[From here.]

The first thing he noticed was the sudden explosion of clothes upon his person. And that was not literal in any way - it was just that one moment he was in his traditional smiley face shirt and sweats, and the next he was bundled up to the brim. Gloves, boots, snow pants, coat, et all. A duffel bag, mostly empty, strapped to his back. He was even wearing night vision goggles, which turned everything in sight a deep shades of green.

Briefly he wondered if this was how Norman Osborn saw the world.

The next he noticed was the cutting sensation of cold. Even through the clothes, which he was sure were the very best in toasty buns technology, the howling wind clipped him and he could imagine, if not feel, the icicles already forming on the edges of his coat. He had literally never known such a cold in his life.

Thirdly was that both his hands were occupied. In one, there was what felt like an ancient walkie talkie. Raising it into view revealed its true form as a not quite so ancient GPS. The file had said they'd need it. Due to circumstances or the limits on blink of an eye teleporty technology (which Peter found hard to buy considering they had just gone from what might be New Jersey to Ant-fricking-arctica), they couldn't just zap the pair of them into the testing facility. They had to tromp their way over through the dark of night and hope not to die of hypothermia before they reached monsterville.

In the other hand, was Jessica's. He turned to face his clone, getting the distinct impression that he'd been sent along on a mission with Kenny from South Park instead. He doubted he looked much different.

"Aren't we beautiful." How did they fit your hair in that hood would have been his next question if he wasn't certain she'd crack his goggles for it. He held the GPS between them, keeping all movements close in light of the cold. "I guess that bloopy light is us, and that bloopy light," he tapped another dot, scarcely half an inch away, with a finger gone fat with the glove, "Is where the facility is. And once we're there we just...stomp on the monsters and collect samples?" He wrinkled his nose, but he doubted she could see. Everything had come down to eyes and brows with the goggles and the coats, otherwise he might not have a nose to wrinkle in the first place. "Is it just me, or does this seem kind of pointless? They already have plenty of gross things kicking around the hospital."

He had already been taken once. And Sora, having confessed to being here longer than anyone else in the joint, was probably exempt from both brainwashing and a night under the gentle knives of the terribly bored doctors at Landel's. So saying that he was not expecting a visit from an orderly just before the going got going and a demand to follow him out of the room was entirely accurate.

Except this time he wasn't sedated.

And this time the dude was just calmly walking him upstairs.

"So...I'm not being selected for population control, am I?"

There was a roll of the eyes and a less than gentle shove into a board room - which Peter had no idea existed, much less visited in the entire time he'd stayed here - and then the orderly took a silent station by the door. Peter just stood there, gaping.

The room itself was actually rather homey. The table was made of glass, the walls were painted in some kind of creamy not-so-white looking colour and speckled with happy little nonsense paintings, splashes and shapes in a variety of hues. There were water pitchers on the table. And little mints.

Peter frowned at them. Should he...

Yeah, he had just gotten dumped suspiciously into a room by his captors for none of the usual reasons and he was still in possession of his mental faculties. And yet his first thought was still that he wanted to swipe a candy mint.

Wisely, Peter decided against it, and trusted in his spider sense enough to take a seat in the chair nearest to him and stayed put there. This was...not okay. All joking aside, he was actually kind of terrified that he was getting singled out for something and he had no idea what the frick it could be. Once more, he swivelled to face his tour guide.

"Did I win a luxury cruise?"

Silence.

"Is this a PTA meeting?"

More silence.

"Am I getting a promotion?"

And still the constant stoicism. No worries. Peter could do this all night.

"Did I..."

While Harvey never really enjoyed having to babysit one of the newer patients, he had to admit that Barnaby had been pretty easy to deal with. He'd been composed, quiet, and focused, which was a lot better than some of the other patients who only gave confused looks or had over-the-top reactions to everything they heard.

