Man, you attack one soldier, and everyone goes ballistic. He'd been sedated and crammed into a tiny room for the whole darn day. Sure, he was too fried by the drugs to really get bored, but it still felt like a really long time before he was dragged back to his room, making insults about every single thing he could think of all the way.

But hey, he was back, he got food, and most importantly, he got his clothes and his bat. He was ready to go kick some military behind, and no one, no thing, and no common sense would get in the way!

[To here]

[From here.]

Even this early, Edward was waiting for... whatever it was that was coming. Project 2911. Was that the name of a new beast? Did Landel have a dragon waiting for him to turn the wrong corner so he could be set on fire again and not live to regret it? He wouldn't be surprised at this point. He just wished he had the strength to go along with the rage.

He'd never tried dragon blood. It probably tasted like gasoline, which he had tried. It had only taken a week for Edward to realize that taking bets from Emmett was not a good thing to do.

No time for reminiscing. Remembering what Landel had done to his brother only fueled his drive, his steps moving faster.

[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.]

Despite the way he had felt before taking his nap, Minato pushed himself out of bed when he heard the intercom crackle to life. Sleep had definitely helped; his mind was clearer with the exceptions of his awakened Personas, but their alertness was a welcome feeling with the prospect of having to venture out into the institute again.

He sorted through his cache of collected items, taking a few minutes to try out his batteries for the brightest combination. If nothing else, he had to get out of his room tonight if he didn't want to be stumbling around in the dark with dead batteries in the near future.

Minato reached for his sword after he secured his evoker on his makeshift belt. The handle was already worn down, and he could feel the metal pressing against the flesh of his palm. But he wouldn't work on improving his sword tonight. No, he could still save that for a time when he didn't know what he was going to do--and when he didn't want to sleep the entire night away.

Aigis was waiting for him.

He shut the closet, pausing before turning towards the exit. He was hesitant to meet with her--uncharacteristically so. Should he say anything to her about what Yukari had told him? Did she even know that Yukari was in the institute? Maybe he just shouldn't say anything at all as usual, if their conversation of bulletin notes was any sign of her mindset.

After taking a deep breath to again clear his head, he was out the door and heading down the hall.

[to here]

[from here]

"Going to deliver..." Brook sung, words coming and going through the most comforting of his hummed tunes. Really, the cane made all the difference. Before he'd only been able to hum to alleviate his fears of traveling alone. Now though, he had a weapon. An untested one, yet still a weapon. And one much better than a lead pipe or, and even he would admit to it, the weapons that Archer used to create. This one from Leon felt the most similar to his own one, from back home. Maybe he'd even be able to use it in the same way.

Only with skin this time.

He knew he'd be slower if anything came across him, but he could always run if needed. And could it ever be needed in this place! But again, he wasn't going to go seek out trouble. That was Luffy's job, and Zoro's as well given the swordsman's track record. He got into trouble just by traveling!

"I wonder if he's gotten lost again..." the musician muttered thoughtfully before returning to his wordy humming, "... but if you just hold on, the morning sun will rise..."

[gone here]

[from here]

Very few people out here. Maybe he should slow down, wait for some more patients to come crawling out of their rooms; otherwise, he'd just be hanging around, and then randomly approaching someone: wouldn't that look suspicious? The whole point was to make the act random.

Or perhaps he was just over-thinking. The larger, more popular halls would probably prove more fruitful.

[skipping to here]

With breakfast finished and a new acquaintance made, the Scarecrow's mind turned to his other friends. The disappearance of Depth Charge's friend had brought back memories of how he'd felt when Kaiji went missing: helpless, useless, as though he should have and could have done something more to find him. If only he had his brain, then maybe he could have thought of something!

As much as he didn't like to admit it, it was unlikely his former roommate was still within the Institute's walls at this point, though the Scarecrow wouldn't know for sure unless Kaiji returned to visit him as Dorothy had, encouraging his supposed recovery. There was still the concern that Landel, despite his vile methods, was actually right and he was suffering from the delusion of having been a scarecrow in Oz. After all, that movie had been a pretty elaborate trick. Would he have planted it in town on purpose, knowing the Scarecrow would be taken there the night of the enchanted doors? And how could he guarantee that once he did find it, he'd take it and actually watch it? There was so much guesswork involved- it seemed the Wizard Landel either liked coincidences or he had more power on his side than any of the patients could have guessed.

