As soon as he heard the telltale click, Matt, despite still being a little out of it, got to his feet, deciding that it would be wise tonight to follow Mello's example from the night before. Glancing over at Claude every couple minutes, he grabbed the boots and coat out of the closet, slipping the coat on before starting on the boots. As soon they were on, he grabbed the flashlight from under his pillow and his keys out of the drawer. He wasn't sure if Claude was going to head out or not, with his condition, but it was always better to be prepared.

To his surprise, there was something beside the keys that hadn't been there before; it was a small ring. Picking it up, he looked it over for a moment before dropping it in his coat pocket. It probably wouldn't be long before he found out what it did, as quickly as that sadistic prick Landel seemed to move.

And what the hell, he grabbed the pillow too and shook it free of the pillowcase; it would come in handy sometime in the night, he was sure. Especially if it turned out anything like the last.

Walking straight to the door, Matt took one last look at his roommate. He didn't know what to say in that situation, so he said nothing at all. He just left.

"—na-"

… Viridian red buildings; clear water rushing—blood red running and then somewhere else; raining now, raining so hard it rained through bones, sounded like a drum-beat or a klaxon or Cait with his tail stuck in a socket…

"Han—"

… Insistent rain, more like Barret's gun-fire or pebbled sand against glass or both, loud and pounding and drowning but not, and somewhere overhead hung a second moon with a Tonberry leering…

"Hanna!"

… "Shut up," Yuffie mumbled thickly, her voice sticking in her throat like molasses.

"Oh, dear," said the trumpet in her ear. "You do have to wake up now, you know. Can't have you missing anything."

"Can too." Cracking her eyes open was going to be a chore like none other, Yuffie was quickly realizing. She didn't want to wake up. Sleep tugged at her, jostled her, clung to her. It called her back, pulled her under, but the trumpet—the voice; the nurse—was insistent. Had to get up, had to go face the day, and dear, oh dear, perhaps you're running a tad bit of a temperature, just a little, nothing to worry about.

It was then that Yuffie realized the problems.

One, it was morning. She wasn't in a locker room and she (mostly) didn't feel like she was gonna hack up a bowl of innards stew. That was… good. And bad. And it was awesome and it sucked, so point number two, please. Two: she didn't feel like somebody'd set up a blender in her stomach so much as she felt like somebody'd stuffed her head and limbs full of down-feathers and sticky toffee and socks. The cloying sensation was reseeding, but it lingered maddeningly. Point three, and this was the kicker: Plucky had been close enough to shake her shoulder, had been shaking her shoulder, and didn't have a black eye or a broken wrist to show for it.

"Oh, hell," Yuffie groaned.

Plucky tutted. "Language, young lady. Now, up you get."

Up Yuffie got, quick enough to almost send herself stumbling. She would not get sick. Not, not, not! It just wasn't gonna happen. After throwing on a sweater, Yuffie grabbed the two squishy balls—one orange and the other purple (both sporting stupid smiley faces)—from inside her desk drawer before she, Plucky in tow, left for the sun room. If she had something physical to focus on, something more than chatting or people-watching or cuddling with Fuzzbutt, she'd have a better chance of jump-starting herself into gear. Maybe. Hopefully.

Before long, Yuffie was perched cross-legged on one of the sun room's many sofas, Fuzzbutt the kitten languishing cosily in her lap. One hand rested against her knee—in that hand sat the purple ball. The other hand, her left hand, was up and moving, manipulating the orange ball into small tricks and sleights. Nothin' fancy. Nothin' even interesting, as far as the ninja was concerned. Just a quick warm up to get her fingers—and her brain, ugh; it was still fuzzier than she'd like—going.

[For Kaito and Yukari!]

McCoy hadn't managed to get any sleep this time, instead spent the rest of the dinner nearly pacing with a nervous energy that seemed to to well up out of nowhere. He could feel it this time, his mind starting to drift on its own, back to those half-remembered thoughts earlier in the day, the ones that had had involved Chekov, Sulu. He couldn't remember the full details, he might as well have attempted to go catching smoke for all the good trying did, but it had something to do with their promotions. Sometimes Jim drifted in there, carrying some scars he didn't remember him having, and for some reason, the thought of him prompted a sense of wariness that shouldn't have been there.

