While it wasn't uncommon for patients to black out at the end of Nightshift, a select few would have a wrench thrown into their normal routine. Rather than waking up bright and early in their typical bed, they would find themselves propped up in a comfortable leather chair.

The room itself looked like an office straight from the 1950s – almost cozy, in fact. None of them would recognize the oak table in the middle of the room, or the two bookcases, which were neatly arranged with all kinds of texts and books. Between those bookcases, though, was a picture of the Institute, framed with wood that perfectly matched the rest of the room's décor.

The knickknacks scattered across the bookcases -- staff photographs, a golfing figure made of business cards, and some prestigious-looking awards – didn't seem out of place for a regular office, either. The desk itself was the centerpiece, and was obviously well-used. That wasn't to say it was messy, exactly, but the inbox and outbox resting on top of the glass-paned surface were stuffed with a variety of paperwork and envelopes. Though most of the room looked old-fashioned, the keyboard and two flat screen monitors contrasted with the rest of the office.

These things would probably escape the notice of most of the people visiting this evening, though. After all, anyone who woke up in this office would be treated to the sight of a man peering through his oval-rimmed glasses as he leafed through some folders. Although his face was distinct enough for anyone who'd had the opportunity to see the Head Doctor in person, the small microphone sitting just inches away from him said volumes about who he was.

As soon as the patient awoke, the man looked up, offering an unexpectedly amicable smile. After closing the folder, he set it down next to the outbox and leaned back in his seat.

“Ah, good evening,” he greeted as he pulled the glasses from his nose. “I've been expecting you. You've been brought here because I thought you might be interested in making a deal, so let's discuss things like gentlemen, shall we?” Nodding toward the newcomer, he chuckled. “Take a moment to regain your bearings if you need it. I realize this must be a bit disorienting.”

Footsteps echoed through the hallways of the institute. The sounds were hard, quick and efficient – the product of military-issue boots, and the soldiers who wore them. They were a sharp contrast to how the nurses normally sounded when they prepared for a shift change. Patients who'd been here long enough to notice the difference might have found it unsettling, particularly once a fresh flood of soldiers began pouring into the Sun Room, Recreational Field, and Greenhouse. They didn't immediately call attention to their presence, of course, but the weapons they toted on their backs and the spartan way they carried themselves made their sudden increase in numbers impossible to miss.

One or two nurses and orderlies were pulled aside and kept near the exit of all three rooms. It was only then that three separate officers, one assigned to each room, came forward and bellowed over the patients' chatter.

“By order of General Aguilar, all Landel's Institute personnel will relinquish their authority to the military, effective immediately!” they barked in iron-clad voices. “Unless otherwise spoken to, nurses and orderlies will now return to the second floor and await further instructions. No exceptions!”

This announcement startled much of the staff, who exchanged uncharacteristically worried glances with one another. But the steely gaze of the soldiers in the room left little room for debate. Save for the few nurses and orderlies standing near the exit, the staff began to reluctantly filter out of the room. With no voice of dissent among them, it appeared as though the military was going to seamlessly take their place as the patients' captors.

At least, that was the case in the Recreational Field and Greenhouse.

( The Sun Room, however, was a slightly different story. )

The room was almost cozy at first glance. A large oak table sat in the center of the comfortably-sized room, framed by two corner bookcases that seemed to be filled with thick texts and various legal binders. On the wall directly behind the desk, placed between the two bookcases, was a large head-on portrait of the Institute itself, framed in dark, polished wood that matched the rest of the furniture and complemented the forest-green of the thin carpet.

Although some knickknacks – generic awards, staff photographs, a golfing figure made of business cards – dotted the bookcases, the centerpiece of the room was clearly the desk itself. Its glass-paned top was tidy, though not necessarily pristine: the inbox and outbox were chock-full of looseleaf paper and manilla envelopes, and several folders were piled neatly on the far side of the desk's surface, as if they'd been only recently put aside. A keyboard and two flat screen monitors were the only immediate indication that the office wasn't pulled straight out of the mid-twentieth century, though some sections of paneling on the ceiling and walls seemed suspiciously rectangular.

Three chairs in front of the desk and a door off to their right were the last inanimate objects of note, and even those might have been completely missed due to the figure sitting in the desk's high-backed, leather chair. He was currently relaxed, paging quietly through the file currently open in front of him. A pair of oval-rimmed glasses didn't do much to mask his face from those who'd seen it before, and to someone who hadn't, the small microphone sitting just inches away from him was more than enough to reveal his identity.

After a moment, the man glanced up and smiled at the patients in a strangely non-malicious fashion. He slowly closed the folder and placed his hand over it as he leaned back in his seat.