The point was, that conversation had almost been enjoyable, which was strange for Harvey to admit. He didn't know how Barnaby was going to manage in this place in the long run, but he wouldn't be surprised if he found his feet eventually and then did decently well for himself. It wasn't Harvey's job to care either way, but the close quarters they were kept in meant he'd probably end up finding out anyway.

Unfortunately, a positive note could only last for so long. As usual, it was a nurse who ruined it by insisting that he should go to the greenhouse for the last shift of the day. "Mr. Eckhart, it's not cold in there, so it shouldn't be any strain on you. It might be nice to help something grow, don't you think?"

He didn't dignify any of that with a response and instead resigned himself to his fate. He was one of the first people to make it into the muggy greenhouse, and he realized that he wasn't a fan of being cold or being hot. He fanned the air in front of his face for a few seconds and then went to find somewhere to sit down.

All the plants were lined up in pots; it almost felt like they were staring at him, waiting for him to do something about it. Well, that wasn't gonna happen.

[For Peter Parker.]

Loki wasn't entirely thrilled about returning to the recreation field, though he supposed it would be nicer during the day. And without the annoying presence of Riku. Some fresh air would likely do him good; that was what Sif and Thor had always claimed right before they dragged him out of the library.

He wasn't entirely certain if that was a pleasant thought or not. It was still far too mixed up and painful.

He was allowed to go back to his room and pull out every bit of warm clothing he had, bundling up as much as he could. As he followed the nurse out into the field, he also wondered if this meant he would miss out on the greenhouse, since he'd arranged to meet Soma after lunch. That had priority, of course, but he did find plants interesting. At least it was good to know there were activities they were forced to participate in during the day that weren't as horrifically painful as, say, what the music room would indicate.

Good to know that as prisons went, it wasn't all just torture, torture, torture. Some variation was good for the mind.

He wandered along the crunchy, dead grass, for now steering clear of the few other patients. The air felt much better during the day, smelled much better to him as well as he sniffed at it. even if it was cold enough to make his nose hurt. It reminded him uncomfortably of Jotunheim, and...

But at least here, there was sunlight. He wasn't trapped in that dark place as sometimes was in his nightmares.

Loki stopped about halfway down the field, tilting his head back to take in the thin sunlight, his eyes slipping shut.

[Here, angel angel angel... :D Castiel!]

[From here]

As they descended the stairs, Scott's eyes darted away from the marble doors on the ballroom's south side. He couldn't help looking back up at Indy as his head turned, almost as if to make sure the man wasn't secretly a ghost that would disappear on them at any moment. ...Then again, if he was a ghost, wasn't turning around supposed to make Indy disappear anyway? Or was that the wrong type of ghost? Either way, Scott didn't look back for long, assuring himself that they weren't going to lose the adventurer again.

As his gaze moved back down, however, the black doors on the opposite side of the ballroom didn't inspire much more confidence. They didn't have any of the ornate imagery that the other doors had. Instead, they formed solid, heavy black slabs in the wall, like twin monoliths, or those creepy "SOUND ONLY" things from that one anime Envy liked.

He gripped Senna's sword and slipped his flashlight into his pocket as the party reached the bottom of the stairs, facing the ominous doors. Scott's mouth was getting dry again as flashes of that other night played in his head. "Well. Here we are," he said. Even at a volume just above a whisper, his voice seemed to fill the space.

[from here]

Another part he'd rehearsed enough: finding the loose tile. Depth Charge didn't waste any time bothering about the cold before heading in its general direction, crowbar at the ready to pry it back once he found it. Or someone found it. Truth was, he wasn't sure exactly where to look. At least this time he had the grace to give someone else the room to look at the same time. Hey, he'd never been one for filling in the details so long as the overall picture looked good.

Again, he glanced back at the rest of the good, frowning a little against the shadow as he counted off heads, one taking a second glance before he remembered that the kid had left his outfit behind. Still, it was unnerving. At least he'd been able to willfully ignore that Spider-Man was young before. In fact, was he really even a Spider-Man anymore?

Still, so far, so good.

