[From here.]

If there was one thing to be said about the terrible clothing they were given to wear in Doyleton, it was that the selection had its uses. The jacket- not fine or leather, but a jacket nonetheless- kept some of the cold from him; the shoes gripped to the road, slick in places from the layer of snow, better than the issued slippers ever would.

In good news, it didn't look like they were being followed. Guybrush kept a watch behind him, figuring someone would come looking. Maybe the voodoo witch hadn't been kidding about the "you may not come back" warning and really did think they wouldn't survive the night. Why did the guards try to keep people inside, anyway? If the part where they were transported back to the institute every morning no matter where they were was true, why did it matter if a few patients made it outside the building? It would be a pain if the nurses actually had to go out and fetch each and every missing patient, but given that the people in charge had enough voodoo prowess to bring people through time, knocking them out and warping them back to their rooms should have been a snap.

Or maybe they really could get too far, and find themselves out of range of Aguilar's power. That was what Guybrush was hoping for. Unfortunately, they'd lost a lot of time with their encounter, and weren't making up for it much with their wounded pacing.

Conversation would take their minds off their aches. "Did you know this place has a basement filled with monsters?"

[from here]

....Make that the cold night air. God, how did she not think of a coat?! Morgan: 0, Landel's: a hundred. She rubbed her bare upper arms, smearing blood from her injured right shoulder onto the fingers of her gauntlet. Normally she'd wipe it clean; right now, she didn't care enough to bother. She just wanted to keep moving and make up for the time they'd wasted getting smacked around by a kid with a stick. Anything that would make tonight feel like less of a failure.

"Ouch." She grimaced in Guybrush's direction, looking for signs of major head trauma. "Nooot exactly one of my most spectacular moments. Are you okay?"

[ From here. ]

Deserted.

Regardless, Lightning took several steps into the large room, looking about and listening intently. Most importantly though, she was also trying to get a feel for the air there. She remembered quite clearly how it had seemed her first and second nights, how someone else going through ahead of her had caused the oppressive air inside to be stirred slightly, and figured that would be the best way for her to tell if anyone had already beat her out the door.

However, that didn't seem to be the case here, and as far as she could tell without walking all the way over to it, the entrance at the other end of the room hadn't yet been opened. Taking a hasty step backward, Lightning was quick to retrace where she'd come from as soon as she was sure of the possibility being struck out--

And then the sound of static from the radio trapped in her jacket, harsh and almost deafeningly loud in the darkened silence, nearly caused the already wound-tight l'Cie a heart attack then and there. Pressing her lips together in annoyance, she moved to retrieve the thing, immediately recognizing the first voice and then...

... That was-- was that the 'head doctor?'

Now almost outright scrambling, she quickly lifted the radio to not far from her face, first bending her head so that pieces of her pale hair fell forward as she listened, then promptly shaking it back, turning her back to the wall and leaning there, determined to keep an eye on her surroundings at the same time despite her surprise.

Much of the message went right over the ex-soldier's head still, but... they were working together- not even a child could miss that. Shaking her head in disgust, she started putting the noisy device back in the jacket pocket almost before the broadcast had come to an end.

[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.

A night off. Odd concept, though Taura wasn't fool enough take the silence on the intercom as implying that Aguilar had bought into this plan. That second click hadn't escaped her attention -- recording? Throwing some plan into motion, just loudly enough to let them all wonder?

If it was the latter, someone had finally given this place a lesson in psychological warfare. She shivered, and went back to thinking about what she should do with her mostly-free night.

She came to the conclusion that vacations were a lot more fun when she had someone to spend them with. Though the planet to explore had put in an appearance.

Maybe Rita would have some ideas, if she could be pried away from magical science once the experiment was over. Science people were like that -- if you didn't fit in, you were a puzzle, not a problem, even if it got just as tiring being poked and prodded, whether with needles or just with words.

