[from here]

Instead of thinking of the mess she might find—which she promptly realized wasn't going to be that easy to figure out, there weren't exactly people gathered here like she expected—she decided to think of food instead. Okay, so Ramona wasn't exactly a chef or a connoisseur of good food—even she was Stockholmed into liking Sneaky Dee's nachos after the sixth time she'd been there—but she figured she could whip something up. There was a part of her that wondered if they really ... bothered to look at recipes before they cooked things here. Was it all cafeteria style, comes in a giant pan food? Then again, it tended to taste better than that. Were the eggs really made with eggs? Were the burgers actually ostrich? These were the mysteries that the world left her with when it came to food.

Of course, maybe the food was laced with hallucinogens and they were about to find out the great mystery to that. Anything was possible, she figured. Anything. But she figured as long as nothing turned out to be Soylent Green—which, unfortunately, seemed to be a possibility—they were golden. And even if it was, you can't make grilled cheese out of people, right? Right? And that was one thing she was sure she had a handle on. Maybe she was selling herself short a little in that area. She could cook, but who knew what was lying beyond the great abyss of the kitchen. Wherever it was.

It wasn't here, anyway.

Ramona trotted up to the entry way and tapped her bat on the door. Well, there wasn't any immediate growling, so she figured she could risk opening the door and taking a peak inside ...

[to here]

Quiet static filtered through the intercom as the door to the Entry Room was pushed open. The area was almost completely dark, save for the flickering beam spilling from the lone, abandoned flashlight on the floor.

If that wasn't enough to put any entering patients on edge, the crimson puddle smeared across the flashlight's path likely was. The source of the blood soon became obvious: two still corpses lay sprawled next to each other. One was Daemon Sadi -- or, rather, what was left of him. Although his face was still recognizable enough, one of his arms was missing, and his chest looked as those some creature had reached in and ripped his heart out.

The other mangled body was trickier to place, as the poor person's flesh was twisted and bloated beyond recognition in some places, not unlike the way some of the nurses had transformed on the buses.

Closer inspection would reveal the face of a man in his final moments. Some would even see the distinct tattoos and recognize him as Abarai Renji. More unnerving was the abandoned, bloodied knife resting next to the former man's corpse, his belly having been gouged open for some unknown purpose. A trail of scarlet footsteps led away from the scene before abruptly disappearing at the northern door.

Did a similar fate await the unfortunate one who had stumbled across this bloodbath?

Dreams had never provided much solace for her in the past; it was ironic now that they were all she could turn to. Before, she had dreamt of silly things. Sad things, as well, on occasion--of a family barely remembered and of a life never lived. But when she’d woken, those dreams had all but been forgotten. Reality had occupied her body and mind. Ruminating on insubstantial dreams had seemed childish when she’d had a life to live.

Now, though, there was no life to live. She was like a shadow passing through a world that no longer accepted her. (The eternal march for the eternally damned.) With dreams came peace and forgetfulness, things she could no longer find while conscious, and so Yomi gladly gave herself up to sleep. For a while, there was no Landel’s, no Coliseum, no morgue. No nothing. Peace. At intervals, a voice had intruded on her slumber, but every time Yomi had rolled over and soon enough, the voice left her alone. Time passed that way--for how long, she didn’t know. A part of her hoped that it would never end.

But another part of her knew that eventually she had to wake, and eventually she did, groggily and unsure of her surroundings. It was dark like the morgue had been, but she’d learned from her initial resurrection that the darkness was no more than an illusion.

She was, regretfully or not, still alive. She accepted it, even if the knowledge caused a cold, hard fist to close over her heart every time she swam back into awareness.

But why… was it so hard to see?

For a long time Yomi laid there in her bed, gaze fixed unseeingly on the ceiling as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Where she was seemed obvious. Landel’s Institute had been a constant part of her existence for almost a month. But when was she? It was so dark…

"I'm alive," she whispered, and the desire to hear her own voice surprised her. It was so dark and--

I'm afraid.

"I’m alive."

