefit of any civilians in the building, but that didn't seem to be the case. That was good, at least. It meant that he and Guy could follow through on the plans they made a week ago -- back when Claude was still suffering from the immediate affects of the experiments, and Guy had kindly offered to stay with him.

That seemed so long ago now, and yet Claude could still feel his stomach knot up with uncertainty when he thought about the implications of what the doctors had done to him. Without thinking about it, he brought his hand up to crest inscribed onto his shoulder, beneath the fabric of his sleeve. He'd kept himself so busy that he'd never spent much time examining it.

But now wasn't the time to get wrapped up in that. It was easy to let himself get distracted by things he couldn't control if his mind wandered to much. Instead, Claude was going to try his best to enjoy his time with Guy.

After settling down on one of the couches in front of the projection screen, Claude leaned back and folded his arms over his chest as he kept a look-out for his friend.

Edgar's charming company had raised Anise's spirits enough that not even the Head Doctor's voice could bring them back down. Besides, she was feeling pretty sure that Landel wasn't actually around. To begin with, it wouldn't make sense, and secondly, his announcements sounded suspiciously like ones she'd already heard before. While Anise wasn't very familiar with Earth technology, she'd seen the little devices in the Music Room that could play recordings of people's voices. This had to be something like that.

It wasn't long before Anise was escorted to the Cafeteria, and then to the section where edible food was being served. As she filled her plate with waffles, fruit, and sausages, she looked to the other side of the counter with a look of sympathy. It was hard to enjoy her own meals while knowing what the other patients had to suffer through.

She wasn't about to refuse her meals just out of guilt, though. Anise needed her strength for tonight. There was still a bit of a nervous twist in her stomach whenever she thought about what could happen down in the basement... but she wasn't going to back down. Not after promising her friends they'd go together.

With her tray in hand, Anise seated herself at an empty table in the middle of the room. She preferred to have company while eating, but it looked like she was one of the first patients there, so there was no one to sit with. Maybe if she minded her manners and tried to look her cutest, she'd attract someone handsome! Holding her utensils delicately, she began to cut her waffles into smaller pieces.

[For Battler.]

[From here.]

This hallway seemed a bit larger than the last, although it appeared to have fewer doors on each side. Byrne tried the first door he came across and it opened without any trouble. Hm. So there was actually something they could get accomplished here.

But before they actually entered any rooms, the prosecutor wanted to take a moment to comment on Badd's tale thus far. "So von Karma was the one responsible for DL-6, was he? Surprise, surprise." It took them this long to figure it out? It should've been sooner, much sooner. Admittedly, Byrne didn't know how the old snake could've been the one - the exact case details were pretty fuzzy right now - but even so, hearing he was responsible wasn't the biggest revelation on the face of the planet. C'mon, it was Manfred von Karma. That guy was a creep, enough said. "Who got him?"

[from here]

Tolten tried to seem confident as he took the lead, proceeding further into the dark corridors. There had been nothing overtly threatening so far, but his heart was racing in his chest even so. He couldn't shake a sense of lurking danger, of shadowing hidden fear. He tried to tell himself he was being foolish, but experience told him otherwise.

This reminds me of the sewers. Though hopefully there would be no failed experiments lurching about, hell-bent on human flesh.

And thoughts such as those will not calm your nerves. And now he was no longer alone, and he was bound by his honor to look after his companion. He couldn't allow himself to give over to old fears and childish worry. They would find an exit of sorts, find someone possessed of the means to help them, and... well, that was as far as he'd gotten but at least it was a plan.

The corridor widened suddenly, and Tolten faltered to a stop. He held up a hand and swung his torch in the opened space, taking in the change in surroundings.

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]

Previously, on Peter Parker's Sucky Life:

Pain, pain, fourth wall bulldozing, fire and pain, and teeny useless swords.

Yeah, so Peter wasn't feeling so hot today. It was a marked improvement on waking up after getting shanked by Grell, but this was in no way a good morning. They had all made it through the basement trials and got their dinky rewards, but man did they pay a hefty price for it. All of them. (Scott and the others had to fight robot raptors? What the hell...) Peter rose from his bed oh so delicately and with much wincing, thanking whoever it was that carried them back to bed every night for putting him belly down on his mattress.

His back, oh god. Peter seethed and hissed and grunted in pain. It felt like it was scabbing over, and the bandages yanked at the tender skin with every minute muscle spasm, every move he made. Cripes. Better his back than his arms or legs, but still. It was going to make things so difficult if they got stuck in Doyleton all over again.

