Night 54: Main Hallway, 1-West

[sanguinario]

[From here.]

The big connecting corridor. He may be in a rush, but this hallway deserved extra caution. What would he do if he tried to get to Stefan and ended up mauled on the way there? The first night when he'd smelled blood here, it was still a bit... haunting. It meant there was a chance of something lurking, dragon or not

Comments

[toxicspiderman]

"Least if he's been shanghai'ed, he's getting to kick some ass rather than play research subject." Project 2911 was the first name they'd been given, but it the last of a long line of data points. Even an idiot could make the connection; correlation wasn't fucking causation, but when the people in charge didn't even give lip service to ethics it was damning. Javert hadn't mentioned any long-term effects from brainwashing. It couldn't be all psychological, not that fast. Short-term, narrow physiological changes to effect sweeping sociological developments. Versus the experiments, which had a longer horizon, but didn't set them at each others' throats.

He put the map away and started shining his flashlight at everyone who went past. Some of them glared back. Fuck. Either Scott really wasn't coming, or the new crop of voyeurs had freeze-framed the show to take a leak and he'd be here an hour from now, looking bewildered. This all felt depressingly familiar, though S.T. couldn't place it. This was because he worked with anarcho-environmentalist tree-huggers, who found digital clocks to be hegemonic and buzz-harshing in the extreme. Even when it meant they'd be running a one-man gas-burner to the rally instead of actually catching the fucking Greyhound.

A few minutes passed. "Showtime. We don't have to hold hands or anything, do we?" He held up the pinky finger with the ring on it. "Grab my shoulders, just in case." He slammed it into the concrete-block wall hard enough to leave lasting bruises.

[to here]