Nina Fortner stirred with a soft, tired groan. She rolled from her back onto her stomach, only to feel her face press against soft, cool fabric with a hard shape underneath it. She immediately pushed herself up, making another little noise, one of confusion, her eyes popping open to see nothing but darkness. One hand felt under the pillow until she touched plastic.

Her hand curved around the elongated shape, fingers feeling over its grooves, trying to discern what it was. A flashlight! Nina's eyes had started to adjust to the darkness a little, but this was much better. Almost immediately after her hand wrapped around it, Nina pushed the covers off and sat up in her bed, turning on the flashlight with some gentle pressure to the tiny button and a small click.

The last thing she remembered was sitting beside Dr. Tenma in Ruhenheim, rain pouring down on them. Nina had felt both sadness and relief. She had lost her brother, as far she knew, right after she had forgiven him. But at least it was finally over, and at least Dr. Tenma hadn't been the one to pull the trigger. She could take solace in that, even if the ache of wanting to forgive Johan and not getting to remained.

Not that she had much time to meditate on it. All she could think about was how she had gotten from Ruhenheim to this new, strange place. It looked like she was in some kind of hospital room, but she wasn't injured, and everything felt too real for this to be a dream, no matter how strange it seemed... so where was she?

Nina felt the metallic tang of fear in her mouth but forced herself not to panic as she ran through the possibilities in her mind. Had she been taken into custody by the police, or some kind of government official? Had she been kidnapped? Why? By who? And why had they changed her clothes like this? She felt of shiver of combined embarrassment and worry as she pointed the flashlight down at herself, revealing the form-fitting smiley face t-shirt and nondescript sweatpants.

Why didn't she remember anything in between trying to console Dr. Tenma and waking up in this weird room, and where was everyone else?

Well, she wasn't just going to sit around and wonder! After everything she'd been through, she deserved an answer, and she wasn't just going to wait around until she got one. Nina stood up, taking a deep breath and started to examine the room. The closet was largely uninteresting; nine other t-shirts, identical to the one she was wearing, more sweatpants, and a few other things that weren't important right now. She did put on the sneakers she found there before moving to examine other areas of the room. Wandering around barefoot wouldn't do any good.

The dresser was a little more helpful, but not much. There was a radio, which refused to turn on no matter how hard Nina tried or even faintly pleaded under her breath. When she examined it more closely with the flashlight, though, she couldn't seem to find anything defective about it. With a frustrated sigh, she eventually set it back where she found it. It was as good as broken right now if she couldn't get it work. She left the pens and the journal untouched without a second thought. They weren't any use to her right now. The only thing she took was the keyring, after experimenting and realizing that one of the keys went to the desk drawer. She wondered what the other key was for and decided to keep it with her until she found out. It didn't look small enough to go to another desk drawer.

The rest of the room was just as uninteresting and just as unhelpful. There were no sign that anyone else had ever been in the room recently, or maybe ever at all. Except for Nina, the room was empty. She was alone.

After she'd finished thoroughly exploring the room, Nina went to the door and gave it a light knock, hoping to attract attention and an explanation. When no one answered, she knocked a little louder and harder, calling, "Hello? Is anyone out there?" She didn't sound uncertain or frightened or angry, not for now, at least. Still, there was a definite, insistent purpose in the undertone of her voice. Nina knew what she wanted to hear: A familiar voice, or failing that, at least an official-sounding one that could explain everything.

So far, though, there was nothing but silence. Maybe everyone was asleep. But the circumstances were so strange that Nina just couldn't wait for morning to find out what had happened to her. Nina gave a third, even more forceful knock.

The door swung open.

[from here]

...Another empty hallway.

Chair held by both back legs - one in each hand - Murphy sighed and slumped against the wall. These stupid clothes didn't have pockets, and shoving things awkwardly in the waistband of his pants was beginning to become a pain. If this were a normal chair, like he usually found, he'd just break it apart and use one of the legs. Unfortunately, that didn't look like an option.

There was less junk lying around here, too. Practically none, now that he thought about it. Maybe...maybe he didn't need a weapon? The radio had remained silent, and there were no corpses lying around. Not even a blood trail.

He set the chair down and took the radio out, wondering if maybe it was broken. He stuck the end of the flashlight into his mouth to free his hands and allow him to investigate the piece of equipment.