[from here]

The pantry was free of cockroaches, spiders (not counting Peter) and ephemeral naked gonzo journalists. Which was good, because there was barely enough room for six of them, and materializing in the middle of any of those was Star Trek season three material. Transporter accidents were the future's airplanes -- unless terrorists were involved, safer than taking a shower in your own house, but people didn't understand how it worked.

They didn't understand hydrostatic pressure, but turning a shower knob looked easier than a Christmas tree of dials and lights sunfished across a cockpit or a console.

He shoved the tines of the ring into the back of his hand and pulled out a glittering red stone. "Looks like we're all in one piece." Separate individual pieces, too. Always important.

"Kreuger actually here, or is this some kind of Canadian hockey mask allusion thing?" With S.T. as the racist American hick. Or it could really be Nightmare on Elm Street 5: Where Do Dreams Go When They Die?

It was based on a real medical oddity -- bunch of Cambodian refugees with understandably fucked up nightmares had heart attacks in their sleep, and a porno/art-film nobody had a smash hit. Better to think about that than the plot, which hit a little too close to the truth here for comfort. It was going to be a while before he could watch another horror flick and be able to laugh at people's heads getting blown off.

[From here.]

Just like the last time, Guy's feet hit the uneven sand as he took in that unmistakable smell of dampness. This area was almost dead quiet when compared to the hallway that they'd just come from, but he still could make out the lapping of water and the creaking of the dock. All of those sensations just reminded him of the fact that they were going to have to offer up another toll, though. If they were doing this all fairly, then it was Anise's turn, but what would she have to give up?

Guy figured that they should double-check the rules for that, since he didn't want the ferryman to jerk them around too much. He had already tricked them once, so they were going to have to watch their phrasing.

"Guess we'd better go find that guy," he said with a sigh, making it clear that he wasn't a fan of the skeleton. He doubted Anise and Claude felt any better about it themselves. "Let's be careful with asking him how it all works before we offer up anything, okay?" He doubted that he needed to remind either of them of what had happened last time. With that out in the air, Guy took off across the sand.

[from here]

Even the main hall was deserted. S.T. switched on his flashlight and took a look around. Yeah, it was empty. No roadkill, no other patients. If he ever made it home, he was never bitching at any of the girls who didn't want to do night ops alone again. It was different when you knew there were things out there in the darkness. Things that knew they had the upper hand or just didn't give a fuck.

He whistled something that, if anyone listening could shelve their sense of pitch for long enough to identify it, switched back and forth between the Twilight Zone and Batman themes.

[by your powers combined Team Mental Quest]

The words of the Head Doctor, back to power and gloriously maniacal as ever, slid cleanly past Peter Parker's ears and dripped unnoticed to the floor. The few that stuck - something about the radio guy, and losing a girl - they hit no notes within him. He held onto them, but set them aside for another day. Things were too woozy to even consider theorizing.

Peter had risen gingerly from his bed and strode to the closet. Things were arranged exactly the way they had been in his old room, down to the way the coats and sweaters folded as they fell from the hanger. Peter pushed them aside to take a peak at the long red and blue ensemble waiting for him. He stared. His vision began to water, and he quietly took the coat concealing it and slid it back into place.

The webshooter, the flashlight, and the as of yet unused ring. Those were the only things he brought with him out the door. He didn't feel like Spider-Man tonight. And if he was going to see Brainy, he wanted to do it as he had known him.

Besides, he didn't need the map to find the morgue.

[To here.]

[from here]

As much as Sangamon might deny it, Landel's words were echoing around in his head. He'd met the type a dozen times before. Utterly self-centered. Sociopaths, except they'd learned how to fake enough human interest to work their way into a CEO's office instead of a jail cell.

Nah, not quite. Landel had a bit of interest in his fellow humans. If he was human at all. It was just interest in seeing them suffer. Aguilar had that bottomless pit, into which all empathy went. Whether he'd had it before he entered the military or not was anyone's guess. Induced or intrinsic, he'd had his humanity surgically excised. While Landel took his and twisted it. S.T. wasn't sure which was worse.