He resisted actually pacing. He'd settled for lying on the bed and trying to get some rest. It was the sensible thing to do, because who knew how many hours they were actually getting of rest here? Humans needed a certain amount. He wasn't any different. And getting a few hour's shut-eye might be just the thing for the way he'd drifted off today and just now.

McCoy found himself instead staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest. There was that strange sensation that his limbs weren't quite long enough, his body temperature too low even though McCoy knew it was perfectly fine for a human. The room felt overly small, growing warmer by the minute...

The doctor was on his feet the moment the intercom sounded, relief flooding through him. He couldn't say he liked the sound of changes when it came to the Head Doctor. But to get out of this room and get his mind on work, instead of allowing it free reign to wander? An idle mind was a devil's workshop, something he'd learned in his youth.

He gathered his things quickly and stepped out into the hallway.

[to here]

[from here]

Getting out of the room quickly left moving through the hallways as an easy task. No one to get in the way or pose a potential threat. Such conditions made travel all the easier. Still, habit was hard to break, and Kurogane proved that as he remained near to the wall, leaving it only to pass through the doorway into the next hall. He wouldn't be wasting time, nor would he let himself take any chances, clear hallways or not.

[gone here]

Even before preparing for the night to begin, Kurogane had made the decision that he would not be wasting any time once night fell. He noted the intercom a moment, snorted at the message, then grabbed the last of his gear before leaving his room and heading off.

Kurogane always expected the worst when heading into the hallways, and tonight would be no different. That the intercom was warning them though... it sounded like a plot. Or at least more of one than what was usual. That bastard doctor wouldn't be bragging otherwise. It annoyed the ninja some to think that there could be something worse than what he'd already experienced there, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do for it now. So he pushed the thoughts aside. Right now all he needed to do was get to the magician. Whatever changes he faced, either on the way or after, could be dealt with when he faced them.

[gone here]

He didn't remember falling asleep exactly, only that he was suddenly starting awake when the Head Doctor's voice crackled on. For a second, McCoy couldn't remember where he was. The sheets felt rougher than he remembered, the layout too small for a starship, the bed itself unfamiliar. Even though he'd been around the cramped room the past few days, the dim room seemed alien in those waking moments.

The doctor didn't sit up immediately. Last thing he remembered was nursing a growing headache. McCoy regarded himself suspiciously as he woke up bit by bit. He couldn't feel any splitting pain now, which was well and fine, but you never knew for certain. A good part of him was reluctant to roll over or move, and actually find out whether it was slept off or just lying there waiting. McCoy lay there a little longer, listening to the intercom.

For that brief moment earlier, it'd really felt like he was back lying on the bed in his quarters, back on the Enterprise, only there'd been something peculiar about it. Like it wasn't his quarters and that bed had been elsewhere, in a room that was bigger than his and hotter than he was used to. It definitely wasn't his room: mugginess was one thing, he'd grown up with it before, but having the air hotter than Death Valley wasn't his idea for healthy living. Despite knowing those were off, there was a sense of right about it all the same.

The doctor looked around blearily for a clock only to remember that there wasn't any such luxury here. He couldn't have missed the rendezvous already. The Head Doctor sounded like he was giving one of his first announcements for the night. Lying here a little while longer was pretty tempting, but he had his orders. McCoy sat up slowly. To his relief, that headache looked like it had burned itself out for the most part. He really had just needed some sleep.

He quickly changed out of the gray number into his own uniform. He could still feel that headache lurking about on the fringes, but it was manageable. Adjusting the medical tunic, McCoy stepped out.

"AACHOO! Ahem!" The Head Doctor's slightly-better-but-still-congested voice came on clearly over the intercom. The sound of Nurse Lydia sighing and pulling out a tissue from somewhere in the background was also audible.