Maybe this was some sort of clue....

[For Nina!]

[from here]

Taura took up station midway between the two halls leading back into the dormitories. Alone with her thoughts; the hall was quiet. Too quiet. Dead quiet, a little voice hissed in the back of her mind.

This was no time to be getting superstitious. It was unavoidable, really, in a profession with so much risk involved in daily operations, that those who survived found things to credit. Beyond their own skill, because they'd all seen better men/women/herms when their luck ran out, and skill only improved your odds.

Her luck was holding, tonight. Was Rita and Goku's?

[Rita and Goku]

With all he'd done, or hadn't done the previous day, Cox had been hoping for his release form to be waiting on the desk when he came in the next morning. Instead he had the pleasure of a notice, not from the management of Landel's Institute, but from the ever-hated dictator of Sacred Heart Hospital. Since willing the paper to burst into flames hadn't worked no matter how long he'd stared at the thing, Cox had been forced to pick up and read the memo. When he was through browsing what amounted to a threat over his chances of seeing his son before the brat started Kindergarten if he didn't start doing the job he was assigned, Cox determined flames would just not be enough to show his feelings over that one.

So when the door opened to his office this morning, the nurse and patient both had less than a second to duck out of the way as a dart went sailing out at Cox's strongest throwing speed. On a good day he could probably manage a shot upwards of 70mph, but he'd have been damned if he wasn't throwing higher right then.

"Oh now that was a perfect shot!" Cox whined at the two, raising a hand at the board he'd been sure to hit without interference.

Darts already littered the board, each placed amazingly well onto the image of an elderly man who'd been Sharpie'd into looking like the devil, red horns and all. Most of the darts were centered right onto Bob Kelso's schnoz, however there were a number sticking out from his eyes, ears, and one Cox had thrown so hard that it had stuck into the very door itself. This dart hung at a much lower location despite there being no drawings down there.

Growling at his loss, Cox stormed over to the board and ripped out the darts, leaving the lower one to hang as he settled a glare onto the nurse they'd offered up to him this time. "Go before I take to shooting moving targets."

Like clockwork, the intercom came on at the end of the hour. And like clockwork, the Head Doctor began the first of his concluding daytime announcements with abnormal levels of cheer and good will.

"Good evening, everyone! What a fun-filled day we've had, hm? You must all be tuckered out and ready for bed."

Why, the man seemed unwilling to say.

"Never fear. We're nearing the end." He paused thoughtfully. "The main course of our dinner menu tonight is gourmet spaghetti topped with our signature marinara sauce. We have garlic bread and Caesar salad for your sides as well as your choice of vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate ice cream for dessert. As usual, we will have our assortment of drinks and vegetarian alternatives. If you're partial to that little extra omph, we have parmesian cheese available upon request."

There was another pause, this time with papers rustling in the background. "Take care not to stain your letters now. Bon appétit!"

The intercom clicked off.

Even if he hadn't eaten much, the time to himself had helped improve Barnaby's overall state of mind. Despite the grueling insomnia that had plagued him before his arrival, he felt remarkably well rested now. Maybe he didn't agree with all of this Landel's Institute's methods, but there was no denying that he was much more stable than before.

Of course, he hadn't managed to shake the knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach, nor the restlessness that seized him when he thought of all of the recent revelations concerning Ouroboros, as well as his own recollections of that Christmas Eve nearly 21 years ago. Ill or not, he didn't have time to sit in a hospital right now. He needed to talk to Mr. Maverick.

Studying his bare wrist, Barnaby inwardly sighed as he stepped out of the cafeteria. Though his knee-jerk reaction earlier this morning had been to assume that someone from Apollon would get in touch with him shortly, he realized that he may not be in any state to continue with his hero work. The fact that the doctors had deemed it necessary to confiscate his PDA said more than anyone here was willing to tell him to his face.

That didn't mean they had a right to take his cell phone, though. Unfortunately, when he asked about it, his nurse thought otherwise.

"Like I said, Mr. Banks, this program doesn't allow for outside contact with friends and family except under specific circumstances," she reminded him.