[to here]

[from here]

S.T was navigating by a fingertip on the wall and the slight breeze of a functioning HVAC system. The halls were dark again. Completely empty, too. He was out early. And he was still thinking.

Something so fallible, he'd said. So that talk about a device had been true? Freaky. Maybe he really wasn't human. Replaced by a machine, and pouting about it. Long live the industrial revolution. He was glad he'd taken the radio. If they were going to be treated to another very special episode, he wanted to hear it.

[to here]

The intercom jingled at its standard time, with the Head Doctor still in his over-the-top, jovial mood. It seemed not even the evening light could keep down the love he held for his job.

"Good evening, everyone! I hope your soul is filled with music from last shift; I know mine is."

There again was a stretch of silence. When the Head Doctor continued, he sounded marginally disappointed.

"But now it's time to wind down the day with a bit of dinner. Tonight, we'll be serving turkey breasts and quality gravy, with sides of garlic mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, grilled asparagus, and a small salad. For dessert, we will be having pumpkin pie with optional whipped creme. As per usual, we will have our vegetarian alternatives and a wide selection of drinks available. Turkey lovers, be sure to take advantage of the food; it'll be an entire week before you can have this delectable meat again."

He chuckled at the statement. One might have labeled it as dark.

"Anyway, enjoy! I will wish you all a good night momentarily!"

The intercom clicked off.

Harmony?

Somehow, that sounded very ominous.

Then he recalled that Rita had said it would be a Music Room shift. Just the thought of it gave him a near-paralyzing flashback to a time that had involved a lot of wine, and an attempt at singing by Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg.

Rita had also said that they could meet in the Sun Room, but it was best to be prepared since the staff seemed to regard the prisoners as if they were sheep and the nurses were dogs. As the hateful woman (really, was her face a mask? she had the same terrifying smile just fixed on her lips and he was almost certain it didn't even budge when she spoke) approached to collect him, Loki scrambled to one of the drawers of art supplies and extracted a few cotton balls, palming them.

A weak defense, yes, but better than nothing. As an alternative, possibly superior to a blood bath that involved using the strings of a lute as a garotte. Or improvising with whatever horrifying instruments Midgard had come up with in the last few centuries, which no doubt involved all sorts of things that went twang and tinkly little chimes that encouraged the common idiot to not so much sing outside of his proper range as sing way outside of his proper range.

Loki hastily pasted a smile on his face that seemed to eagerly insist no, he had not just been contemplating mass murder, goodness, he was too much of a nice young man for that sort of nasty thing. The nurse didn't notice one way or the other. With (feigned) meekness, he asked if perhaps he could please go to the Sun Room instead, as he was not particularly musical.

And pleasingly, it worked. The nurse smiled and began telling him something about her husband not being musical, and choir practice, and yes wasn't it lovely, and... they actually reached the Sun Room before the gripping conclusion had been reached, but he stood and listened politely anyway, making vague noises at all the appropriate pauses in the conversation. She said a few more words in the sort of final tone that indicated she was done speaking, and he laughed for her, gave her an extra little smile, and made his escape.

Pretending to be a nice young man was much less fun when it came without the power to have someone flogged.

Loki walked to bulletin board and waited near it, keeping an eye out for Rita. Or at least someone that matched her description.

[Rita!]

Talking to Rapunzel had preeeetty much sealed the whole Buffy needing a minute to be process-y gal deal. The fact that this place went all Hellraiser when the lights went out wasn't something worthy of rejoice, that was for sure. So, when the intercom crackled to life and signaled another change of activities (she was starting to get an idea of how this place ran by now), she quickly caught up with a nurse and excused herself to the bathroom.

New as she was, she was led back to where the ladies' room was, slipping into a stall and taking a minute to just breathe. She'd take five, figure out a plan to deal with this, and then take advantage of her free lunch. Well, less free, more at the low-low-cost of her freedom and self-agency. What a swell deal.