Brainy was so thoroughly wrapped in his blankets on the other side of the room that Peter couldn't make heads or tails of his current state. But he'd stayed in the whole night, right? He should be fine.

Sometimes he just needed extra convincing of that. Considering the guy's track record and all.

From the sounds of it, this Aguilar guy wasn't changing too much of the routine. Being field trip day, Peter had wondered how the new man in charge would handle it (or how General Lieutenant Burger would, apparently). If he planned on letting them out at all. The announcement squashed that theory, and so did the orderly tromping in with a second-hand change of clothes. The burly man passed him the goods without so much as a word, stomping right back outside to wait behind the door. Guess they weren't going in military gear.

...Orderly? Peter pushed the door open again after performing the hastiest change of clothes he could manage in his state, peering at the man. That guy was in an army uniform yesterday. He remembered him. His buzz cut was uneven and he had a pointy old mole on the back of his neck.

"Uh. Are you going incognito?"

He was suddenly on the end of such a pointed look Peter could swear he was talking to Nick Fury. If Nick Fury was white and still had both eyes. "...Right. Okay. Lead the way, hombre."

So undercover it was. The people of Doyleton didn't know this was a military operation. Briefly, he wondered what the advantages of revealing that to the townsfolk could be, but then he remembered how they'd all up and morphed into the living dead at sundown. Put to rest any usefulness they might have had. They were just puppets, the same as the rest of the creepy crawlies in this hellhole.

Though that did beg the question as to why you would have to hide your secrets from puppets in the first place.

He was bequeathed with the usual paper bag lunch and packet of coupons, though he was still surprised to find himself a $15 gift card in the mix. Intercom Dude wasn't kidding about that?

He had money?

...What would he even do with money in Doyleton? What was fifteen dollars and worth buying that wasn't a gourmet burger? Peter boggled at the card as he clambered onto the bus. He'd never gone through the town with any inclination to window shop, so he couldn't even say what was available. He might actually have to look around. Even something simple might be a big help.

The orderly-formerly-known-as-Private-Dwight followed him on tucked a pillow into his seat for him. "Sit down. And don't do anything stupid. You'll heal a lot faster if you don't agitate it."

Peter fidgeted, but quietly settled into the pillow. This was kind of awkward. "Um. Thank you. I deeply appreciate your concern." The man nodded, and was gone.

Peter was the only one on the bus so far. The emptiness was kind of creeping him out.

[Reserved for Harvey Dent. WHY AM I TOP POSTING EVERYTHING YOU JERKS.]

[from here]

Only a couple more rooms and then he was going to eat everything he laid eyes on in the pantry. Even the condiments, at this rate. How much nutritional value did tomato ketchup have anyway? And was he really in any position to turn it down if that was all he could find?

Even with the hunger twisting his stomach and making him feel slightly sick, Wally wasn't quite so bad off that he needed to just rush into the room beyond. His luck had been pretty good so far, well, apart from his speed dumping him into a wall like that, but that didn't mean a thing here.

But the sun room seemed empty, from what he could make out in the darkness and with only a flashlight that had seen better days, so Wally relaxed and headed further into the room, weaving through the chairs and things as he aimed for the cafeteria doors.

[from here]

Wally yelped as his powers propelled him into the next hallway and, as it would turn out, a wall. He hit it with a thump loud enough to rattle his teeth and make his head throb as he slowly pulled himself back up to his feet.

"I'm okay," he announced for the benefit of what turned out to be an empty hall. Which was fine by him because he really didn't need people seeing the Flash running into solid objects like that. It'd raise some questions about why his control was so off and he really didn't want to get into those right now. At least he'd stopped in the next hallway and not the other side of the institute, so that was something. Backtracking would have been even more embarrassing.

"Well, I guess that's just another reason not to do any running just yet," he muttered to himself and headed towards the sun room. Get through that and then he'd hit the cafeteria and, after that, the kitchens and a better chance at finding something to eat.

[to here]

[From here.]

Yep. Still the only one here. He supposed that could be a good thing. That meant there would be less people to notice the teenage boy strolling into the bathroom and the schmuck in tights that came out two minutes later. He was all for less people noticing that.

[To here.]

[From here.]

Wow. Was he the first one out tonight? There was literally no one here.

Peter blinked at the expansive hallway before him, trying to calculate the amount of time it had taken him to gather up his supplies and truck on over here. It couldn't have been more than five minutes. Less than that, probably. Geez, this was creepy though.

