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.]

It had all been going so well!

Seeing Cloud and Aerith(!) again had brought a now unfamiliar lightness to her shoulders. Work would be harder from here on out, but she wasn't on her own anymore. She was getting a second chance she'd never thought was possible. And then, then they'd trekked outside, totally ready to face the fog and the unknown (privately, the ninja had been a little worried; it couldn't happen again, it just couldn't, but what if it did?)—only to wake up. In their beds. As usual. Gaaaaaawd—!

"I just want you to know," Yuffie informed her nurse, grabbing her journal from the desk on her way out, "that your hair looks spectacularly god-awful today. What did you do, stick your tongue in a socket? I'm not exactly hip on fashion, too busy badass for that fluffy stuff, but—"

Plucky looked ready to plant her face in her hands. Or to plant her hands somewhere else. To her credit, and much to Yuffie's eternal disappointment, she did—tried to do—neither. "One of those days, is it?" the nurse sighed, disapproval incarnate. "Well. You're just going to have to behave; the new batches of patients are due today. We don't want to make a bad impression."

"I am feeling so completely convinced of my wrongdoing," Yuffie confided. They stepped into the cafeteria, practically empty as of yet. The chocolate cake last night had worked a treat, whetting her appetite. Honestly, she was getting sick of pecking at scraps like a runt Chocobo in the snow plains—but not literally, of course. Ew. She got more than enough of that on those damn buses once a week. Now that AVALANCHE really was dropping onto her lap—and remind her to get the hell out of dodge if Barret ever took his turn—she couldn't afford not to keep her strength up. For one, she'd be a liability. For two, she'd get her spine chewed out.

"Fruit," said Plucky, hovering as her charge picked out her choices for the day. Rolling her eyes, Yuffie grabbed an apple, slinging it onto the tray alongside an 'English' sandwich. "That'll do. I'll leave you to your breakfast, now." Somehow, that sounded about as comforting as 'My name is Don Corneo and I am raiding through your panty draw', and Yuffie was stopping that thought right there. Oh, god. Eurk. Bad, bad, bad! Bad, brain. Bad. That—yeah, no. Just, no. 'Sides, the guy was as dead as a doornail, splatted across Da Chao's feet. Dirtying them, really, but somehow Yuffie couldn't bring herself to be sorry about that.

(And it wasn't like the creep'd ever end up here, right? Right!)

She took to a seat, dropping her tray and her journal both onto the table. The book fell pages-down; Yuffie flipped it over, thumbing through to the middle as she worked through her apple. An almost finished map of Gaia stared back at her, neat as she could ever manage. Dots for major locations, squiggles for mountains. Stars for the materia caves, Chocobos for the tracks. All labelled in Wutaian. It was just a little piece of the home she absolutely had to get back to, 'cuz Leviathan knew what kind of trouble they'd be up to their necks in without her.

[For Donna]

[from here]

Hallway? Check. Toolbox? Check. Flashlight turning him into a walking target? Check.

Destination? Shit, he knew he'd forgotten something.

The thought of going back, finding his beer, and seeing if there was enough left for a mild buzz was tempting. Really fucking tempting. Pull the covers up over his head and let the world spin without him. But he'd done that last night and he hadn't woken up with his face pressed to a shag rug. Trying to climb inside a hefty bag because someone had turned down the thermostat and attached as much of a diatribe as would fit on a post-it about foreign oil.

[to here]

Emmett left his room empty handed again. It was tougher navigating without a flashlight, but it felt more comfortable. Especially with what he was going to have to do.

Outside seemed like his best bet for hunting. The dogs that attacked them last night didn't exactly smell fresh, but their blood was slightly more appetizing-- and much more likely to be digested by his system than the human food that kept being shoved in his face. Unfortunately there was also the chance that he wouldn't be able to find a semi-living, warmblooded animal out there again. Apparently there had been some Night of the Living Dead theme going on recently. So who knew, maybe it was going to be Swampthing or Frankenstein night-- he did hear that nutjob mention some bullshit like that. If that was the case then his natural prey couldn't be ruled out as an option.