Her things were all ready to go; she had decided to take the radio tonight. If Aguilar didn't have anything to say, someone else might, and if they decided to run out towards hostile territory, she could leave it behind. The materia and her claw she tucked into her purse, and the shuriken she carried. She didn't need a flashlight on familiar ground.

[to here]

[From here.]

Being down this way certainly did nothing for Peter's nerves. The last time he had come near this part of the hospital was when him and Harry...yeah. Right about there was where the shapeshifters came in.

The footsteps paused, the yellowed beam lingering on a seemingly unremarkable patch of floor. Then it jerked, swirling all around the hall, peeking into every corner and the distant ends and doors. Up on the roof. Peter stilled his breathing with some difficulty, throat grown thick. He hadn't even thought about it. He did even think twice about this being the same hall. And they had found Harry through the next door, where the thing shaped like his father had led him quietly away.

The door right over there. The door to the girl's block.

Heart pounding, Peter grit his teeth and approached. Shone the light behind him once again. His spider sense wasn't making a peep, but he could just feel it. Like something was creeping up on him here. So much had happened since then, but cripes, it really had been only two weeks.

But much like the Hallucination Hall of upstairs fame, he couldn't let this part of the institute spook him. An attack could happen anywhere. And if this spot was dangerous, if the only thing he thought of when he was standing here was how Mary Jane's mouth had split into rows of inhuman teeth and how the blood had burbled out of Harry's neck, then he was already a goner. He couldn't help Senna if he was frozen stiff.

Right. Senna Senna Senna. Focus. Peter wet his lips and went for the doorknob, sweet talking his heart out of the drum-like pounding it had adopted. He wasn't about to let Senna go the same way as Harry. No way on Earth. Whatever this planet was.

[To here.]

[From here.]

He had reached the meeting point in less than a few minutes and there was still not another patient to be seen. Castiel paused, standing near the wall as he moved his flashlight up and down the corridor. There was nothing, not the sound of a shadow slipping through the dark; not the whisper of something less than human.

The only sound was the static that periodically came from his radio. He couldn't seem to get it to let up, and he wondered if it was reacting to him or if he'd been given a faulty one.

He would have preferred the former option, but he had been knocked down too many notches when it came to the loss of his abilities, his divinity, the very things that made him him.

Castiel let out a breath that had been caught in his chest and then lowered his flashlight. He wondered how long this whole process would take, but he supposed that all depended on how well he did as a student. He fashioned himself a fast learner, but he had never been able to grasp things like popular culture.

He imagined he would do a bit better with lockpicking, though. Leaning himself against the wall, Castiel stood there quietly, waiting for Orihara to show himself.

[For Izaya.]

Sora was glad that he had gotten the chance to talk to Wally, since even if he drank coffee with a ton of sugar with it, that didn't stop him from being a nice guy! Not that the two were related, but it had been kind of weird. Sora had been pleasantly surprised that the man was so friendly and optimistic even though he'd also been stuck here for a while, since sometimes he did feel like the only one who could keep his spirits up.

Well, there was Kairi, but he hadn't seen her yet today. She was probably having a fun time looking through all of the shops, though, so he wasn't too worried about her. She'd always loved shopping for knick-knacks in the market back home.

This place was completely different from Destiny Islands, though. The snow was making that very obvious, and while Sora was still in a state of wonder because of it, he had to admit that the cold was starting to get to him, mainly in the way that it seemed to practically seep into his bones. He found himself shivering as he moved away from the Twin Pines restaurant and back toward the main street, and ended up jogging through the snow as a way to warm himself up. That's how he'd handled it before, right?

Though, speaking of knick-knacks... once he made it back onto Main Street, he found himself running past a shop that had caught his eye but that he'd never been in before. "Mountain Antiques" -- that meant it had old stuff, right? Maybe there would be something interesting there... or maybe he could even buy Kairi a gift! If she wasn't there already.

