The bus ride had passed quickly enough, and then the moment of truth had come. The town, rather than being torn to shreds by rioting patients and the crazed undead, was more or less in good order. That was what Harvey had figured when he'd first exited the bus, anyway. His second thought had been that he was glad he had a raincoat. The drizzle was mild, but it would probably get worse before long and he didn't need his bandages getting soaked.

Which meant that his third thought was get cover, and the logical place to go was the pet supply store he'd been dragged into during that insane night. He wanted to see if there was any clue as to what had happened. His bet was no, but it was something to do and he needed to be sure.

The sheriff's office was another option, but Harvey was intending to avoid that place. If, by some weird turn of events, they knew about what he'd taken, then he was going to stay as far away as he could.

So, against all odds, he ended up entering the pet store for the second time. He noticed one of those damn smiley faces painted on the side of the building as he entered. Which was odd, but hell if he knew what it meant. The interior of the store looked pretty damn different in the day, but the first thing Harvey did was head over to where Jones and Franziska had grabbed those leashes. Honestly, he couldn't tell if there were less than there should have been. Here was where his inactivity that night bit him in the ass.

What he did notice was that one of the workers in the store was giving him the evil eye. The guy didn't look like he'd gotten his coffee for the morning, either. For a moment, Harvey had to wonder. Was this the one who'd attacked them then? Did the drone know, on some subconscious level, about what had happened?

Harvey paused, shook his head, and looked away. He couldn't fall into Landel's trap. If he kept on with thoughts like that, then he definitely would.

[Terry!]

So much for a relaxing shower. Anise couldn't possibly relax around someone with a voice like that! This was beyond weird. How could a girl who didn't have any relation to Sync have the exact same voice as him?

And what made it even weirder was that this wasn't even the first time Anise had encountered something like that. There was a boy, who also had tattoos like hers, who sounded just like Luke. What was his name? It was so long ago, Anise couldn't remember. Maybe she'd know it if she heard it again, but...

That gave her an idea. She wasn't using her journal for much besides cooking notes, recipes, and a few room numbers, right? Maybe from now on, whenever she saw or heard something really strange or suspicious, she'd write it down. Then, if it happened again or she learned more about it, she could look back to the entry and add the details. She'd call it... 'Anise's Mystery Diary.' That sounded kind of cool!

During the lunch shift, Anise worked on putting as many memories as possible to paper. The radio man, the rumored third floor, the ruins she found last night, things like that. By the time fourth shift rolled around, she wasn't quite done yet. It was getting harder to think of more things to write about, even though she was sure there were hundreds of mysteries in the institute. Maybe she'd feel more inspired if she took her writing outside.

"Oh, Dolores!" A nurse came to stop her as she was walking out the door. "If you're going outside, you should put on a coat! We wouldn't want you catching a cold." Even though Anise disliked being assisted by the nurses, she cooperated as the woman helped her into the coat, quickly putting Tokunaga back in its place on her back when they were finished. It did look kind of cold out, so there was no point in arguing.

Outside, Anise found herself a bench to sit on while she wrote some more in her journal. Occasionally she'd pause and fidget with the pen for a bit, or doodle some stars and other shapes into the corner of the page she was on, unsure of what to write next.

[free!]

The intercom jingle went off, mirroring the cheery voice that came out of the speakers soon after it.

"Hello, everyone, and I hope you found productive endeavors in both your music-making and your therapy sessions! Now, our nurses will be escorting all of you to your rooms and to your delicious dinners. Tonight, we're serving moist slices of turkey breast covered in gravy and served with mashed potatoes and grilled artichoke. Also available are our usual salad and drink choices, as well as a to-die-for devil chocolate cake dessert!

"...Mm, yes, I do think I'll have to partake in some of that myself! I trust you'll all enjoy it as much as I do, and I'll speak with you again shortly!"