He kept to the wall as he walked down the hallway. It was still early and relatively quiet. Feeding on someone he didn't know was definitely way better than attacking a friend, he was sure the others would agree...

[from here]

Bart needed no encouragement to follow Scourge into the chemical storage closet. He'd already known that Landel's was a freakishly creepy place from personal experience, but that didn't make the things they'd just heard any less creepy. What were they doing to those poor animals...? And did he really want to know?

Still holding Piper's flashlight, he panned the beam over the shelves full of chemicals, wondering where they were supposed to start. And speaking of starting..."Did anyone remember to bring a pillow case?" he asked, the strain showing in his voice despite himself. It wasn't right for a superhero to get freaked out, but...Bart would really rather get out of here, if it was all the same!

_{[from here]}

The next door from the hall isn't so easy for their passage as the rest have been.

"Locked." Hart frowned, pipe tucked under his arm with hand on the knob. But when did something like a little ole' locked door stop a rogue? "Somebody holy my flashlight, okay? Bart--?" He passed it off to the speedster in hopes that holding onto something essential would let him feel a little more useful.

"Alright," He shifted his grip on the pipe, two-handed now. "--one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready--" The steel pipe comes down nice and hard on knob, clearing the way into the decontamination room. Not that Hart knows that.

"--and four to let ladies first. Just teasing--come on." he chuckled, opening it up to the others.

Lead or follow, this place was nothing short of creepy. Scourge kept the front of the line (well-armed, thank god) and Hart kept up the back, shining his flashlight ahead of their group. With each turn, he committed the layout to memory, incoming map or not. Nothing better to live by than experiences, eh?

If Bart shone the light down the way and to the right, they'd see another door, and at this point, that was the obvious way to continue.

_{[to here]}

[from here]

Bursting through the door with Piper in tow, Bart couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, even though they weren't technically out of the woods just yet. At least there were sinks in here, so they could clean up any...uh, messes that might be accidentally created.

Weirdest thing, wasn't it? He could punch out zombies with hardly a care in the world, but bring up such a basic bodily function and he got totally squicked. It was completely justified, though: speedsters just didn't get sick, so it wasn't like Bart would have had any personal experience with this kind of thing even if he hadn't been brought up in a completely controlled, sterilized laboratory environment.

_[M39]

When the first intercom sounded, it shook Hart at a mid-line level. It was propaganda and suppression of information flow that the institution wanted now, obviously. They'd all have to be much more careful now with the bulletins, especially if the little pet idea of the 'Evil Club' were to ever get off the ground into anything serious. For the sake of the other patients, they'd have to do more than step up and

They.
Recluse. Oh god, the man was going to go for Hart's old room wasn't he? This was horrible! He didn't even know where the other was and HARDLY knew where he himself was in relation to his old room.

"Oh no, oh no." he murmured. Hart hopped off his bed just as the second intercom message began to go off, skidding over to his closet. The static coming through raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made the man shiver. And unable to find any socks, he simply grabbed the boots out from the closet and tugged them on. The coat would come along as well, even if it were too warm to wear it comfortably. Comfort wouldn't be a matter if everything his new friends had spoken of were true.

With a swipe for his flashlight and a root through his desk, he grabbed a few pens and jammed them into his coat pocket, barely remembering to take along with the 'present' for the captain.

"SorryIcan'ttalkgottaseeamanabouta--"

The door closed behind him before he could get the last part out.

_{[to here]}

[From here]

Ugh, she was really gonna have to figure out a good way to strap the shuriken to her back. Keeping it constantly in hand was kind of reassuring, but it was also hella impractical. Practicality came before comfort, especially in a place like this. A whole bunch of her techniques had the shuriken starting out on her back; if that wasn't an incentive to do something about it, nothing was.

