The second the intercom sounded, while the man on the intercom was still talking, Ashton pulled himself off the couch in the Music Room and slowly made his way to the door. He walked, glided even, as if he were a ghost in a dream. The nurses had already filed up to escort the patients to the lunchroom, and one bustled over to walk Ashton those few feet from one room to another.

"You're not looking very well, Mr. Pritchett," she said cheerfully. "Didn't you enjoy your shower?"

Ashton replied with a small, forced smile, then shook his head. He didn't feel like talking now. Though the nurses were pushy and downright annoying, he figured he owed this one at least a little explanation. They didn't know - or didn't believe - what went on after dark, but he owed them the benefit of the doubt. "Bad day," he decided on telling her.

Bad day indeed. The showers and the music had done nothing for his nerves. But then again, what could get that graphic image out of his head?

He glided ghostily through the taco line and settled on two chicken and bean tacos, with chips, a scoop of guacamole, two churros on the side, and a glass of apple juice. He wasn't used to this sort of food (save the juice) and he wasn't even sure he'd eat it, but the chances were high that he'd be able to pass it off on someone.

He was on the verge of tears again, too. What he would have given to just sit down next to a barrel and eat a hamburger.

Thank goodness the cafeteria was bare just now, too. It left all the corner tables open, the tables that shouted 'Don't talk to me, I'm brooding over here.' He sat at one, pushed his food a little away from him, and buried his head in his arms.

The second Waka left, Vincent speared his potato with the fork. Eating was ridiculously difficult with his other hand, and at the very least he could look stupid by himself for a while before Cid or Tifa arrived. Probably after, too.

He leaned back against the wall in silence, thinking and waiting. It was a nice change.

As the intercom switched on, the shuffling of papers was the first thing that could be heard rather than the voice of the Head Doctor. It seemed he had been going through a lot of them today, a fact which could perhaps be attributed to the fact that so many new patients had flooded the halls of Landel's on this particular afternoon.

Of course, the day was almost over, which accounted for the slight tinge of fatigue that could be heard in the Head Doctor's voice as he finally pulled the microphone towards him.

"Ah, yes, and it seems we have arrived at our final junction of the day!" He said, sounding slightly preoccupied as he looked for what he needed in his files. "I am pleased to announce something that many of you might have already guessed: In order to promote good behavior and friendly interaction among our patients, we have set as many individuals as possible up with roommates! Yes, yes, we all hope that you get along with your new friends, and upon the shoulders of patients who have new patients as their roommates, we put the responsibility of tutoring our newcomers about their current way of life. Speaking of which, I have a list of new introducteés this evening: John Bull, Arthur Hurley, Arthur Dent, Cole Li, Philip Hunt, Henry Kobayashi, Elena Taylor, David Barrows, Tobias Prince, Keanu Reeves, Brian Jones, Regina Dawson, and Matt Sherrow."

Just as the Head Doctor seemed ready to wrap up his short announcement, he seemed to remember one more thing.

"Ah, yes, and how could I forget dinner? Tonight, you'll be served trout fillets fried in a garlic-butter sauce, complete with sides of peas, cooked carrots, macaroni & cheese, and a baked potato. To drink, we will be serving a choice of water, milk, or apple juice, and for dessert, each patient will have a slice of chocolate cake all to themselves! Yes, a wonderful end to a wonderful day, don't you think?"

He paused for a final time.

"I believe that is all for today! I do hope you enjoy our dinners and that you look forward to our next Sunday excursion. After all, something special might again be in store. Ta-taaa!"

The intercom clicked off.

It was probably a good thing Penelo listened to that weird silver haired man (she never really did get his name, did she?), because her short investigation of the Bulletin Board revealed that she wasn't alone after all. Larsa and Gabranth were here too, for whatever reason.

Penelo still couldn't quite wrap her mind around the concept that Gabranth was alive, when she had heard his dying words and had later attended his funeral back at Archades. Basch had taken his place since then, and it just boggled her. How could Gabranth have returned to life? There was no force in Ivalice that could do that.

Then again, it looked like she wasn't in Ivalice anymore.

Penelo sighed, seating herself at a table near the bulletin board as she waited for Larsa and Gabranth to arrive. Hopefully, Larsa would have some answers; she never doubted his ability to dig up information, no matter what the situation. Even so, what did they get themselves into?