The Scarecrow stopped by the bulletin board before heading for a seat, considering writing a note to his friends to check on them. He'd heard from Depth Charge, Remy, and Kibitoshin within a day's time, so he figured they were probably fine (as fine as Depth Charge could have been after last night, anyway). He'd seen Mele and Scar the day before. He put a finger to his head, thinking- he'd not heard from Abe or Sangamon in a day or so, but being professionals, they were probably very busy. Perhaps a note would be best for them.

[Kibby]

Lunch had taken his mind from his worries, if only for a few minutes. But after the intercom sounded and the nurses began leading patients onto the next activity, one look at the bulletin board brought everything back in full force. No replies from Ashton, Dias or Dad. By now Claude felt like he was practically counting down until the end of the day, when he was going to have to finally grapple with the real possibility that most of his friends from before Landel's, as well as his own father, had fallen victim to the institute.

And now he was going to have to deal with his mother being here on top of that. It didn't seem like a coincidence that she'd show up right when his father's whereabouts were so up in the air. But what did it mean? Why couldn't Landel leave his family out of this?

Normally, the announcement about new video games would have made him perk up, but his eyebrows only knit together with concern as his nurse led him into the game room. That didn't seem to stop her from trying to get him to unwind, though.

"Oh, come now, Thomas, you've worn that expression for most of the day!" she told him with a frown. "Why don't you have a bit of fun now that your eyes are all better? I'm sure you could use it."

The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of his "sleep studies", he darkly thought to himself. But before he could protest, his nurse had sat him down in front of one of the television screens. There was an old gaming console, one Claude had never seen before, and he glanced at her with a confused expression. "Go on," she encouraged as she placed one of the controllers in his hands. "I know how much you enjoy these kinds of things. Someone will come play with you soon, too, I'm sure. Doesn't that sound nice?"

He didn't have time to answer her, because she'd soon bustled off to tend to some of the other patients. Claude watched her leave with a sigh. He realized the daytime staff meant well, which made knowing what they turned into at night even worse to think about. But now he was just being negative for the sake of it, wasn't he?

Taking in a small breath, he reached over to the console and turned it on. As long as he was waiting for some kind of answer from the bulletin, there probably wasn't much he could do except pass the time. Claude watched the title screen appear on the television, his expression growing more curious in spite of himself. Super Mario Bros....

[For Prussia!]

[from here]

It was a race. A fight against patience and a Song's call. Still, the sedation's dredges churned through him. Two close at hand had a potent effect--much like the night that they were left in that town, and the morning after. Rubedo had came then. Came for them like something out of place, and wasn't that so ironic afterwards--when Albedo knew what he knew now? How many times would a twin appear to abandon him to harshly? How many times would Rubedo make promises only to break them--tear them to pieces like he did Albedo--in the perfectly precise way of those who knew how to break you down because they knew you so perfectly.

Was that how Rubedo had killed him? Or had Albedo forced him to it? His twin wouldn't say before, and asking now was too much like dead blood rotting in veins--he no longer cared, no longer needed to know how easily it was for his twin to rip him asunder. How joyous Rubedo must have been. If that night was any hint, his twin hated him with a passion to rival man's hatred toward god. And wasn't it the same. This. In ways it was the same. An existence meted out, for what it's worth, and then you were simply trapped in it. Trapped in it and stuck stagnant where you were, bound by that other, unless you forced your hatred forward to strike down the other.

To kill god? It seemed too quaint to entertain.

Be it that he woke as the last shift was ending, Albedo had been escorted to the cafeteria early. He took what was offered without a word, sat in the back without a sound, and sipped at the water put in front of him politely; a hand curled around the cup lightly, fingers loose. Eyes burned into the entrance--for Nigredo or Rubedo, either would suffice. The doubt that his twin would come to him was faulty--to ignore them for a week and then vanish as if they were nothing spoke of only distain, whatever Nigredo chose to believe. The eldest of them hated them both. This was truth. The only truth that Rubedo had shown Albedo, in thought, word, action, and deed, in the two weeks that they had shared here.