He stepped inside, wondering if getting a friend a gift was really the best way to spend his money. But he really couldn't think of anything better to do with it. He was relieved to find that the shop was well heated, though his eyes were almost immediately drawn to the large stuffed tiger near the counter. Sora wandered toward it, staring it down. "Whoa..." He couldn't help but think of his time in the Pride Lands, even if that had involved lions and not tigers. It was still cool!

[Free!]

[from here]

Kick-butt pirate hunter she might be (okay, maybe not right now, but on a good day), but a researcher Morgan was not. As far as she was concerned, the biggest reason to have a library card was so you could prove your age to bartenders. So this file room (nothing else to say about it; it looked like a file room with nothing obviously likely to harm her except dust) wasn't exactly her element.

Still, there were a bunch of drawers and she quickly noticed they were in alphabetical order, so this couldn't be that hard. "All right," she said to Renamon, "the first guy I'm looking for is Ghost-Zombie-Demon-Murderous-Monkey-Fetishist Pirate LeChuck." There was a brief silence. "I'm going to guess that's under 'L.'"

[from here]

Another hallway. Big surprise. Judging by what she'd seen so far plus the rest of the map, Morgan would bet good coin the hallways in this place could stretch from Melee Island to Madagascar. Why would anyone possibly need a building this big just to repress a few prisoners?

At least they were at the right door. Good thing, too--privately, Morgan was starting to think she should maybe put some pressure on this leg wound.

[to here]

[from here]

He'd seen pins whose meaning he wasn't certain of, on other people's berets, a sword and shield the main one. Given Aguilar's fixation on results, and on the prisoners' proving their worth, Mello had to wonder if they'd be seeing a weeding-out of those who hadn't faced ordeals deemed worthy of pins. He was both disturbed and strangely comforted by that tacit admission of what really went on here. The face of evil showing itself, but when it did, at least you knew what you were dealing with. Mello had always counted hypocrisy as one of the worst sins; he'd never tried to act as if he were anything other than what he was.

"I know I pissed them off." He looked back again, giving Mordio a skewed grin meant to show he was proud of this, and he was; he'd done it deliberately. "This morning. I refused to clean."

He looked over the railing as he walked along beside it, and held up a finger. There was... something down there, where the sun room should have been, an undulating, dark mass, and he spoke quietly when he spoke again. "What the hell's that?"

> Gamzee: Ascend stairs

More corridors, these lit by more faint moonlight rather than assorted unintelligent battery-powered devices. (First thing on the agenda -- alchemize some glow-in-the dark accessories. Hands-free illumination and fashion statement all in one. They were probably stuck with the outdated motif, but a little judicious alteration could fix that. That was, provided, that this was someone's home planet, and they were one return node away from a working alchemiter.)

There were at least four paths forward, counting both visible doors and halls, and arrayed in no obvious progression. The gates, for all their evasive backtracking, had kept to an internal logic. This...sprawled, with neither the mechanical precision of a game nor the open utility of home sweet home. Even her first attempts at building had had more structure than this.

Okay, maybe not. But John had been too busy bouncing to notice her initial, hesitant forays into architecture. This could be a house, after the liberal application of grist and a complete lack of taste.

"I take it you haven't recognized anything?" Low expectations had never stopped her from trying before; persistence made an adequate substitute for perceptiveness, given enough time.

[from here]

No one else was up here yet, at least not in sight. The hall off to his left still seemed almost to pulse with the unnatural quiet, as if it were a dark blot on Mello's mental map of the place. He didn't so much as swing the flashlight beam towards it; he turned quickly away, heading for the closet where he'd got his pipe. It seemed so long ago. He was back to not being properly armed. His gun had only had two rounds, yes, but it had felt damn good to have even those.

"I didn't get any of my shit back tonight," he said, glancing back at Mordio. "When did your ring show up again?"