"Ah! Yes, thank you..." the Head Doctor muttered before continuing: "Well, it seems like today, like all days, must come to an end, even if it wasn't quite as bright and cheerful as we would like, hmmm? In any case, everyone will now be escorted to their quarters.... mmaahh... AAACHOO! Ah! Erb– yes, to their quarters, where they'll be served some Atlantic wild-caught salmon seasoned with garlic and herbs, along with mashed potatoes and a small garden salad. Our usual vegetarian alternatives and drinks are also available, along with a chocolate mousse dessert.

"And that's all... all ...aaaachoo!"

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. I think Court said something about the new roomies not being completely sorted out yet? :O She'll probably post about that later, so hang tight! ]

Stein sighed, looking down at the mess on his desk. Flecks of tobacco and torn bits of paper littered the top of it, some of it getting between the keys of his computer. The filter was still squeezed between his fingertips.

His hands were itching. A momentary spasm of movement had reduced a perfectly good cigarette to the mess on his desk before him. All shredded and torn apart, just like he would like to do to...

The doctor sighed and leaned back in his chair, rotating around and flicking the useless remainder into the trash bin. His fingers drummed restlessly on his legs, itching for something to do. Spinning around back to the desk, he opened the drawer, carelessly dumping the remains of the cigarette back it; his next patients would be here soon, so he needed this cleaned up.

It was as he was turning over his keyboard, shaking out the bits of tobacco that his eyes fell upon it, caught by the gleam of metal. A scalpel, simple and sharp, lying there among the pens and paperclips like it was just another piece of stationary. It would be so easy, once he was alone with the patient...

At the knock at his door, he slammed the drawer shut, backing away from the desk and spinning about in his chair before coming to a halt facing the door.

"Come in," he called, a bright smile painted on his face for whoever the nurse was escorting. Ah, just a little longer before the day was over...

Even with the nasty weather, Zack still felt refreshed after going outside. Humidity would have reminded him of Gongaga, but he wasn't sure he needed that. Not now, not when he wasn't even sure if he'd be able to get back home and see his parents again. Not that he should have the chance at all, but it was hard to think about nonetheless. Seeing how Gaia hadn't even gotten a rocket into space yet, the idea of figuring out how to get home was one huge question mark in Zack's head.

He already felt hungry again, but after his talk with Aidou the soldier knew that he needed to get that bulletin note up as soon as possible. For that reason, he gave the nurse who was currently herding him his best pleading eyes as he asked to be taken into the Sun Room for a quick second. Once there, he scribbled out a note as fast as he could (he hoped his friends would be able to read his writing) and then tacked it up.

Also, what was with the guy on the intercom all of a sudden? Had he gotten a spontaneous cold? It seemed ridiculous considering he was their captor, but it also meant he was at least somewhat human. He could get a stuffy nose. That meant he was probably weak in other ways.

But there he was, resorting to violence again. It was difficult not to, when that was what he was used to. Besides, Zack was getting the feeling that this Landel guy deserved it.

Shrugging to himself, he entered the cafeteria again and got in line for his lunch. He had to admit he was glad that the food didn't seem to be drugged, seeing how it was downright delicious. Zack got a whiff of the fried poultry as it was put onto his tray and let out a happy sigh. Chow time!

Seeing how the cafeteria was still pretty empty, the young man found the closest empty spot and then sat down. Hopefully one of his friends would spot him and head on over. For now, though, Zack picked up one of the pieces of meat, bit into it, and leaned back into his chair with a content look on his face. So much better than the slop Shin-Ra had called food...

[For Tobias! Let us know if you want to join.]

Luckily for Mele, the night had ended before Tenzen had changed his mind and deemed Mele appropriate for target practice. Even if the situation of who was mocking who had seemed to change into the Iga ninja's favor. Despite her behavior, perhaps the insolent woman could serve some sort of use nonetheless. He had been trapped in this place for a week by now, he would not accomplish anything on his own.

A week was a long time, a lot could have happened. Of course, he was thinking of the war, the bloody clash of two rivaling ninja clans, whose hatred had gone back for four hundred years. After that infuriating peace treaty had been broken, he, too, could finally release the hatred. And despite their losses, Tenzen had been certain that the Iga clan - no, that he would be the one to remain standing.