Yuffie peered around the hallway she'd just stepped into. Deserted. Again. Sheesh, what was everybody doing? Hiding in their rooms and hoping the Big Bad didn't sneak in to get them? Or… Well, okay, it wasn't like Yuffie hadn't loitered in her room before, so maybe she could understand. Maybe.

Shaking her head, she trekked onward.

[To here]

[From here, after a certain lady general has passed through the hall.]

The flashbulb came on with a click, illuminating the area. The hallway was empty, as far as he could tell, allowing the light to flood where it could reach. Edgar shined his light one way, then the other. They'd taken stairs in a later hallway, hadn't they? He remembered meeting Kuukaku there- she'd certainly been lovely, even if she was a bit hot-tempered- then traveled upstairs to the enchanted hallway.

Maybe heading up the same set of stairs wasn't such a good idea after all, since there was a chance that hallway was still enchanted. On the other hand, he wasn't seeing extra hallways and doors this night- perhaps the enchantments changed nightly. That could be a pain to deal with.

First things first- he needed to get to the hallway with the stairs, then he could see if there was another way around.

Once again, it was Nurse Lydia who took over the daily announcements just after the jingle came on. She didn't seem to waste any time and launched right in.

"Hello, everyone. Dr. Landel will be taking over for the last announcement of the day, but for now, I will continue in his stead. Presently, our nurses will escort you to your rooms, where dinner will be served. Tonight, the menu consists of herb chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and carrots. Dessert is a brownie."

After one of her conspicuous pauses, she added:

"A double-fudge brownie."

It seemed as if someone had been coaching her from the background. At any rate, she stiffly finished the announcement with: "The Head Doctor will speak with you soon."

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. SOME ROOM ASSIGNMENTS HAVE BEEN CHANGED IN LIEU OF DROPS, so please double-check on your character's assignment here. ]

The day had been slow for L so far, slower than he required: the events of the previous night were traumatic, but they did not outweigh his need for information and a useful way in which to apply whatever he might learn.

When the nurse shepherded him from the cafeteria, through the Sun Room, and over towards the door of the Arts and Crafts Room, he experienced a small internal wince: this was the room where it had happened the night before. Unpleasant, yes, but likely to be irrelevant in terms of my own welfare, except in terms of what I can learn from it, he reminded himself.

He had the impression that he could avoid the room if he wanted to, but there were several convincing reasons to push past his reluctance: his meeting with Lunge was necessary, the opportunity to see the room in more usual circumstances might be valuable, and he did not want the staff to see that he had been affected. He wasn't sure how they were tied to the events of the previous night, but the buzz of information around the Institute suggested some kind of strong connection.

As he stepped into the room, feet feeling imprisoned in the slippers that the staff kept insisting that he wear, he avoided the area where he had collapsed. Instead, he turned to the right and proceeded as far into the room as he could, then left, then took a seat in the back corner.

If the nurses pressed him to be more creative, he would take up painting. However, he expected to express his creativity in other ways.

[For Lunge.]

That had been a very frustrating shower. For many reasons. At least Raine was going to at least look at Forte. Hopefully, she'll actually heal him. The showers had also succeeded in making the ninja feel like a pervert. A mild one, but still... It was as if Yukari had picked that spot in the showers because she knew the ninja could easily see her.

Ugh! Damn youkai.

Squirreling herself away in a corner of the cafeteria, Sheena finger combed her wet hair before pulling it back with the bright red ribbon. She so needed her own hair ribbon back. She was attempting to formulate her plan of acquisition - she was ninja after all - as people started trickling into the room. The plan was put on pause, though, when her stomach rumbled.

Food now - plan later.

[Closed to Haseo and Endrance]

Okita had woken with a start, his breath coming back to him in a rush. Toward the end of the night, he had sworn he'd seen someone in the shadows - someone no taller than a boy of nine, a mask covering his face, blood running down his front. He'd seen him. There was no way of mistaking that outfit or that mask; and Okita didn't need to see the face behind it to know who it was. The man didn't have a name and he likely never would, but Okita could never forget him. No one ever forgot their first kill.