After using the bathroom, she slipped back out of the stall to wash her hands, splashing some of the water on her face, and then grabbing a paper towel to clean it off with. As she wiped the droplets away, she cringed at the mirror.

Yep. This was real all right. Which, all things considered, was kind of a slap in the face, track record-wise. I mean, getting stuck in an asylum once and having to determine that it wasn't real (which it wasn't) and then, just six short months later, getting stuck in one that very much is?

[ Spider-Man ]

As it turns out, waking up in a sling doesn't get easier after the second night. In fact, Wichita was pretty sure the pain in her shoulder was only getting worse, enough to make her completely disregard the wardrobe change at first, and it had actually taken her a great deal of energy (and pushing from a very peppy nurse, what the hell) to get her to go down to breakfast. Today was not looking so shiny, no.

Until! She actually got down to the cafeteria, and found food, real food, waiting to be consumed. Call Wichita a woman of simple tastes, but anything that wasn't a can of diced peaches (a staple food of Zombieland) or the Blob of Who-The-Hell-Knows that she had been forced to eat here her first few days, was golden to her. Enough to actually put her in a decent mood, anyway. Sure getting around with only one arm was annoying, but this? This definitely made up for it. And so did the comfy clothes, now that she gave it some thought. Huh. Wonder what brought this all on. The whole, cheery crazy-people home vibe. Whatever.

The next shift was spent trying to sweet talk a nurse into getting her some pain killers, but naturally that ended in disappointment. She tried to play the sympathy card, which was too easy, she knew, but it didn't manage to work on the woman. What gives? Aren't nurses, especially bubbly ones, supposed to cave on that kind of thing? How was it her manipulation had no effect on these people? ... oh, right, they thought she was a psycho parent-killer. That might do it.

With the announcement of lunch, and free time, and chicken sandwiches!!!, Wichita found that it was quite easy to forgive that nurse for being a hardass. She would crack her, oh yes. She'd find her weakness and push at it until she had no choice but to give Wichita something for her shoulder. But after her free time. It was time to hit the Game Room.

God, this felt like elementary school. But better that than boot camp.

Wichita was quick to claim her place at the edge of the room, on the floor and generally out of sight, her bagged lunch in one hand and CANDYLAND!!! in the other. Listen, if they were going to force them all to walk around like toddlers, she was going to rock that status. And Candyland was a classic.

The board was all set up in front of her crossed legs, and her lunch was balanced, somehow, on both knees as she tried to figure out which color she would play as. Green, duh, always. And now to find a--

"Toronto!" Excellent. He might take some convincing, but she was sure he'd play with her. Who wouldn't wanna play with her, honestly. And sure he was kind of across the room, but this was totally appropriate to yell in order to grab his attention; "I'm challenging you to a Candyland match! Right now!" She was even pointing at him, then pointing down at the board. "It's on, Lord Licorice!"


[CALLING YOU OUT, MR. PILGRIM.]

Anise had been lying snug in bed, only vaguely aware that she was awake, when her rest was disturbed by the one sound in the world she'd never wanted to hear again.

"Good morning, everyone!"

The girl's eyes shot open and she immediately sat up straight. There was no doubt about it. That was the Head Doctor, that bastard, and he was back! Now that she was wide awake, Anise realized she was wearing the institute's old uniform again, and that the decorative items in her room had been left alone.

It was hard to contain her frustration at hearing the man run through the breakfast menu as if it were any other day, and she ended up throwing a pillow against a wall before pulling herself out of bed. Didn't Marc get a chance to kill that guy? What about the army? Landel had to have pulled some dirty trick to end up back in the Head Doctor's seat.

Seething was only going to get Anise so far, though, and she knew she'd have to go out and face the day. She wasn't surprised when a clueless nurse came to pick her up, though she wasn't any less annoyed that the hag was carrying on as if nothing had happened. At least she had Tokunaga back with her...