Four had remained on both sides a week ago...had the remaining Kouga already been killed? Or had they somehow succeeded in disposing of the remaining three Iga (excluding himself) during his absence? Of those three, two were blind. The situation was not a favorable one, and with himself trapped here before he could return from death, he had to wonder if the Kouga had removed the name 'Yakushiji Tenzen' from the scroll and would believe they had eliminated all of Iga's chosen ten.

The thought - along with no manner of telling this - was enough to make his jaw tighten. The longer he would remain here...

But as unfuriating as it was, it would not help him return. After confirming the presence of the scalpels he had retrieved, a nurse entered his room to escort him to the cafeteria for ridiculous Western breakfast. Unfortunately, the same ridiculous food was the only source of nutrition.

Upon entering, the ninja noticed he was the first to arrive to the area. After deciding on a salad rather than these so-called 'pancakes', he moved to one of the many vacant seats.

[Free to a good home. No limits!]

HK grabbed his weapons and left as soon as the door unlocked, wrenching it open with an uncommonly forceful motion and storming out. He had to go find Lugnut. This much was clear. He had to make sure the big, third-class intellect didn't get himself shot or starve, because he was the only droid left. Even if it came down to a maker-damned tug-of-war with the meatbags here to hold on to the Decepticon, he would.

[to here]

Entering the greenhouse was almost like coming home, and Hanatarou had been looking forward to this shift for that reason. Everywhere else in the building was strange and confusing (and often dangerous) but in here was the familiar scent of soil and sun-warmed plants with the musty sort of enclosed-space smell overlaying it. His expression turned into something approaching a smile as he glanced around, moving ahead of his nurse for once.

She seemed encouraged by his enthusiasm, and stopped him long enough to offer him a tray of seedlings, with the suggestion that he go ahead and transplant them into an empty space in the herb bed. He bobbed his head in a vague sort of nod and settled down, almost cheerfully digging a small hole in the indicated spot and reaching inside to test how dry the soil was. Maybe if he didn't look around, he could pretend he was back at work in the 4th Division headquarters....

[free]

Heat was able to ignore the still faintly throbbing spot on his head as he was led back into the cafeteria for another meal he had no intention of eating. He kept himself from rubbing at what he knew would be a small bump because dammit it didn't hurt that much. It was embarrassing, was what it was.

At the fishy odor filling the room when he entered, the demon wrinkled his nose. How that was supposed to be the slightest bit appealing he had no idea. Then again, it wasn't always the taste that mattered. Whatever this cod was, it could very well taste better than the rotting flesh he'd gotten down the night before.

His nurse made some comment about his lack of appetite, but he wasn't paying attention. She could eat his damn lunch if she was worried about it going to waste. It wasn't his fault they didn't inform their staff properly of their patients' eating habits. The room was fairly empty too, so Heat wasn't picky with where he sat. He just hoped one of his tribemates found him before he was stuck with some other pest for the duration of the meal.

[Sasuke?]

Scott wasn't really what one would call the sporty type, at least not currently. In the past, maybe. He could have called himself a hockey player at one point - in grade two (it totally counted). And he had been a jock in high school, hadn't he (he had at least played a lot of Track & Field for the NES, anyway)? Regardless of what his athletic status may or may not have been, sports weren't really what the Scott Pilgrim of nowadays was associated with. He was a fighter, not a lover sports guy. Still, he was surprisingly excited to be going out to the Rec Field. Maybe he wouldn't get any games on, but he could still work off those pesky bullet wounds, right?