When his breathing returned to normal, he realized that Guy was gone and worse, that the shift was nearly over. The nurses came in, fussing over him, saying he'd had a fever or some other nonsense that morning and thus they had left him to rest. Now they were asking how he was feeling, touching his forehead and trying to get him to put some metal tube in his mouth. That? Was a big no. Okita politely and firmly refused their repeated requests and they finally gave in, allowing him to get up and get dressed before informing him that today was--

"Now, the adults may be escorted to the showers while children can partake in Arts & Crafts activities."

The intercom cut in and Okita smiled. Finally. A shower. He put up little resistance when the nurses led him to the shower room, quickly undressing before touching his shoulder and ribs. Fully healed now, not a trace of his former injuries. Without further hesitation, Okita went to the closest stall and turned on the water, closing his eyes as the heat washed over him, clearing his head of the previous night's illusions. There was no way that demon man was still alive, and no way that he could have returned to taunt him yet again. It was merely a trick of the mind; something easily dismissed. That was exactly it. With that decided, Okita began to shampoo his hair, marveling again at the conveniences of the modern day.

[free~!]

Yuffie had died.

No, really. Seriously. She had actually died. Bleeding all over the place, making a horrid, sticky mess and scaring the hell out of Suzaku; she remembered it clearly. Kind of. Sort of. Through the blood loss, the pain, and the visions. Through Aerith's voice whispering in her ear, Cloud's stricken eyes, and her own panic. As bad nights went, it had been Bad, capital B and all the trimmings, and oh, god. She sat, trembling on the edge of her bed, eyes closed and hands pressed hard over her racing heart. The by-play between Landel—Landel!—and Lydia barely even sunk in. There was nothing in the whole world, any world, that could prepare you for something like…

Had it all been some kind of hallucination?

Had she imagined the whole thing?

No… She didn't think so. Nightmarish or not, Yuffie knew reality. But if it had been real, how was she alive now? That kind of pain wasn't something you could just cook up, was it? She thought about it all the way to the cafeteria, drifting behind her nurse without focus or intent. Maybe if she tried to stay clinical, tried to step back… But she'd never been good at that when things got personal. And every time she closed her eyes or blinked, she swore that the scenes played back to her, like an overused commercial on a crappy channel on a crappy TV, in a run-down dump of an inn that smelled like mothballs and yesterday's breakfast.

The scent of blood and damp, rotted wood clogged her nose. Disgusted, Yuffie shoved her bowl of cereal—handed to her by a clucking Plucky—off to the side so that she could melt into her chair, palm heels scrubbing against her eyes. Too much. This was… Too much. She couldn't even paste a plastic smile on her face to make herself feel better. Her usual shield, the white noise of inane babble that could filter out almost any crisis, was in tatters all around her. Five minutes, she gave herself.

Five minutes (not) to think, five minutes to get her act together, because there was no way she could let herself shatter here. No way…

[Closed to Sheena]

[In M111]

Bruce's 'advice' had come with all the subtlety of a cane to the back of a head, with a sting to match. Before Terry could give Wayne a witty and smart-assed reply though, a nurse showed up to escort him back inside. With how cheerful she'd been doing it, Terry almost thought she'd been given the honor of checking him for lice.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Instead, he spent the rest of his time out back at the bulletin board. It hadn't been all about studying, though Terry wouldn't put it past the old man to spring a pop quiz on him. Terry spent the time reading, but also thinking about what Bruce had said. Maybe he wasn't Terry's version of Wayne yet, but he still knew something was off. Wayne had been concerned about Terry being sure that he had the right version of Batman. There was a ton of crap around that could get Terry killed--not to mention that this was far from his first life-risking venture.