Finally, she reached the Cafeteria, where Anise instinctively moved to line up at the real-food counter... before realizing they weren't divided anymore. More importantly, though, the food looked and smelled not only edible, but delicious. Whatever happened yesterday seemed to be over, thank goodness. She loaded up a plate full of waffles topped with strawberries and made her way over to a seat.

There was a lot to think about, but she needed to take things one at a time. Since she'd gone all of yesterday with nothing to eat but candy and chocolate (something she may not have objected to if she were a little younger), getting some real food into her body was Priority Number One. And Priority Number Two was... oh! Luke had to be around somewhere. He promised he'd meet her that day, so she had to keep an eye out for him!

[for Luke]

[from here]

It was admittedly a little better outside. The air lacked the smell of too many things not-so-freshly killed and it felt less claustrophobic than the hallways by far. Unfortunately, even the sky seemed to be glowing faintly pink, which meant Code Fabulous was still in effect. It was casting a lot of freaky shadows.

Badou was starting to think that this might have been a bad idea. Passing through the Rec Field was the quickest route to Alle's room, but not necessarily the safest one. Despite the fact that he was moving quickly with his back mostly to the wall, he kept thinking he saw shapes moving out on the field.

He couldn't be more relived when his fingers closed around the cool metal of the knob and the door eased open. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who wanted in apparently. Something fat and mangy reared up about five feet ahead of him. Badou froze. The squirrel stared. Badou stared back. You have got to be kidding me.

"You wouldn't be one of those singing---"

The squirrel bared its teeth and lunged. Badou swung the door open, throwing his weight behind it as quickly as he could. The impact nearly pushed him off his feet, but squirrel face meeting door was a pretty fantastic sound. Badou grinned. Asshole.

Maybe when he told this story, he'd say it was a bear. And that he'd punched it in the face. And that it had stayed down, because Alvin sure as hell wasn't going to let a little head trauma get between them.

Badou, on the other hand, would be all too happy to end this sordid affair. He bolted. In retrospect, he should have pulled the door shut behind him.

[RUNNING THIS WAY.]

[From here.]

Did that just happen?

Peter slowed as he entered the safety of the outer hall (safety, really?), turning back to boggle at the door behind him. What - no. No way the cat monsters were that frail. Landel's did not work like that. Nothing was ever that easy here. They didn't get treated, they got tricked. Heart pounding, he checked the hall up and down. Once certain that he was alone, Peter pressed a shaking hand to the wall. Stick.

And it did.

His jaw did drop then. Peter was still for a moment. Switched off his flashlight and tied the pillowcase over his shoulder, then pressed both his hands to the wall. Then his feet. Then up further, rising up and up, then gravity flipped and he was staring down at the floor.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

Was that the power the pink had granted him? The limits were off? Peter clung to the ceiling, the pillowcase settled on his stomach as he crawled upside down. His heart was beating. He was afraid. He was going to drop any minute. They were going to take it away. Or what if this was another challenge like the Coliseum? Something worse was in store because of this?

He almost stopped entirely. Then he thought of Jessica.

"No no no, she's gotta - maybe..."

Peter Parker was all but invisible in the pitch black hallway, crawling higher than most flashlights dared to venture as he found the exit.

[To here.]

[From here.]

Peter left the room thinking very deep thoughts. Most of which entailed speculation on the origins of the pink glow he had just been assaulted by. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn't help but keep coming back to the Matrix. Maybe they just changed something. Turned the halls into mazes.

Buzz.

MREOWWWWWW!

"JESUS!!!!"

Peter's flashlight on loan gave him the half a millisecond to register that there was a fetid demon cat leaping for his face. The pillowcase dropped from his grip and he slapped it from the side.

Splat.

A slight splatter of cat guts speckled his side for his efforts.

Peter stood, gaping, dripping, and shaking all over. There was a cat shaped stain on the wall, and a formless sack of skin and shattered bones inching down to the floor from it. What. Had he done.

Mortified, Peter picked up the pillow case and took two inches away from the dead beast. Then four. Then he was booking it down the hallway and out the door.

[To here.]