He walked as fast as the crutch would let him despite the protests of his nurse and his injured limbs. His hand could grip just well enough to keep the crutch steady under his right arm (gravity did most of the work), and he was thus able to keep a good pace. "All right, not doing bad so far," Scott said to himself with a grin as he hobbled quickly across the field, heading for the goalposts on the far end. He had worked up a surprisingly steady stride by the time he got close to them. Crutch forward, then left leg swung out in front of it. Crutch, leg, crutch, leg, crutch, leg. Nothing to it! Sure, his shoulder was hurting like burning. Sure, his right leg was still giving him similar pain on a smaller scale despite not having weight put on it. Sure, his animal brain was constantly shouting, "WHY WON'T YOU STOP?!" Other than that, though, he was a-okay. He was determined to be. Otherwise, it was Game Over, wasn't it?

Soon he reached the goalposts and stopped, much to the relief of his limbs. He hadn't really gone to this spot for any specific reason. He had just wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't that hampered by his injuries. For now, he seemed to have made a good case for the affirmative on that point. He knew that he couldn't just stop at moving forward, though. He had to see how good he was going to be at fighting in this condition. How was his moveset going to be modified with a crutch added and an arm taken away? That was the million dollar ($1176470.59 CDN) question, wasn't it?

He tried something simple to start - a standing kick with his good leg. He quickly raised his left leg while leaning his armpit against the crutch, lightly touching the goalpost with the sole of his foot. Nothing bad so far. He did the same thing again, only harder. A small wave of pain shot from one leg to the other, causing him to wobble on his crutch a bit. Scott grit his teeth, not liking that result at all. This time he decided to try a small jump kick, just to spite that stupid injury. After backing up a good few inches, he pushed both feet off the ground. "Hiiiiya!" With the end of his crutch still on the ground, he gave himself a bit of extra momentum, letting it fling him toward the goalpost with his left leg outstretched.

One didn't have to be able to predict the future to know what that the result of that was going to be. Foot connected hard with goalpost. Rebound pushed him back against the crutch. Center of gravity over the crutch shifted too far back. Pain shot through both his legs and his injured arm again. This and the gravity shift caused him to let go of the crutch entirely. Body flew back over the crutch and crashed on the ground slightly behind it. Bum (among other things) ended up stinging and covered in grass stains.

"Owwwwww," Scott groaned to himself, fumbling for the crutch. It was in an awkward position, just beyond the reach of his good arm. ". . . Well, could've gone worse, I guess," he told himself as he used his left foot to start pushing the crutch back toward his hand.

[For Keman at first, then Peter and Indy later.]

[from here]

622 headed down to the last door in the cell block corridor, keeping alert for anything that might already have set itself up in the hall. There usually weren't any ambushes this early in the night, but better safe than dead.

He knocked on the door to M41, waiting slightly back from the door for the Commander to open it.

The intercom jingle went off, mirroring the cheery voice that came out of the speakers soon after it.

"Hello, everyone, and I hope you found productive endeavors in both your music-making and your therapy sessions! Now, our nurses will be escorting all of you to your rooms and to your delicious dinners. Tonight, we're serving moist slices of turkey breast covered in gravy and served with mashed potatoes and grilled artichoke. Also available are our usual salad and drink choices, as well as a to-die-for devil chocolate cake dessert!

"...Mm, yes, I do think I'll have to partake in some of that myself! I trust you'll all enjoy it as much as I do, and I'll speak with you again shortly!"

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. ]

The mere fact that she'd been susceptible to whatever hold the Institute had had on her yesterday was sufficient to leave Ayumu both upset and angry - no, not angry, downright furious, both at herself and whoever was responsible for that. But there was also the fact that because of it, she'd lost out on an entire day of work, and in several ways had ruined some of what she'd done already. That little conversation with Himura the day before, for instance, was something she'd sincerely prefer not to remember if she'd had any choice in the matter.

Unless the man was a complete moron, which, unfortunately, was one thing she couldn't believe of him, he had to have realized just who her brother was. After all the effort to keep that fact quiet (not exactly a secret, but certainly not advertised; half the Shinsengumi probably never even realized it because there was no reason to) she'd gone and chatted about it with him. Told him all about it, practically painted a bright target around a weakness that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

She'd spent the shift in the Sun Room pretending to sleep, while in truth forcing herself into calm. After years of practice she could shunt away the useless and distracting emotions, focusing only on what was important and needed to be at the forefront of her mind, and by the time the intercom signaled the lunch period she was feeling considerably calmer. The time to silently observe others had, as well, alerted her to something she probably should have noticed earlier: Mello was back. Would her previous objective be reinstated now? He seemed to have far less of a bulletin presence this time, so perhaps not. Still, though, it bore investigating.