His flashlight would do for now, as it had done other nights. What he was interested in were the chemicals he'd noticed in that storage area, and those other doors off that hallway. He knew by now that an explosion alone wouldn't suffice for the purposes of escaping, but if--when; the slip was irritatingly automatic, but his correction just as much so--he discovered the nerve center of the Institute, the place he assumed had to exist, where the person currently in charge monitored and controlled all the nighttime idiocy, he definitely wanted brute force as an option.

[from here]

No sound came from inside the stairwell, but that amounted to little at times. Still the Digimon stretched her senses, moving quickly and quietly into the dark. None were in this place yet, despite the small crowd in the hall below. It might mean none have moved upstairs, or it might simply mean they were quicker than she.

All in all, the silence was stiffing, and reminded her too much of a presence in dark wisps creeping over her. That had been at the top of these stairs, hadn't it? Quite a few things had been stationed there, in the end. She'd do well to be cautious.

[From here.]

Her boots fell with heavy sounds on the smooth floor. She was on the verge of stomping. The loudness struck her about halfway through the new hall, and Claire finally took a deep breath. She didn't pause, but her footsteps came lighter. She slowed.

It wasn't a good idea to be making so much noise. Even with the flashlight giving her away. If she didn't keep a level head, she could land herself in a lot of trouble. Though she might welcome another chance to beat on something right now, it wasn't the time or the place.

Claire sunk her teeth into her lower lip, and carried on.

[To here.]

They'd taken her to a new room at dinner. Her roommate wasn't there. Instead, there was an unfamiliar figure wrapped in blankets, seemingly dead to the world.

There had been a box as well. Beside it was her axe, and inside there was her bag and her knife, and her old clothes. Claire had stood in front of it for some time, wide eyed. Anger boiling, scarring her insides. They had it the whole time...they had...

So nothing mattered then. Did it? They knew all along that she had this stuff. They knew she had weapons, that she had gone to Doyleton with Andrew to get them. They knew this whole thing was a stupid joke, and they could take her from wherever she was and drop her wherever they wanted. Could give her stuff from before. Claire had pursed her lips and clenched her fists around the musty flannel shirt. It was all just a joke to them. They had total control of their lives, and they could just...

Shocking how good of a sleeper her new roommate was. Claire could have sworn the fit she had thrown after finding the box would have woken the dead. Her desk lay in splinters, gruel spilled upon the floor amongst the shattered remains of dishes. Even her bed was slashed to ribbons, the knife drawn through the mattress and sheets until it looked as if a wild beast had been set upon it. The box, being metal, was impervious to the axe and the knife. But it did make a rather large dent where Claire had hurled it against the wall.

Now that night had come and the latest ominous message delivered, Claire stood at the ready. She was out of the military uniform, back in her ragged - but familiar - clothes from the island. Her bag slung over one shoulder and axe in hand, she left the room, seething madly.

They had better get something done tonight. Claire had had enough of this.

[To here.]

Snow doubled in number as the day transitioned into the evening hours. Unfortunately, none of the patients were allowed the time to enjoy the weather changes. They were instead greeted by the telltale jingle of the intercom, signaling their cue to return indoors.

Once again, they heard the voice of a familiar female. She sounded unchanged from her previous announcements, her intonation as clear and as flat as ever.

"Attention all subjects and personnel. All subjects are to return to their assigned rooms for their evening meal. Lights Out will commence shortly after."

The woman paused, seemingly for effect.

"All personnel: you are to report to your stations. Thank you."

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! ]

Erika had no interest of going out in the courtyard, where it was snowing. Snow meant that it was cold, wet, and exceedingly unpleasant, so when she was presented with the option, she refused at light speed. Unfortunately, she also wasn't one of the lucky ones who got to roam freely, so the Sun Room was the only option left. Erika supposed it wasn't so bad, since she had business there. And the first order of business was on the bulletin, where she went about her daily task of reading everyone else’s messages before reading her own, because it was left up in a public space and that meant she had every right to read it. It helped her kill time while she waited for her mysterious “friend” to show up, at least.