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. ]

Peter woke up suddenly, his body twisting in the bed and then forcing him to catch his breath in pain. Pain, which was coming from his middle because of the thing that had scratched him last night, and after that...

After that, Zach had jumped in front of him like some kind of martyr, like the exact opposite of everything Sylar stood for, to take the next hit for him. It got pretty fuzzy after that, so night must have ended right around then.

The man let out a pained grunt as he straightened himself up in bed. For some reason, he got the feeling that he'd slept in. There was no way for him to really tell without a window in the room, but he just knew. The fact that Sam's bed looked long since vacated was another clue.

Sam, but was he Sam again? Had the brainwashing worn off, as he and Roland had hoped, or was he going to have to go through this nightmare for even longer? He didn't know how long he could handle "Zach" and "Harrison" before he started going batty himself.

Pulling himself out of bed, Peter lifted his shirt and saw that he was tightly bandaged. The scratch most likely wasn't nearly as bad as the bite that "Zach" had received, but it still smarted. He let his shirt fall and then had to deal with a nurse chiding him for sleeping through the morning announcements. Not that Peter really cared at the moment. He was too busy thinking about last night and the fact that in a way, he now owed something to Sylar. Except it hadn't been Sylar. That was something he was sure of now.

Lost in his thoughts, Peter reached the Sun Room right as the rest of the patient populace was trickling in from breakfast. Sighing to himself, he headed over to the bulletin board and then saw a note written in familiar yet unpleasant handwriting. Holding his pen in a vice grip, Peter scribbled out a reply and then stalked over to an armchair and fell into it with a huff.

While Sylar was maddeningly frustrating, there was one good thing about the fact that he was himself again. It meant that Nathan was too.

[For Spock!]

Astor hadn't talked much after introducing himself, which hadn't bothered Terry. With all the crap their little hospital of horrors piled on the patients, he couldn't blame a guy for not wanting to open up to some stranger. Plus, not talking meant he could get a decent meal in, and then check out the bulletin for the latest in Landel's news and gossip. Turned out to be a good thing he did. He'd have missed a lot otherwise: how many people had apparently gotten slagged last night, Spider-boy's unsurprising guilt trip, a note for a too cheery someone named Harley, and another one signed by a lightening bolt that looked a lot like one he'd seen in Wayne's Justice League files. It was pretty hard to know exactly where to start--especially since so far, Terry hadn't seen any sign of the old man in all that mess. Unless that one guy had meant him by the "you-know-who" that made someone else shake in their boots. Inspiring that kind of reaction wasn't exactly a stretch for Bruce.

Terry would've been perfectly content to stay there and watch the developing news, despite the lack of vid screens making the process almost painfully slow. But his dear sweet nurse had other plans for him apparently. Ones that involved crayons and construction paper.

"Oh come on. You can't be serious."

Needless to say, Terry was less than impressed by the offerings. His nurse didn't exactly care about his opinion though, instead firmly asserting her belief that first grade arts and crafts was the key to mental stability. It made Terry eager to get home all over again, just so he could tell the officials at Gotham's mental wards how'd they'd been doing it wrong for all these years. Apparently Batman could retire in peace, just as soon as a bunch of gangsters got their paper mache on.

And they thought he was the insane one. Obviously because he hadn't made enough popsicle houses in his childhood.

Sitting down at least got the woman to stop her preaching, for what that was worth. Of course, now Terry was left with half a glue stick, cheap paper, and scissors that probably couldn't cut air reliably. Terry couldn't say he was pleased. Oh, but they had glitter too! Well, didn't that just make everything perfect? He could make his own Bat signal that would shine with all the colors of the rainbow.

"This is just slagging great."


[Free as a bird bat!]

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.

Kibitoshin left the cafeteria in what could only have been described as a state of sheer, unleaded anxiety. Why did he have to be the one Dory had spoken to first? With everything he’d said and failed to say she’d probably ended up with a reverse education. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she came out of it knowing even less than she had when she arrived.