None of her thoughts were visible, of course, as she moved through the line, examining the lunch selection somewhat dubiously. Now with the benefit of Yuuko's memories she might recognize the food, but she certainly didn't share the enthusiasm for it that her imaginary self apparently had. Ayumu skipped past that part and settled for the salad bar and some bread, then positioned herself in a place where she could watch both the door and the rest of the room, setting her journal open in front of herself as though planning to write something. There was far too much that she'd missed, too much work to do now.

[for Okita]

Peter woke up suddenly, his body twisting in the bed and then forcing him to catch his breath in pain. Pain, which was coming from his middle because of the thing that had scratched him last night, and after that...

After that, Zach had jumped in front of him like some kind of martyr, like the exact opposite of everything Sylar stood for, to take the next hit for him. It got pretty fuzzy after that, so night must have ended right around then.

The man let out a pained grunt as he straightened himself up in bed. For some reason, he got the feeling that he'd slept in. There was no way for him to really tell without a window in the room, but he just knew. The fact that Sam's bed looked long since vacated was another clue.

Sam, but was he Sam again? Had the brainwashing worn off, as he and Roland had hoped, or was he going to have to go through this nightmare for even longer? He didn't know how long he could handle "Zach" and "Harrison" before he started going batty himself.

Pulling himself out of bed, Peter lifted his shirt and saw that he was tightly bandaged. The scratch most likely wasn't nearly as bad as the bite that "Zach" had received, but it still smarted. He let his shirt fall and then had to deal with a nurse chiding him for sleeping through the morning announcements. Not that Peter really cared at the moment. He was too busy thinking about last night and the fact that in a way, he now owed something to Sylar. Except it hadn't been Sylar. That was something he was sure of now.

Lost in his thoughts, Peter reached the Sun Room right as the rest of the patient populace was trickling in from breakfast. Sighing to himself, he headed over to the bulletin board and then saw a note written in familiar yet unpleasant handwriting. Holding his pen in a vice grip, Peter scribbled out a reply and then stalked over to an armchair and fell into it with a huff.

While Sylar was maddeningly frustrating, there was one good thing about the fact that he was himself again. It meant that Nathan was too.

[For Spock!]

For the second time, Rika found herself waking with a start. She blinked at the grey light streaming through the windows, and looked across the room. Anise was still asleep. So. I'm still here. Let me just check...

Rika put on her slippers and walked over to the desk, checking the drawer and breathing a light sigh of relief. Good, the knife was still there. She wasn't sure why it would be there - shouldn't they have confiscated the weapon? Either way, though, as much as she was reluctant to use it, she was glad to have it still there.

Just then, she heard the creak of the open door, and quickly closed the drawer. Her nurse peeked in, whispering, "Rachel? Time for breakfast. You should put on a sweatshirt, it's a bit chilly." Rika nodded, quickly adding the extra layer and following the nurse out into the hall and to the cafeteria.

She was used to a Japanese-style breakfast, so the idea of something sweet - which the nurse was avidly describing, with the waffles and fruit and syrup - was a bit odd. Once she walked in, though, she had to admit it smelled good. She filled her plate with waffles topped with blueberries, some sausage, and eggs, took a glass of orange juice, and took a seat. It seemed she was early, so she took a seat close to one of the windows and waited.

[For Ange.]

[From here]

He supposed this marked how far he had gotten last night. A sad amount of progress if he had wanted to get something done, really. But then again, if he had wanted to get something done he wouldn't have stood around talking all night in the first place.

Tyki headed right, simply because he didn't feel like heading outside tonight. Nah, climbing over the wall and seeing what the head doctor had in store for them out there would need to wait. Climbing with burns would be pretty bothersome, after all. He wasn't even going to get started about having to climb in the first place.

[To here]