"Brooks," he flatly stated.

The nurse blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My name isn't Banks," he corrected her. "It's Brooks -- Barnaby Brooks Jr." The nurse glanced down at her clipboard and nodded in understanding.

"Of course it is, dear," she said in a tone that conveyed that she was just humoring him. Barnaby's fingers curled into a fist at his side, but otherwise his face remained remarkably composed.

"I understand if you feel the need to downplay my presence due to my occupation," he spoke in slow, measured words, "but you'll have to excuse me if I find your methods extreme and, quite frankly, unnecessary." Combined with the Head Doctor's poor excuse for an announcement a few moments ago, their conversation just made Barnaby conclude that this facility was being run a bunch of incompetent morons. Barnaby had no intention of causing a scene, but he wasn't going to just roll over and let the staff treat him like a child, either.

"That said, I'd like to look at the paperwork that was signed the day I was committed here," he stated, his shoulders squared as he look his nurse right in the eye. "I should know what my rights are."

"I'm afraid I don't have the authority to do that."

"Then put me in touch with the person who does."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, either."

Frustration welled up inside Barnaby, and he took a small breath. He couldn't wait to get in touch with his attorney later. "Then what, exactly, can you do?"

The nurse smiled. "Take you to the recreational field, of course. The other male patients are there now. Wouldn't you like to make some friends?"

Barnaby folded his arms, his cool gaze falling onto a bulletin board located along the wall. "Actually, I'd rather stay in the sun room and read what's over there, if you don't mind." He didn't catch the flicker of disappointment on the nurse's face, though he wouldn't have cared much even if he had. As long as he wasn't hurting anyone or himself, they didn't have the authority to dictate how he spent every second of his time.

"We do allow patients to stay here during activity shifts, so I suppose you can do that," she said, albeit a bit reluctantly.

Barnaby nodded. "All right, then." With that, he made his way over to the bulletin and began to peruse through the notes. Perhaps he'd learn a little more about this place and how some of the other patients could even stand being here.

[For Renamon!]

Needless to say, her night was a bust.

It wasn't that Ramona was trying to turn it into an absolutely safe evening in which she got nothing done. A part of her wanted to test the limits of her abilities and see what she could actually do in this place, but outside of the absolute confirmation that subspace was no longer a go, she couldn't bring herself to go much farther. Scott's words hung over her heavily. The fact that he had made it clear that he was going to continue being as affectionate as possible wanted to remove any chance of her dealing with anyone. So, though she hit another hall, she turned back around and headed back to her room. Ramona was the type of person who sometimes preferred sulking with company, but that wasn't on the plate for the night. (And she didn't want to call it sulking, either.)

She wasn't certain when she fell asleep, but when she woke up, she was sure the people in charge here had some kind of fast-forward button that they could hit whenever they got bored. That was definitely not the entire night, nor had it been the night before. Sometimes night just ended. Of course, Ramona could appreciate the need for a scene change. This place was already running on enough lame clichés to last it a lifetime. Sometimes they need to return to the daytime status quo to hit reset.

That all said, she was getting the feeling that her own waking up process was a little boring. Ramona was glad that her hair was short now because it made her feel a lot less neurotic about the lack of allowed primping. She cast a glance in the direction of her roommate's bed before she plodded out after her nurse. The woman was kind looking, which, of course, meant that she was evil. Then again, anyone could be evil. Ramona just wanted everyone to be evil right now.

(Maybe she was still sulking.)

"We've noticed that you haven't been socializing as much, Sandra," the woman said while grabbing her attention, and it was as if Ramona finally clued in that a conversation was supposed to be happening. Great, she was fitting the bill for crazy on top of incredibly irritated already. The nurse was definitely evil. And maybe a bitch, with the way her fingers freed her shoulder and she stepped back, snorted softly, and gave a shake of her head. "It's always when you're new that it's hard," the nurse added. "And we can tell you're rebellious."

"Wow, it's been a while since someone thought I was a punk rocker. Don't worry. I can socialize," Ramona assured her as she hit the cafeteria. But it looked like she was one of the first arrivals.