Hopefully- and he really did hope, more than anything- someone else would be able to start over and tell her what she needed to know, especially since she hadn’t exactly seem altogether… well… there. To be fair, she had been a fish until today. Expecting her to be perfectly normal was maybe a little much.

What he needed now was some peace and quiet. Maybe if he had a chance to calm down he wouldn’t make such a fool of himself in his meeting later that afternoon. The library would do for that, right? If he was lucky (which he never was, but he had to be positive) they’d have that book he hadn’t quite finished in Doyleton (even if he couldn't think of the town without shuddering), the odd one about Lady Esmeralda (which hadn't been very good anyway, but...). A quick scan of the shelves on arrival didn’t turn anything up, but he did manage to find a battered old book called ‘Alice in Wonderland’ to settle down with. Apparently, it was about a girl finding herself in a strange new world. Why did that ring a bell...?

Satisfied, he took a seat and began to flick through the pages.

[free for unlimited poking!]

Spending all of brunch talking to a "Vulcan" and pretending he was just as much of a hardcore fanboy as Spock was one way to start a day.

Hey, at least the guy was coping. Different strokes and all that.

As much as it'd been half awesome, half totally awkward to hang out with some Trekkie over more free food (he still wasn't sure if he could keep down brunch 'cause of last night), he really did have other things he needed to do. What he really needed was to get back into Kisugi's office; the only advantage he had over Sam right now was he actually knew which door it was. Any other day, he'd be tryin' to figure out how to get himself one of those orderly outfits, see if he could make it far enough to her office to destroy "his" patient files. Dangerous? Hell yeah and he'd probably get caught, which would've been worth the risk if he thought he really could make it that far. Wasn't like he had anything to lose with that year, right? Problem was he was gimped, what with all his healing injuries and bruises all over his face drawing attention to him as a patient, and despite tryin' to see if he could get to a lone orderly, they seemed to travel in pairs. One guy, he might have a chance against, even like this.

A team, though...

Dean might jump the gun sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. These weren't odds. He wouldn't even make it to that bitch's office without gettin' his ass jumped, probably sedated again.

He supposed he could have Sam check out the other doors while he popped into Kisugi's tonight. Might work. He'd also only have a few minutes, way he figured it, unless Sam went through every single file in every doctor's office, which wasn't gonna make sense when they were just trying to find theirs. If Dean was "Eric Derringer" and filed under Kisugi, then it made sense Sam's could be too, with their "cover" also as brothers. He'd want to check Kisugi's before everyone else's.

Too bad he'd just been shunted outside by Hello Nurse. She claimed it was 'cause he needed some fresh air, but he had a feeling his stunts in town and slugging Slappy in the face probably had a hand in putting him in a wide open space where they could keep an eye on him and not in a closed space, like a room, for now. Dean was just glad at least after all that BS, it'd been worth it when he looked at what they had today that they didn't yesterday.

Now they just needed accelerant and they could torch the corpses upstairs.

The recreational field looked pretty much like it had the couple of times he'd been here - okay, one of them didn't count when he didn't remember it actually happening - a field with almost no pointy edges and that vine covered wall you could climb that'd lead to the courtyard on the otherside. Dean wandered about the fence, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the area, keeping it cool as he checked for any thing they could use, glancing at the wall as he passed by the shed before sweeping around. They could probably use a bat, although he wasn't sure if they could turn it into a stake or if anything needed staking here in the first place. It probably wouldn't even be the right kinda wood.

What he wouldn't do for his own arsenal again. A guy got spoiled on being able to just pop the trunk and pull out whatever weapon he needed for a job.

Dean missed his baby. He still had no idea what they'd done with the Impala. The idea of her gettin' stuck up on blocks or something was just another nightmare he didn't need.

Then there was the fact Sam had gotten bitten by something right outta the movies. Dean wanted to say it was nothing, just a bite they needed to make sure wouldn't get crazy infected, but he didn't want to take chances.