So why focus on that in particular? Especially in terms of Bruce Wayne, who'd been Batman for almost as long as his mom had been alive, but who'd never killed?

Little hamster drawings wearing costumes didn't exactly give him any answers though, and eventually his dearly beloved nurse again decided to play sheep herder. This time Terry was sent to his room, apparently banned to the far set of patient blocks to eat alone. At least the steak was good though.

A search of the place after dinner left Terry with some things that were useful, and some things that weren't. The Batsuit had definitely been too much to ask for, but couldn't they have given him something better than a flashlight? It wasn't like he was asking for a fully packed utility belt.

Then night came, and Terry had the pleasure of something new to wonder about: an even weirder version of whatever IRIS had been. Sounded like someone was trying to hack the system. Not holding out too much hope for it being Max trying to get him out, Terry took his flashlight, copies he'd made of the maps, and one more thing he'd literally pried from the dark: his closet rod. Nurse Happy Face probably wouldn't be thrilled, but Terry needed to survive more than he needed unwrinkled clothes, or a lecture from Wayne if he got his ass handed to him the first night, thank you very much.

Empty hall. So far so good. Keeping his flashlight use to a minimum to let his eyes adjust to the dark, Terry headed down the hall.

[from here]

As Giovanni neared the bathrooms, he covered the entirety of the flashlight's bulb with his hand, so that there was only a soft reddish glow where the light shined through his flesh. He stepped quietly, carefully, and when he reached the door, he leaned in close to discern if there were any sounds emanating from inside. There weren't. Just in case, though, he uncovered his flashlight and then lifted his leg to kick open the door, hoping to surprise anything that might be lurking inside. Nothing jumped out at him, but after letting the door close behind him, he shined the flashlight around every corner of the room. The coast was clear. Didn't that man he'd spoken to earlier tell him monsters roamed the halls during night shifts? Giovanni was sorely disappointed.

Still, he had only exited his room and gone down the hallway; there was still plenty more of the institute to explore, and pressing onwards without a weapon would be idiotic. A quick glance at the bottoms of the sinks gave him his solution. He set down his flashlight, placing it so that the bulk of its light shone onto the pipes beneath the sink, and knelt down to inspect the bolts. It wouldn't be easy to dislodge a piece of the pipe, but it could certainly be accomplished: what he needed to do was loosen the screws holding the sections of pipe together. Another glance around the bathroom proved that nothing besides useless objects were contained in it, and thus he'd have to loosen the screws himself. It would take a while, but it was the only solution available, and so he steeled himself and prepared to make do.

It took him longer than he would have liked, and by the last two screws, his hands were raw and aching. Right before taking off the last screw, he sat back and let his hands rest, because he knew as soon as he had the pipe he would take it in hand and set out again. It had taken him long enough already, though, and so after a few seconds, he leaned back in and worked to undo the last screw. As soon as he felt it loosen, he wrapped his hands around the pipe and then scooted backwards as he pulled, avoiding most of the torrent of water that began to rush from the two disconnected sections. He stood up, then, and grabbed his flashlight from the quickly-flooding floor, holding the flashlight in one hand and the pipe in the other. He didn't care to have the legs of his pants soaked - even if they were hideous pants - and so he quickly made an exit before the flooding got too bad.

[to here]

[from here]

Something didn't feel quite right about the building as Beatrix stepped out into the hallway. Moving to the left, she put her back against the wall to wait for Wonka to arrive. She wasn't sure what didn't feel right about it, but her instincts were warning her to expect more of the unexpected and to trust what she felt, not her eyes.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eyes, yet nothing was there. Her eyes narrowed. Yes, something wasn't quite right.

[waiting for Wonka]

[from here]

Even distracted as he was, Suzaku remembered to stay on his guard as he passed into the main hallway. He would only be here for a moment, but there could still be a monster lurking in the darkness. And it was so quiet and deserted just now that he would make easy prey.

[to here]