Ramona decided she'd get the woman off her back by grabbing a tray of food and not sitting too far from it. At least people might stumble upon talking to her if she looked available enough.

(And hopefully, that someone wouldn't be Scott. Even though she highly doubted his ability to get out of bed, he seemed to acclimate to this place enough to make an appearance with his face and his smiles and his stupid "I love you"s.)

[for America]

[from here]

Taura pondered the announcement she'd just heard as she jogged down another empty hallway. Who was she? Jill? Who he'd tortured himself, though that could have been an act on her part as well? Whose side had she been on? And what could have happened to her that would be permanent?

Death was usually pretty permanent, but even that had its exceptions around here. Taura didn't have to like it to know it was true; what had General Aguilar done that could change that? And why was Doctor Landel so angry?

It was an uneasy thought to stomach; revenge drove people like nothing else did, and being one of the people in between was a hell of a way to go.

[to here]

[from here]

Taura's legs were long, and the hallway of the women's block was short.

[to here]

Taura felt like herself again. Her skin fit over her bones, and while her shoulder had fresh bandages and wounds that still reached into muscle and restricted motion, it was hers.

Which was kind of unnerving if she thought about it too much. This body might have belonged to a young woman who hadn't asked to be replaced -- or it might not have, and Katherine Jackson might have been entirely a flight of fancy, but either way, it wasn't her body.

Maybe tonight they'd find out more. She'd hoped Okita still had Homura's key; now she knew he did, and she wanted to get a better look at that room.

Which meant there was no time to waste. She was packed by the time the intercom switched on, and out the door as soon as it opened.

[to here]

[from here]

Ideally, this would be the scenario that happened soon after they stepped inside of the church:

Ramona would let go of Scott's hand as she looked around and found herself a nice, comfortable place to sit where little mossy gnome men weren't going to get them. They wouldn't be anywhere near each other and she could warm up for a moment before they decided to keep going. There would even be a door with the right symbol on it right there, and subspace would be their way out. It would be nice, different, and relaxing. After fifteen minutes, she'd declare it time to go, and they would go. No rain would touch them.

That ideal scenario passed through her mind, so quickly and systematic that she didn't know why she expected that to be reality. She was exploring a creepy church at night with Scott Pilgrim of all people. Of course this was going to be some scene out of a Stephen King novel.

So, what really happened:

Ramona walked in quickly, and her hand didn't let go of Scott's. Actually, she gripped his hand tighter as the words on the wall came into focus. Don't forget all the skeletons and all the other creepy scenery. If there were any evil priests lying around, they were probably dead and gone. What remained was this: blood. Lots of it. Ramona was used to comedic violence and even people exploding in messy heaps of Canadian coins. (And if they remembered to save, it was fine.) This wasn't the same. This wasn't Bob the Cockroach (was that his name? somehow, it was hard to hold on to it in the sight of all this); it was misery.

Annoying, completely realistic misery. Maybe she didn't finish college, but she definitely finished high school. And high school made it easier for her to tell that those skeletons were the real deal. High school also made her capable of telling that "you will both burn"—how thematically and numerically appropriate—was in blood. Of course, she figured she had enough experience with blood otherwise to sort that one out, high school diploma or not.

She didn't even bother looking beyond the horrors right there, but there was a door to subspace. Ramona would notice it soon enough.

For now, she actually stepped closer to Scott and uttered, "I didn't know this was some creepy cult thing." It was about all she could manage, and the uncertainty was clear in her voice. Underneath those tones, skittering behind them appeared. Ramona didn't bother looking back, but she could tell from the strength of the footsteps just what happened. The mossy green little gnome-dudes had decided to join them.

[from here]

—They were spilled out somewhere that she didn't recognize. This wasn't a super creepy hospital or anything like that. Or military base. Whatever, she was trying to keep up. But it was hard to keep up with what suddenly presented itself to her. It wasn't like anything he mentioned: not a cute Stepford town or anything similar; it looked like an atomic bomb had gone off. Or maybe about three hundred years had passed without anyone attempting to excavate that happened here.