There were few in this place who would recognize her signature, and it was very odd that this person didn’t want to name themselves on this board. In fact, that whole conversation had been a little odd… The person knew her, but Erika had the feeling that she didn’t know them. It was just a feeling she had, since there was really nothing in their conversation that hinted towards that. Still, it was just odd to her that this person refused to name themselves on the board, yet was willing to arrange a meeting. She supposed it was just something that would be better explained in person, though Erika couldn’t imagine what that was. It wasn’t like she minded a face to face meeting, anyway.

Since this person knew who she was, that hopefully meant they knew what she looked like, so all Erika could do was wait patiently for her “guest” to show up. In the meantime, she was more than happy to bully stupid people on the bulletin to pass her time, like that moron who threw juice at her hair. Oh, she was going to have fun with him…

It would have been very hard for anyone to miss the sight of Erika making creepy faces at the bulletin board.

[ hi lion…. ]

After what seemed like an eternity of being amused, irritable, bored, in pain, in excruciating pain, and any combination of those, Guybrush was met by the same soldier who had led him to the cafeteria. He wasn't offered a trip to the Sun Room to check the bulletin board, but didn't push for it anyway. That would have been more walking, and moving was one of those many, many physical activities he didn't feel like doing in any capacity. Not today... or until next week, or whenever he'd stop feeling like he'd been on a date with a rough manatee named Large Marge. There was a slow minute of him feebly getting to his feet, then he followed the soldier without comment.

The comment came when Guybrush was handed a leather jacket on his way out the door. "A fine leather jacket... hah." He hissed as he pushed his right arm through the sleeve, settling to just leave the left draped over his shoulder. It was then he noticed the embroidery. At least Aguilar had a decent budget for clothing. If the pants worked, he'd be set.

There was something to be said about the General's methods, though. Why make the people who hadn't been in the food fight do the cleaning, while letting the guilty ones stand around? Sure, he wanted everyone to know who was responsible for the punishment, but wouldn't that just-

Oh. Wow, now that was a new level of crafty manipulation. Even LeChuck could be proud of it, if he wasn't behind it in some way. His disappearance made it possible- even probable- that his showing-up-and-playing-innocent-human-kidnapee routine had been an elaborate rouse, one even more diabolical than creating a carnival with which to recruit unsuspecting tourists into his undead army, more time-consuming than using a Mighty Pirate™ to look for a voodoo-sucking sea sponge so he could... get his mojo back? Oh yeah- Guybrush had died before that one reached Chapter 5. But if Landel's Institute was something LeChuck had cooked up so he could woo Elaine From The Past and change the future, then it was way, way more complex than his previous schemes.

And if it wasn't some incredible plot LeChuck had hatched because he finally grew tired of having his plans foiled? That made things even more complicated.

Guybrush made his way toward one of the benches, sprawling across it as he leaned his head against the backrest. Was the wall higher today? Maybe that was the aching in his chest talking. Either way, he didn't think he'd be going over it in an attempt to Escape from Aguilar's Institute™ that night unless they added a wheelchair ramp.

[Morgan]

The jingle of the intercom seemed ill-timed this round, a fact that was further pronounced by the pleasant voice following suit.

"Hello, patients. This is I.R.I.S. again. Due to technical difficulties, we are unable to speak to you directly at this time. Until the matter is resolved, we will be announcing the remainder of today's events from our automated service.

It is now time for everyone to retire to their assigned rooms for Dinner Shift. Tonight's menu consists of premium spaghetti with Landel's signature marinara sauce, garlic bread, and a side of Caesar salad. Our dessert for tonight is chocolate chip cookies. In addition, we will be providing the usual selection of drinks, and vegetarian alternatives can be made available upon request.

We again would like to apologize for any inconvenience. Please contact your nurse with any questions or concerns you might have. Thank you, and have a wonderful evening."

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! ]