"At least Vaan isn't here," Penelo reminded herself. She had gone from frantically searching for Vaan to praising the Gods that he hadn't been captured in this prison.

Cid usually liked sleeping in, especially in a place as messed up and uninviting as this, but this happened to be one situation where he really wished he hadn't.

Right there, on the bulletin board. The Head Doctor and he'd fucking missed it? Some part of him wished he'd been there to take his eye out and another part of him knew he wouldn't have been able to. No man that powerful who hid for so long went to dangerous places without some kind of entourage.

Brunch sounded like it'd be filling, at least, though he nearly stopped in his tracks when the bastard announced TEA. TEA. It'd been a damn long while since he'd had some fucking tea, though with all the stress this place had found fit to rain down on his fucking head, it hadn't really been the first priority on his mind. Kinda nice, even if Cid was sure this was just some game the mother fucker was playing to get them all stuck neck-deep in Stockholm Syndrome.

He scanned the mostly-empty room for any sign of a familiar face once he'd piled waffles and sausages and syrup on his plate, though the person he really wanted to talk to was that Reynolds guy. "Spaceship" was the last word he remembered clearly before waking up in his bed, and dammit if he wasn't going to keep it stuck like glue in his mind.

He found a table where he could watch people come into the cafeteria and grabbed for his mug. The steam rising from his drink and the bag of herbs in it was nearly enough to make him grin despite it all, and it was with marked leisure and a little relief that he drank his goddamn tea.

[[from here]]

No one had been within immediate range of the door, but Sasuke took care to keep in the shadow cast by the walls as he slipped outside.

It looked empty, but if Sasuke could find places to conceal himself, another person -- or beast -- could just as easily. There were large goalposts on either side of what appeared to be a grassy field; a sports field, then? The weirdness of this place kept clashing against the normality of its facilities. At the far end of the field was a small building.

Sasuke continued following the wall as he headed for the building. It probably contained sports supplies and, with luck, there might be something of use.

Still no apparent signs of life, but he slid a fork out of his waistband and held it lightly between his index and third fingers, ready to throw. Just in case.

[[from here]]

Sasuke paused outside the door to the block of rooms. He'd gone right last night and up the stairs. In the same direction was the Sun Room, the cafeteria, and the doctor's offices -- in sum, he'd been through a significant amount of the institute to the right. Which meant it was time to head left.

He headed down the hall, making as little noise as possible, and stopped in front of the door. It was cooler than the door to the patients' block -- did it lead outside?

Sasuke's pulse quickened with adrenalin, easing the twinges in his left leg. He pushed the door half-open and held it there, leaning against it in order to remain unseen from anyone outside, and breathed the first fresh air he'd gotten since arriving here.

[[went here]]

Ichigo was only too eager to leave the cafeteria and its fresh memories behind when the softened chime of the intercome rang clear. What had begun as another ordinary meal, a rather agreeable one despite the lack of the proper utensils, quickly became somewhat unnerving. His conversation with...what was his name again?...took so many sharp turns, he should've felt dizzy. It was easy to feel a little sorry for the guy, though; surrounded by stangers in a very strange place, it was hard to blame him for being so alarmed.

The Sun Room occurred as a more enjoyable choice to spend the time; he had nothing against music, but something about being surrounded by some of the most unruly characters he'd ever met, each of them armed with cacophonous weaponry, didn't sound smart. Once his nurse departed, the young man picked out a cozy little spot near a flood of sunshine and settled in, cradling his head in the palms of his hands. There, he stared up almost bitterly at the ceiling with sharply focused eyes, still exuding the same unapproachable sense of being as ever.

The room was warm, even a little comforting, for any of the tired, weary masses found in Landel's halls, or even those who just craved a little peace and quiet. All he could hear, from end of the room, were soft footfalls and hushed voices. That sounded just fine to the 'berry head.

Hikaru and Kaoru had been so caught up in their little game that they initially hadn't heard the intercom go off. The new "ding" system was far less jarring than the old SCREECH, and as such, wasn't as easily heard, even in a place as quiet as the library. All too soon, the nurses came to separate the twins and take them to the next activity--lunch.