A shiver ran down her spine as she gained her bearings, pulling her arms to herself as she breathed out. That shiver only continued, though, because of how damn cold it was. She tried to ignore it, because she was supposed to be used to this crap. Canada and all that. But she wasn't, because she didn't get the slow transition into sudden frigid cold that she was used to. This was sudden—and not just because subspace decided to be a dick.

Ramona's eyebrows knit together as she looked at Scott. "What the hell is this?" she asked bluntly. Trying to beat around the bush wasn't going to do either of them any good. The place seriously creeped her out in ways that she didn't want to admit. Maybe because it just seemed so realistic. Realism was pretty present in the hospital, but this looked like someone came in and gutted this place, and the end result was what could've been The Village if the people weren't so damn tenacious. Or cute, which was pretty much Bryce Dallas Howard's selling point.

Another shiver ran through her as she waited for a response.

[from here]

Oh, how she missed this! Just like old times, riding atop Tokunaga without a care in the world. Anything that got in her way would be trampled with ease!

A little too much ease, as it turned out. Her attention elsewhere, she didn't notice when an oversized rat made the mistake of scurrying under Tokunaga's heavy foot... until she heard the sickening crunch of the creature's bones snapping.

She stopped, pointed her flashlight down at the mashed-up body, then let out a small sigh of relief. Just a rat. She'd have to be careful not to trample any people - or any monsters that looked like they'd put up a mean fight. Anyway, she probably just did her fellow patients a favor by taking out a monster (even if it was an accident). Hooray for Anise!

Satisfied, the girl continued onward to the next hallway. Her doll left a light trail of blood with its foot.

[to here]

[from here]

No, something was different. It wasn't until she reached the next hallway that Anise realized, but she could feel fonons - in the air, and in her body. It took a moment to process this, but as she thought about it, she quickly grew excited. Could this mean...!?

Tokunaga was retrieved from her back, and she held the doll in front of her in her arms. She focused her energy, and... to her delight, the doll began to grow. Its limbs stretched out, then thickened as the head and torso swelled to several times its original size. Once it was large enough, Anise tucked her weapon in the strap of the bag tied around its neck, then used her free hand to hold on to its head. When it finished growing, the doll was slightly taller than an average adult (and much wider), and Anise sat happily atop its big round head.

"Tokunaga! You're back!" she cried excitedly, wrapping her arms around the top of the doll's enormous head to give it a celebratory hug. "Let's go show the others!" This could only mean good things! Maybe they could finally escape!

The doll charged triumphantly through the hallway... then stopped at the door. The frame was too narrow for it to fit through. Anise had to shrink the doll down a bit, carefully squeeze through, make it grow again, and then they were off to find her friends!

[to here]

Scott Pilgrim became aware that something was different in Landel's the moment he jumped about five feet in the air at the blaring of klaxons through M85.

No, literally, he jumped five feet in the air. He hit his head on the ceiling and everything.

"Ow! Son of a—! Unff!" Scott came crashing back down to the bed, nearly breaking the frame from the impact. Or rather he would have, had it not suddenly been covered in an impenetrable layer of glowy pink stuff. (Seriously, what was with the Institute and pink since Aguilar had come into power? First the gruel, now this. Was this the General's way of saying there was more than one reason he liked seeing strapping young men dressed in fine-ass military uniforms?)

The creepy computer voice from the previous week's portal fiasco reared its head again, announcing the most cliched and immediately understandable of all code phrases ever. Scott rubbed the sore spot on his scalp, staring up at the intercom speaker in head-trauma-induced bafflement. What... in the name of Super Metroid is going on...?

It took Scott a few minutes to regain his bearings. The alarms weren't shutting off and neither was the pink glow (force field his mind filled in as he bounced a finger off of it), so whatever was going on, it was real deal serious, moreso than anything else that had happened so far. And whatever it was, it had let him jump like he had back home without even trying. Scott shot Guybrush a look of uncertainty as he stood up, wondering if he could repeat the feat.

Scott jumped with one hand outstretched.

His hand hit the ceiling with no problem.

He backed up, drew in a short breath, then took a flying leap over his bed.

He sailed over it and went far enough to kick back off the opposite wall and land in a badass crouch on top of the mattress.

A toothy grin split open on Scott's face.