So Rubedo was to kill him. Well. Never say Albedo accepted his destiny. Yes, he would die by his twin's hand. But first he would rip Rubedo's throat out, claw out his eyes and press them into his beloved's mouth--see the lies you spew--lift his tenderly beating heart for all to see and then crush it.

This, Rubedo, is what you've done to me.

[...for the twin.]

The schedule here, while not so chaotic as schedules she had worked under, was enough to be slightly unnerving to Dr. Weaver. It wasn't that she couldn't work under pressure; in fact, she normally worked quite well under some degree of pressure. It was...the lack of pressure, really, that she protested. The fact that she couldn't get to know her patients as well as she'd like, the fact that she couldn't treat the physical injuries she saw...

...she sighed, taking a sip of her tea. She pulled up the file for the patient she was going to see. Seventeen-year-old male, Christian Aarons. Nothing that looked particularly remarkable, but...she knew not to judge the book by its cover. She would just need to wait and see.

Dammit. He was hungry again.

Not that he ever stopped being hungry, but it could be ignored for a while after he'd had a chance to devour something. Though Heat had managed to get that meal the night before, the animal hadn't been all that large. The Institute seemed capable of curbing his hunger to some degree (he didn't think he could have gone for three or four days without proper food in the Junkyard without going mad) but it was still there, forever gnawing at him.

Since he actually had his mind to himself that night, he might as well take some time to see if he couldn't find bigger prey. He really hated thinking in those terms, but there was no way around the fact that Landel had the ability to make him think the way he wanted whenever he pleased. It was infuriating.

He left his radio. It hadn't done him any good before and he needed both hands for his weapons anyway. The man that spoke on it had only empty words for them as far as he was concerned. The stuffed doll, however, he decided to bring along - just in case he ran into, well, a certain someone.

[to here]

[From here]

Now where had Knives said her room was? Scott reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the crumpled napkin she had written the number on at breakfast. F30. Okay. Assuming the girls' block worked the same way the guys' one did and wasn't some alternate dimensional maze that only people with boobs (twitch) would understand, Scott was pretty sure he could find the right room. 

[To here]

"Well, that's it for today's activities and hygiene!" The Head Doctor said with a jovial tone just after the sound system's jingle. He seemed excited and maybe even giddy. "Our nurses will now be escorting everyone back to their rooms, and some of you might find that you have brand new roommates to share your dinner with! That's right: we've gotten a whole new batch of patients, and I hope you all are as well behaved with them as you have – ...well, as most of you have been with our staff. Because of this good behavior, I'd like to remind everyone that they may stop at the Arts & Crafts room to bring their origami figures back to their room and decorate as much as they like!

"In any case, our dinner tonight will be herb chicken – breast and wing or leg and thigh, whichever you prefer – served with hot – well, not too hot – vegetable soup, caesar salad, and lightly fried rose potatoes. Our usual drinks are available, as well as alternatives for special diets, and dessert will be a delicious caramel apple.

"I believe that's all for now. Goodbye, everyone!"

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. ANY NEWLY ACCEPTED CHARACTERS MAY POST TO THIS SHIFT (but are not obligated to if you would like to wait for Nightshift or Dayshift); please refer to the new room assignments before posting. Thank you! ]

[from here]

There wasn't much to see, in the little Gaara could make out. A long table, some chairs, and supplies strewn down its length. A seemingly typical meeting area, unless there were hidden alcoves secreted away. He moved inward, touching the table lightly. Glass. Far too easy too tell. It seemed extravagant.

The Suna-nin glanced back at Minato, as if to wonder whether there was anything of want in here.

[from here]

As they started up the stairs, Anise went on to ask one of the several questions she had on her mind. "But, um... are you really okay with being called what the staff came up with? I mean, a number is weird, but isn't having a fake name forced on you just as bad?" She had to admit, 'Temuera' sounded a lot better than 'TK-622' as far as names went, but at the same time, she herself would rather swallow needles than willingly go by the name the nurses called her here. It was just... insulting, in a way.