All the more reason to keep on moving. A wee boy alone in a big empty hallway was like Two Buck Tuesdays at Benny's All Beef Hot Dogs for monsters. Any minute now he'd be swarmed with bats the size of cocker-spaniels or something.

[To here.]

Awkwaaaaaaaard.

After about five minutes of radio silence from the intercom, Peter was expecting to hear some heavy mouth breathing or other inappropriate stalker sound effects. Instead they heard nothing. And they continued to hear nothing until twilight hit.

All he could imagine now was whoever this Aguilar guy was just. Sitting there. Staring at the microphone, eyes steadily bulging over the span of fifteen minutes until he attained Muppet status. Fortunately, the beginning of the night was marked with at least some hint of humanity behind the speakers.

'Your actions will determine ours...' In what sense? he wondered. Peter raised a brow up at his speaker. He could hope to god that if the patients spent the night garnishing the trees and decking the halls that the soldiers would give them a Christmas miracle, but that would be a sad waste of hope. Happy wasn't allowed here. They sniffed it out with happy detectors at every entrance and confiscated it before letting you in.

...Though on second thought...if Indiana Jones was real here, did that mean that Santa Claus was too?

Holy.

Shit.

Okay okay, so that was totally ridiculous and he could not focus on that right now. But as Peter excused himself from dinner and gathered his costume into his trusty pillow case, he couldn't help feeling a little giddy. Because...well...it was stupid, but it so could happen here. He'd met the Scarecrow of Oz, for frick's sake. Santa was only like, two steps away from that level of utter silly. Right? Oh god, it was so stupid, but a man could dream, goddammit. There had to be a universe with a freaking Santa Claus; that jolly old blubber ball made a guest appearance in at least half of everything that aired on public television. And other things. He'd shown up in Narnia, right? Was there a Narnia universe somewhere?

Peter slid out of the closet, pillow case full of spandex and suddenly reminded of just how low on his list of concerns the existence of Santa Claus was. Standing in the darkness with a feeble flashlight could do that to you.

"Well. I guess that's as cheery a goodnight we're going to get from this Aguilar guy." Peter shook his head at his roommate, trying to quell the niggling feeling in the back of his head. He already knew that this was 'bad news'. Everything was bad news here. After a while you just had to learn that panicking about it every single second of every day would get you nowhere. Keep on Trucking was the survival motto of Landel's.

He smiled at his roommate's shadowed form and shrugged, then fished his magic ring from his desk. Tonight, he was going to figure out how that doomahickey worked. It was about damn time. Thank you, random bulletin post, for showing him the light.

"Have a good sleep, okay?" Peter gave a wave, swinging the door open and slinging the pillow case over his shoulder. "Lock the door behind me."

There was a click of the latch, and Peter was gone.

[To here.]

All things considered, last shift had been pretty low key. After this morning's disaster, though, that was perfectly fine by Claude. Some fresh air and a chance to make sure Guy and Okita were all right weren't things to take for granted. It was also good to have a fairly normal, conversation with Guy that didn't slip off into awkward territory. Having Okita there as a sort of buffer probably made things a bit easier in that regard. Claude was confident that things would smooth about between them fairly soon -- if they hadn't already, even.

After checking the bulletin and making some notes of his own, Claude walked alongside his nurse into the cafeteria. As far as he could tell, the soldiers hasn't cleared out any since their arrival this morning. Not only that, but Landel didn't sound too happy about what happened. Was he going to get into trouble for the food fight?

Not that he had any sympathy for the Head Doctor, of course. That bastard deserved every bad thing that ever happened to him, and then some. On the other hand, it did make Claude wonder what would become of the captives if someone even harsher stepped in to take his place...

Was that even possible? Then again, Claude had to consider that no one even used tear gas the last time a riot happened. Had this morning's response been someone else's idea?

As hard as it was to sit and wait for things to pan out, Claude knew that ultimately time would tell what was going to happen. Thankfully, he had a lunch appointment to keep him occupied. After collecting his tray of food, Claude took a seat at one of the tables. It looked like he was one of the first people here, which gave him an opportunity to notice just how much better the room looked than after breakfast. He couldn't imagine how many people had been asked to clean things up. Really, it was a wonder they hadn't just made the patients do it themselves as punishment.

Well, regardless of all that, he needed to wait for that Mordio person to show up now, right? Claude kept an eye on the cafeteria entrance, although he suddenly remembered that the patient had never given a description of themselves. Hopefully Claude's own description would be distinct enough for Mordio to find him.

[For Rita!]

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.]