He started moving immediately. Aguilar had screwed up somehow. His stats were back up at max, and he was betting everyone else's were too. Scott wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do yet, but he knew that this opportunity probably wasn't going to come knocking again, so whatever he did, he knew it had to be epic.

Grabbing up Senna's sword plus usual gear and foregoing his flashlight (an unexpected side-effect of glowing pink walls: Night Visibility +1), he dashed out of M85, the sides of his parka flapping dramatically in his wake.

[To here]

[from here]

It was nice to be inside of a bathroom, and Ramona took great care to get right to the sink to start washing off her flashlight. The surroundings seemed eerie enough, but most bathrooms had that kind of air to them when it was dark. Thankfully, despite the spread of the guts over her flashlight, all of it came off with little effort, making it usable again. After she got some soap from the dispenser and spread it over the flashlight, anyway.

With it smelling clean and fresh, she turned it back on and checked herself out. The combination of the hair color (blue), the uniform (mostly black), and her hair length (pretty short) made for what might've been a cool Halloween costume outside of a place like this. Or, like she thought before, something to match one of Julie's themes. Then again, it wasn't like she normally bothered with matching those themes too well. A good dress could go a long way, especially with the right boots to go with it. For that reason, it was a little weird to be wearing this right now, but at least, as she just found, she could move easily enough in it. She just doubted the military guys would be keen on make-up anytime soon.

She shrugged, fixed a few hairs that were out of place so they framed her face better, and headed back out.

[back out to here]

Whoa, was that supposed to be normal? Alarms were going off, and the next thing she expected was some dudes coming in with heavy artillery to give her a hard time. This was pretty unusual, and it left Ramona on alert. In a way, she half-expected this to be some point in the story when there was a time limit keeping her on a set restriction. If she didn't beat the clock, she'd be screwed—and that seemed like a likely scenario. But though she idly waved her hand over her head curiously, she didn't find anything there; there was no dissipating clock telling her that if she didn't move fast enough to get out of this joint, she was going to blow up. Or that she had to find the box before the time ran out. Or—well, that was enough scenarios!

But whatever it was, she didn't feel terribly at ease about it. Sure, she wasn't freaking out, palms sweaty with uncertainty as she tried to figure out her next step, but she wasn't exactly raving about this course of events. No one mentioned alarms going off and codes. Was there a code purple, she wondered? Or a code pink? Maybe the overly-ridiculously-sweet-like-candy-corn girl—and man, it'd been a long time since she had some of that, damn Toronto and its lack of addictive orange, yellow, and white colored sweets—just meant this. Maybe this was normal!

But hey, she had to grant it something. It definitely set the "night is different than daytime" mood. There was the air of intensity and the feeling that things were bad. Whoever was in charge of this place definitely knew how to mess with people's heads. It felt like she stepped into ... what was actually a little like her Saturday afternoons recently, minus the ridiculous themed parties. Though Ramona really didn't put it past Julie Powers to decide on a pseudo-militaristic-mental-hospital theme. She just didn't think her apartment could take the redecorating.

Either way, she had done enough dawdling thinking about it. Ramona snatched up the flashlight from the place she was told it was held at, and started out. First off, she had to test her strength, and then—oh, she glanced over at her desk. Well, it wasn't long and ... people could read a lot of Freud into her choice of weapons, but it looked heavy enough. Ramona set the flashlight back down on her bed and moved over to the desk. She stood in front of it curiously before she counted to three and then bent down to pick it up. In fact, it moved too easily, and her eyebrows knit together. Ramona lifted it up over her head, put more weight on one arm than the other, and still—it was fine.

Ramona carelessly dropped the desk back down—well, it wasn't like she had any attachment to it—and she found herself surprised it didn't ... receive any damage. But then again, she figured this place wasn't going to bring people there against their will and then furnish them with things from IKEA. That was way too easy to break. It was just too bad she couldn't drag a desk around with her. That would look formidable if it wasn't going to fall apart, but she didn't want to have a hard time getting through doors.

So, Ramona snatched up her flashlight eagerly and set out. If they were limiting her, maybe they just got rid of subspace and that was that. She could handle that.

[to here]