It looked like she was right about guessing that he was a soldier, though. He certainly looked and acted the part. Anise was probably the opposite in that respect. She would be shocked if anyone guessed she was a soldier from her appearance. On the one hand, it could be a little annoying, not being taken seriously, but on the other, it was nice having her own guards for once. If people were going to volunteer to help her, then who was she to stop them?

[from here]

There was no one here yet. And wasn't that strange? If she remembered correctly, there was a male patient block here. Even if it was away from the others, it should still be fairly well occupied. Were they all just staying in for the night? It was also odd that no one from the female block had come up this way yet either. Either it was just too early, or something had happened in her absence that kept others from coming this way unless they had a larger group with them (or not at all).

Callisto stopped to shine her light down into the adjacent hall, seeing if she could pick out anyone heading out of their room. She thought she heard the sounds of people moving about on the other side of the wall, so it couldn't be completely empty. Was there any point in waiting around? She didn't need someone to accompany her, and it had only slowed her up in the past anyway.

She would wait a bit, perhaps, if only to sate her own curiosity before moving on.

Weapons in hand, Heat was out in the hall the moment the doors opened. There had to be something, a scent in the air that might alert him to the presence of one of Landel's creations. His hunger wouldn't be denied for another night. Though he was still without his flashlight, that didn't really matter. His other senses should be enough to find what he needed. And he would find something. No other patients were even going to be looked at until he had.

Whatever the head doctor meant about those rings, it didn't matter to Heat. He hadn't been in a group the night before, and even if he had been he hadn't gotten more than a couple halls. What would be the point of being able to transport himself there when he could walk the distance just as quickly? No, it couldn't help him, and if it couldn't help him it didn't interest him. Chances were they were all just another trick of the Institute's anyway.

The demon paused outside his doorway, nose to the air as he decided on a direction.

[from here]

It looked like the hallway opened up over here. Guess he couldn't expect to just run around and follow a linear corridor forever, but now he had to figure out which way he wanted to go. Normally, he'd just run down whatever hallway he happened to lay eye on first, but again, he was running a liiittle blind here.

He still wasn't seeing any people anywhere. Maybe everyone was hiding. If everyone knew the staff turned into monsters and tried to eat them, then it'd make sense that they'd try to keep low. Thankfully, he'd be taking care of whatever was wandering around this place, so they wouldn't have to stay hiding for long. Once that was done, they could blast their way out of there and he could find his way back to the others. Couldn't keep everyone waiting on account of him, right?

[running across Rita, The Trickster, and hopefully, a freaking flashlight]

All right! It was only midday and Guybrush had already managed to touch base with both his darling Plunderbunny and Morgan, avoid being punched in the face again, and learn that he'd failed to understand Mo's dying words to him. Most importantly, he'd managed to not make himself look like an incompetent fool in front of his not-yet wife. He kept his fingers crossed that the future would be preserved- if he started disappearing into nonexistence or remembering things he'd not done, he could be sure he'd screwed up.

When given his choice of which room he wanted to spend the shift in, Guybrush picked the Music Room, passing on the movie playing in the Sun Room (he'd seen enough giant monkey heads to last him a lifetime, thank you very much). Besides, he was itching to get his fingers on a banjo. It was only after he'd already stepped into the room and his nurse had passed him the "Don't steal anything because I'm not taking you anywhere else" look that he realized that a) the room didn't even have a banjo in it, and b) he didn't have enough fingers to play it even if there had been one. Crud.

His second choice was a plastic recorder sitting idly in a chair. He didn't have enough fingers to play it either, but at least his hook could cover one of the holes. He gave it a blow, producing an ear-splitting squawk that earned him another sour look from the nurse. With a sheepish grin, he tried returning the instrument to its initial place, only to find it was stuck on his hook. "Apparently, this instrument isn't handicapped-friendly," he remarked to himself, yanking it from the prosthetic with a squeaky pop.

His next stop was a seat in front of a keyboard. Now here was something he could play with a hook! Not well, but he had more luck with it than the previous instruments as he hen-pecked out notes with zilch regard for tonality.

[Porky]