Day 53: Intercom, Morning
When the intercom came on for the second time that day, interrupting people's meals and conversations, it was punctuated by what sounded like a flurry of movement, mainly the shuffling of papers and the noise of things being shoved around
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He couldn't fool himself for very long. Reality came crashing back down and he curled up, gritting his teeth and twisting his fingers into the sheets, trying to force himself to some kind of calm. He couldn't afford to grieve right now, and all of his energy was focussed on that one goal now. Nothing else mattered. He wouldn't allow Xehanort (and how could he ever have called that man Master?!) to harm his friends. Even if he could do nothing else, he would not lose sight of that.
It was then that the wrongness of the situation began to register with him. He stretched a little, feeling cloth beneath his bare feet, a mattress. A frown crinkled his brow at the sensation. It shouldn't have been such a shock, but now it was just wrong. He opened his eyes, peering out at his surroundings warily, blue eyes narrowed in confusion and mistrust.
A small, white room, clinical and cold and his heart clenched with fear at the sight. This was no place that he recognised, not even from the myriad worlds that he had visited. He had stepped into the paths between, his focus set on one place and one place only and yet somehow he had woken up in a place like this?
He stood quickly, taking in in one moment the lack of his proper clothing and the subtle sense of wrongness which had been gnawing at his gut since he had woken. No mind. The door was closed and locked when he tried it, but that had never been a barrier to him before. He raised his hand, calling for his keyblade...
He couldn't feel it.
The loss settled over him like the iciest of waters, dread welling in his stomach. He tried again, calling for that part of himself where the keyblade resided, only to find it blocked from him somehow, sealed away by an impenetrable wall. The shock hit him and he stumbled back to sit on the bed, eyes wide with horror as he stared down at his empty hand. He didn't understand. How could it be gone like that? It had always answered his call before. Unless... somehow... could a keyblade reject its master? Had he sunk so low, so far into darkness that even that power had forsaken him?
Was this his punishment for not letting himself be cut down by Master Eraqus?
No... no this was wrong, all wrong. he couldn't let this happen, not now! He stood up sharply, expression grim as he approached the door once more. What a keyblade couldn't manage, brute physical strength might master.
He squared his shoulder to ram against the door, only for it to open before he was given the chance. A petite woman entered the room, smiling warmly at him. He gave her a confused look, gaze darting to outside the room where he could see the figure of a larger man.
"This is a prison," he said. It reminded him too strongly of the one on the spaceship. A prison capable of holding a keyblade wielder, or a fallen one at least.
The woman shook her head. "Not at all. Now Adam, it's good to see you awake, you're here to-"
"That's not me," Terra replied, blinking at the strange name that she'd called him. "I'm Terra." And he had things to do. He wasn't going to abandon them to Xehanort, whatever the cost, even if there was seemingly little he could do without a keyblade. But ah, he'd get to that bridge when it was time to burn it.
She glanced down at a clipboard and shook her head.. "No, Adam Hart is definitely your name. Now, why don't we get you to the Sun Room? I'm sure you'll make some good friends here."
His eyes flared at that and he took a step forward. "I have friends. And I have to be with them now. I'm going."
He headed to the door only to find it blocked by the burly man from earlier. Terra was hardly weak, but this man was taller than him, bigger and had a needle in one hand, a syringe filled with a clear liquid. It really was a prison.
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