It only felt like a few minutes since breakfast, somehow, and yet Hikaru was starved. The lunch selection was ridiculously Americanized food of the "Pan Asian" genre, as bad as when his family had wanted Japanese food in California and had gone to the "nicest" restaurant in the English language guidebook. He cringed visibly when the surly cafeteria worker poured sauce on his rice--which was supposed to be plain--but...food was food, and he wasn't feeling terribly picky right now. At least it smelled all right.

One of the good things about being the first one into the cafeteria was having his pick of the tables. Hikaru chose one of the larger ones, saving seats for Kaoru, Tamaki, and (in a fit of hopefulness) Haruhi.

He hoped they'd come soon. He hated being alone.

Dreamless slumbers were easy. There was no thought, no images of people or places you knew or ones conjured by your imagination. It was simply you in darkness until your eyelids cracked and the darkness gave way to a light you were unwilling to greet.

Barret dreamt of Marlene. Rather, he saw her visage stilled as a photo before his sight as he gasped a breath to break the chains sleep cast about him. He was in the same room he'd awoken in the night before. This morning was slightly different from the rest. It was this morning he sustained vast injuries he was acutely aware of by simply breathing in the institute air. It might as well been poisonous taint--everything about the place was taint. Only the stilled image of his angel made it seem endurable.

Yet even the remembrance of that little girl brought his heart to a chilling halt. This imprisonment seemed hopeless at every turn. It was as if every moment, if he wasn't confronted with the fact all escape was a little less than impossible, he heard new imformation to enforce this fact.

Wallace wasn't one for giving up, yet in his newest form of injury, he felt like a useless slab of meat. He recalled the days when he truly had something to offer, not only to the comrades that battled along side of him, but the little girl he grew to call his own and truly believe it in his heart.

His large hands gripped the sheets at his sides, inhaling a sharp breath not only at the pain, but the sorrow that was washing over him in a tidal wave of misery.

"Marlene..." he whispered in a trembling voice, shaking his head over and over at the troubling thoughts invading his mind. All attempts to banish them were futile, "Daddy don't know if he can get out of this one...but he gonna try..."

The words were not believable, not even as he spoke them. It was in his eyes--for the moment at least, he was giving up.

The nurses' cheerful voice barely registered as she rattled off about him missing breakfast. It didn't matter. He wasn't hungry anyway. She mentioned something about leaving the room, heading for the next scheduled activity, and nothing but complete blankness crossed his face as she continued to babble. She took his wrist, which was heavy and limp. He didn't even have the resolve to talk back to her, in which she must have seen his reluctance and silence as something more than what it was. Out of the corner of his eye, he finally saw a wheelchair positioned by the bed for convenience. Was his condition that severe? As he moved to seat himself in it with her aid, he noticed he in fact, was. He felt devestated.

It was interesting how she didn't make mention of his wounds. The clean stab through just above his gut was stitched on both sides, the gash as his knee was bandaged as was the slice at his gut. She must have thought them self-inflicted.

Maybe he really was insane.

He might as well have been comatose. His expression was non-existent as the nurse continued to ramble, pushing him down the hallway toward their destination.

When they entered the library, his care went from zero to in the negative numbers. She placed him gently at the head of one of the tables and asked if he needed help locating any books. When no answer came, she frowned but patted his shoulder in a comfort before leaving the broken patient behind.

He felt like shit.

[ From here. ]

Cid followed Vincent into the room, eyes darting from the twin desks coming out from both the left and right walls to the double-doors opposite of the ones they were entering from. He barely had enough time to conclude that this looked like some kind of reception area when the fact that there were windows in front of him suddenly registered to his mind.

Cid nearly shoved Vincent out of the way as he forced his way back into the lead, putting one palm on the cool glass of one of the two windows on either side of the double-doors as he peered out. It was hard to make out much even with the moonlight illuminating what looked to be some kind of front yard with a gate surrounding it, but if anything, the iron spikes that topped it were a sudden and overbearing relief. It was a gate that was supposed to keep people in. It was an exit.

He glanced up to see a starry sky, and a wide smile spread across his face with the relief of a prisoner freed.

It fell along with the pit of his stomach when he realized the constellations weren't his.

A sudden and desperate frustration overtook the man, and it was with hard steps that he rushed at the door and tried one of the knobs. He grit his teeth when it wouldn't give, and one leg shot out to kick the thick wood with a loud thud.