"I was wondering when you three would get out of the hallways." He raised his hand and slowly slid the glasses off his nose, then nodded at each person in turn. "Fai, Kurogane, pleasure to see you again. Tsubaki, good of you to join us. I... wouldn't bring you all here if I didn't want to talk civilly, so can I assume you realize how stupid it'd be to try anything... or will the barrier have to stay?"

As if to illuminate his point, he tapped the glasses against his desk and a brief flash of a force field appeared in front of the patients. The Head Doctor raised a brow questioningly.

[[from here]]

While the transition from night to morning wasn't usually so abrupt, he fully expected to wake up tucked into his bed the following morning. Instead, he woke to hard-packed earth and sand against his cheek. He startled up into a sitting position, momentarily blinded by the bright light streaming in from above in the huge room he'd woken up in.

There wasn't an exit, as far as he could tell. The walls around him rose up high and gave him an uncomfortable feeling of nostalgia. Being trapped with insurmountable walls on every side was enough to make him hug his coat closer around him despite the room's average temperature. Everything felt so surreal, he supposed it could all be a waking dream, but somehow that didn't feel right either. Several yards away, someone else was stirring. Yue? Where were Sakura and Touya then? Above the walls, too high for any normal person to climb, were what looked like stands. Rows of seats above them. What was this place?

Aside from all that, his magic had returned, just as strong as ever. It'd been so faint before, it was almost overwhelming to have access to it now. That should be more than enough to send them all home, right? If that were even possible. It would be worth a try though, assuming he could find them all.

[Warped in from here.]

When Guy's eyes opened, it was almost as if he was waking up, and yet he knew that wasn't the case; he was standing, with a weapon in his hand, and somehow feeling far more comfortable than he had in weeks.

His gaze was on his feet, and it took him a few seconds to let everything sink in. He was wearing boots. His boots. And while being back in familiar clothing wasn't so new to some people, it was definitely a big change for him.

His head then snapped up and he realized just what he was holding. It wasn't Ashton's sword, but his own, the Jewel of Gardios -- and on top of that, Guy realized that he felt more powerful somehow. Did he have access to fonons? He had been working without them for so long, but it was almost as if he could feel them in the air now.

All of those changes didn't matter as much when he took in his location. The sphinx had warned them, of course, but the huge coliseum still impressed him, and what was even stranger was the way sunlight seemed to be filtering in from overhead. Was it actually day? This almost felt like he was in some sort of dream.

But that theory was torn into shreds when he eyed Sync, also in full form, standing across the arena from him. So what, they were supposed to fight? Guy didn't have a problem with that (it was what he'd come down here intending to do, after all), but he knew there had to be some kind of catch.

As he glanced to the side, he saw that Claude and Dias were in similar positions, except facing each other. "Wait," he muttered under his breath. No way were those two going to fight each other except in a sparring capacity, so what was going on? He wasn't sure where Anise and that other girl had gotten off to, but maybe it was for the best that they weren't here...

[from here]

When she came to, Callisto found herself sitting in what appeared to be a small set of stands. That didn't last for long, as she was soon on her feet and staring around at her new surroundings.

Unlike the rest of the basement had been, this area was fully lit - almost as though it was daylight and they'd been transported outside. It hadn't become morning already, had it? Even if it had, they definitely weren't back where they usually were when the night ended. Was this what lay beyond the black doors? But the words carved in it had said that only those who had...

She glanced to the side, quickly. One, two, and she made three. Only three of the five of them were there. The two that had pricked their fingers weren't among them.

Callisto lunged for Goku instantly, meaning to grab him by the front of his shirt. "Why did you stop me?" she all but screamed at him.

The sky was blue and the sun was shining brightly, though all aspects of the good weather didn't fit the Head Doctor's current mood. His arms were crossed and his face was creased into a scowl; his eyes were sharp and although he wore his usual brown suit and tie, both were wrinkled as if he'd slept in them. His hair, usually combed and slicked back, was mussed up from neglect and stress.

On the whole, he didn't look too happy.

He glanced at his gold watch again, muttering out a curse and turning his gaze to the sky. The recent glitches in the security system's mainframe hadn't been enough to allow the patients free reign of the place, but it had been enough to dampen all of the powers within the Institute's Walls rather than just those of the prisoners.

It meant that he and Doyle would be on equal ground.

Dr. Landel usually wasn't the kind to take reckless risks, but he was far too angry to think rationally at the moment. His old partner was the one responsible for all of this - his old partner who had betrayed their cause and now sought to sabotage it, who didn't understand the true importance of this work...

The Head Doctor looked at his watch again. He should have expected this from someone who had already proved himself to be both a traitor and a coward.