"FUCK!" He hissed at both his forgetfulness that he was wearing thin slippers rather than combat boots as well as the whole fucking situation. He jumped on one foot as he held the other one in his hands, finally allowing his back to fall back against the small stretch of wall between the window and door. His wounds across his torso were hurting again from the exertion, or maybe it was just a reminder.

He looked towards Barret, then Vincent. He spoke lies because there was nothing else to say.

"The fuck you waiting for, Vincent? Get us the hell out of here."

Not that it was going to work. This was a fucking fool's errand, the result of which would be a deep and cutting injury that made everything so far look like jack shit.

They were fucked. They were fucked.

((Coming from here. ))

Out into the unknown, as was becoming customary these busy nights, Ichigo left behind the male dorms and kept right on walking. He had even less of a coherent plan than usual tonight, no real intentions and not an ounce of focus needed to dedicate in making any. Even more dissimilar, he seemed to have lost the reckless intensity from earlier nights, no longer barreling head-first down the halls like some brake-snapped train; while the blaze of his resolve had not actually faded in the least, he simply didn't see the need to charge in as if the last seconds of the clock were ticking away. He had plenty of time, and knew it; instead, with his hands casually swaying out at his sides, he would take a leisurely walk into the heart of the building and greet the evening with a solid, confident smile.

( As usual... )

Vincent ate quickly with little regard to what was going into his mouth as he scrawled quickly on the notepad. They had a plan.

He shoved the notepad back under the mattress (where surely it was not safe) and snatched up the key and flashlight, listening to the intercom blare and the lock click open before darting out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.

Tonight they would accomplish.

All in all, Stegman was rather pleased with his first batch of patients. Other than Mr. Cooper, they had been cooperative and willing to help. He could only hope that the trend would continue. He had no desire to leave with a headache.

His office hadn't changed any. His degrees hung between two bookshelves stocked with medical journals and texts, his desk was empty save for files, executive toys and a pack of cigarettes. He noted that a percentage of his patients smoked - a little something familiar would help them be at ease. Give them a way to connect with him and all of that rubbish.

He really was looking forward to the end of the day.


(For: Roy, Han, Vincent, Havoc, Luxord, Jayne, Simon and Yohji)

While Arts and Crafts wasn't all that bad, Gray Fox was greatly relieved when an intercom announced Lunch. He had almost reached the point where he was going to start eating more of the building materials.

Hamburgers. Not his first choice but he was by no means about to complain. Keeping his eyes on the so-far empty room, Fox made his way over to start the line and get his burger. Haphazardly picking out what he wanted to be on it. He wasn't a very picky eater, and, truthfully, he didn't think it was possible for a FOXHOUND agent to be a picky eater, at least, not after survival training.

The food actually did smell very good, despite coming from a cafeteria, and a hospital cafeteria at that. He took a seat that was near one of the walls and very quickly started in on his burger.

It had been difficult to figure out how many patients there were, since more had continually been brought into the arts and crafts room from somewhere else, but now, he had the feeling he'd be able to see just how large the patient population was.

And that man who looked like Snake would be here as well, hopefully.

That had been unpleasant.

Grimacing to himself, Kadaj followed his nurse to the arts & crafts room in relative silence, head down and arms crossed over his chest as he trudged slowly forward. It wasn't so much the incident during breakfast that was bothering him, and in fact if anything he thought it was absolutely hilarious, but arguing with what seemed like half the population of Landel's on the bulletin board hadn't really done much to improve his state of mind. Not much really did.

At least Yazoo was here now. That was something. Unfortunately, the other silver-haired man wasn't in the same group as Kadaj so it would be awhile yet before he got to talk to him again. Horrible thought, to be split up from him after they'd only just been (HA) reunited, but Landel's had probably planned it that way. They would, after keeping him away from his family for so long. And where was Loz?!

He was getting angry again. Shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, he didn't realize they had arrived at their destination until the nurse gently called his name to get his attention. His eyes snapped open again, and after giving her a vicious glare, he stalked into the room and found a nice, secluded area to sit in, utterly baffled at the presence of... candy and frosting?! Just what the hell were they planning?! Well, he wasn't going to fall victim to it, whatever it was. They could try this on someone else.

Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, he closed his eyes again and made an effort to compose himself. The more unstable he became, the more childish he became, and it was all too likely he'd lash out at the first person who talked to him. He couldn't let that happen. Mother would be disappointed. Yes. He had to think of her. She wouldn't want him to let the people here get to him. He would persevere. She'd be so proud when she saw him again. Ha ha...

A much more familiar expression of smug self-assurance began to creep onto his features, and he let it slowly grow until he at least looked like his usual self. There, see? All better.

Scar felt as if he'd passed out as soon as he'd gotten to his bed due to the admittedly strong fatigue and pain that having a badly injured arm tended to cause a person to feel, even one as conditioned and battle-worn as the stern-faced Ishbalan. He woke up feeling rested but regretful, and his fear that he'd wasted a Nightshift ripe with the possibility of discovered items and means of escape was confirmed as the intercom's metallic voice came forth and a bright-faced nurse opened the door and beckoned him towards the burly orderlies who were supposed to take him to breakfast.

The Ishbalan frowned a deep, dark frown. He wasn't quite sure if he could count the shameful number of days that he'd spent like an animal in a cage, and at this point, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

He'd been tired lately, after all; perhaps some of the sentiment of hopelessness that certain other patients tended to exude was contagious for those who had seen more than their fair share of life and its losses. But no; simply wading in self-pity was no way to get things done; to use one's own self-loathing and use it as a motivation in the struggle for redemption--that was the salvation that Scar truly sought. Last night had fallen victim to physical exhaustion, but tonight he would increase his efforts tenfold to make up for the lapse into lethargy.

First, however--pancakes.

The days of the breadbasket seemed to be long gone as Scar entered the near-empty cafeteria with some feeling of foreboding that he was the first one to get his meal and sit down. He'd gotten pancakes and sausage, and more than a few fruits, not for the fact that he especially trusted the food here but for the fact that fresh goods had been few and far in between upon the harsh lands of Ishbal.

Scar's red eyes darted from the nearest nurse to the main entrance, and with hunger and thirst that no logic could quench, began starting in on the food.

Whatever luck seemed to have completely abandoned him the past few nights apparently had the decency to follow them into the new hall.

---unlike the rats. Thank god... or something.

The slam of the double-doors behind them reverberated loudly through the hallway, but it was nowhere near as deafening as the silence that followed. But off in the distance, far to the left, Vincent swore he heard a faint scream. A quick flashlight scan over gleaming, descending-order room numbers told him more than he wanted to know.

Elena. She was in F2, the direction of the distant clamor.

He glanced wordlessly at Dias for a long moment, doubtful how much farther the man would follow him, before shining his light down the dividing hallway and breaking into a silent, paced run.

Vincent didn't eat dinner. His stomach had been churning sickly all day, and the thought of food was sickening. For any killing he'd done all those decades ago, last night was one of the most grisly things he'd ever witnessed. Participated in.

Brooding was a good word for what he'd been doing all afternoon and evening, lying flat on the hard mattress and staring moodily at the white ceiling marred only by the intercom speaker. There were seventeen small drops of marred paint and five structural cracks.

As the "head doctor" spoke, Vincent just closed his eyes.

Three nights he and Cid had encountered monsters, fought tooth and nail to survive, and now he was just being stupid. Selfish.

Sitting up after the harsh voice on the other side of the glass silenced, Vincent waited for the now familiar click of a lock and stood, snagging the flashlight under his pillow as he moved deftly into the hallway. He was going for a walk.

Time for lunch.

Nothing new there. It was at the same time, in the same place, but it was far from ordinary today. Sure, it was the Halloween celebration, or whatever the man announcing the daily activities had gone on about, but that was the least of Zexion's concerns. Rather, his attire was his new source of distress.

After showering, he had discovered the plain grey uniform he had become somewhat accustomed to was gone, for the most part. One of the nurses explained his wardrobe change was a gift from his.. family?

That was an astounding lie. He had to wonder, was there really an outside source responsible for all of this, or was it all an excuse to humiliate them?

While grudgingly attempting to puzzle out the costume, he asked every question he could think of concerning his 'family'-- what were their names, where did they live, what did they look like, etc. Sadly, all of his inquiries were cheerily brushed off, and he was led away to the cafeteria once he had dressed himself.

Naturally, he was not pleased once he arrived, looking like.. some.. humanoid penguin-dolphin thing in a beige coat.

Ugh. The shame.