NIGHT 59: M21-M30 HALLWAY

[bastard_sadi]

Emergency. Emergency. Initiate CODE RED. Initiate CODE RED.

The blaring alarm had Daemon jolting to his feet, journal dropped forgotten to the bed and staff grabbed instinctively from beside him as wide golden eyes darted around the darkened room, braced for an attack. It hit him a moment later, a wave of something, so malevolent that for a

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[toxicspiderman]

I.R.I.S. came on, computerized sex appeal and GQ alarm all in one. Generalissimo Birdbrain had already put out the the all-hands for the staff, so this was for their benefit. Song and dance and fancy red lights.

It was going to be a while before the torture chambers went ding, so S.T. took advantage of the light and finished bottling prison hooch, batch 2. He ignored the dulcet howling. Benefit of too much MTV and way too much Bart. It was just background noise. The case of bottles went back in the closet, and out came the gear. Jeans, toolkit, spray cleaner in its belt holster, and pipe.

Radio, too. If there was ever a night made for idle chatter, this was it. Along with whatever the fuck else they'd unleashed along with the disco lights.

[to here]

M24

[human_sponge]

Before Peter could get any of the details about what had happened to Sam last night (and he was still kicking himself over not bringing it up immediately), the intercom announcements came on in quick succession. That meant that there wasn't any more time for sitting around and sorting supplies; they were going to need to head over to the meeting point and get upstairs as quick as they could

[allroadslead]

Sam had just tucked his gun behind his back when the alarm went screaming. He winced at the noise and glanced up, startled. Jesus, that was loud. What the hell? When a crazy pink glow started sweeping over the furniture, Sam hopped out of his seat.

Whoa. Okay. This couldn't be good.

For a moment, he blinked at it. Emergency. God, he hoped this wasn't like the night with all the portal doors. Landing inside a fridge with Peter once was enough. Actually, it seemed like every time he and Peter decided to partner up, some kind of crap went down. Huh.

He guessed they'd see what was happening soon enough.

"Just our luck, huh?" Or his luck, frankly. Peter just happened to be dragged into it whenever he was around him. "Give me a minute, hang on."

Digging into his desk for a pen and his journal, he scribbled out a quick note and left it on the dresser. Helping Peter tonight. Don't wait. Hopefully Dean would see it if he dropped by. He hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Dean after this morning

[thatdemonbitch]

[ from here ]

Counting back the numbers was monotonous, but she stopped at the appropriate door all the same when she saw the plaque with 24 on it. She slipped quietly inside, promptly realizing just how empty it was. No devil's trap in this one -- she remembered Sam's warning. Dean's room she'd have to be careful about, if she ever saw it. But here, she was safe.

Boy, that was a weird way of thinking of it. She moved into the middle of the room and glanced around, flashlight scoping it out. Then, she turned towards Dean, shaking her head.

"Nothing. They're gone." When the flashlight beam hit Sam's desk, though, her tongue caught in her cheek, thoughtful. She nodded toward it. "What's that?"

[theroadsofar]

Dean pushed past Ruby as she snooped around.

"Note in his handwriting," he said, before he even got close enough to read it. He could read Sam's scrawl all the way from here and he guessed Sam saved all the fancy writing for way back when during law school. Dean picked up the note, eyes flicking over it as he leaned closer to Ruby's flashlight. "Awesome. He ran off with his roomie. Doesn't even say what he's helping him with."

Probably too much to ask that Sam was helping one of fellow patients out to safety, knowing their crappy luck. Dean crumpled the note. Nice to see Winchester luck was still the same as usual. It'd be one thing if he knew Sam at least had his cell phone on him, but these days they were going at it with even less than rigging up some tin cans on strings. No point staying in here then.

Dean ducked out into the hall. Look for Sam or see what their options were in exits? Code Red didn't necessarily mean it was a free pass outside without anything coming for them.

"Let's get to the main hall."

M27

[dual_worlds]

Spock recognized the voice of I.R.I.S. well, but he hadn't expected to hear it coupled with alarms. Furthermore, a sudden glow had settled along the walls, floors and objects that surrounded him. His own body remained unaffected, but no one could assume it was safe. Although he had no way to know whether these events were related to the project Berg mentioned earlier, it was clear that something had happened to undermine the military's hold. In all likelihood, they would take preventative measures in order to keep the patients under their control. Tonight would probably prove dangerous.

Immediately, his thoughts turned toward their remaining crew. It was against their better interests to remain separated, particularly now. Spock knew he needed to reach the rendezvous point for this evening as soon as possible.

Having already changed into his uniform, he reached for his flashlight and knife. There was no way for him to predict what he would find when he left his quarters. He would have to exercise the utmost caution.

((To

M25 (1/2)

[quarter_english]

He started changing before the lights went out, choosing the tennis shoes and his jeans and t-shirt, and stuffing one of the folded sweatshirts into the backpack with the usual supplies. The radio went into the bag's side pocket. He'd wait for Orihara to leave before slipping the items he wanted to keep private into the drawer, locking it, and strapping the belt holster on around his waist. If it turned out that Lunge wanted to attempt the ruined town again, it wouldn't take long to change into boots and get a coat.

The blandness of the announcement at lights out might have been comforting, under other circumstances, if it had meant that nothing much would be happening. In light of Aguilar's apparent obsession with authority, insubordination, traitors, and moles, though, the suggestion that the General was "personally overseeing" a project didn't bode well.

Marc was too indiscreet last night... he might as well have given Aguilar a map to his location. It doesn't seem that they bothered to capture him... why not? Landel was

M25 (2/2)

[quarter_english]

He tapped at the areas he had already examined. Neither of the objects he had in hand had any effect on them, bad or good, nor was there any indication that the metal of the blade was in any way interfering with an electrical circuit or field. He moved to the wall and struck there, first delicately, then a little harder, but not enough to dull the blade. Frowning, he stepped back.

This was important enough to be signaled by an alarm, yet it doesn't appear to do anything? That can't be right. It.... His frown deepened, but a moment later, he came to a realization of what he might have been missing

[herr_inspektor]

[from here]

Back outside of M25, Lunge couldn't help but find himself struck by a somewhat disorienting thought: yes, L was changing for the weather, but the fact was that they weren't entirely sure what the weather was at that moment. The Sun Room was only open for the afternoon, after all, and beyond that they simply had to guess. In fact, for days at a time they had no idea how the world outside of the Institute's walls fared during the day, and even their brief forays into Doyleton had been tainted by the plastic strain of artificiality.

This was, possibly, one of the few times that their environment wasn't being entirely controlled.

He waited at the door to give L a reasonable amount of privacy, the contours of his face just about illuminated by the soft glow of the door frame. "How far do you suppose this glow extends? I'd be interested to see whether or not it reaches as far as the ruins. That could perhaps tell us something about how far the Institute's sphere of influence stretches."

[quarter_english]

L shrugged, then moved towards the closet. "It's impossible to say without investigating for ourselves. Whatever this is, it might not go as far as the bounds of the area controlled by whoever controls the Institute."

Whose sphere of influence is it? Landel's and Doyle's, to begin with, he supposed, with most of Landel's authority eventually usurped by Aguilar. The General has shown that his control is in some ways nominal, though, and it seems likely that Landel would have hidden as much as he could, limiting what anyone else could do. If Doyle did some of the same, that would explain some of his successes.As he weighed these considerations, he laid the leather coat over the chair, so it made a barrier, then sat and quickly changed into the lightweight boots that had been part of his original kit. Next, he donned the sweatshirt he had initially planned to take with him, and replaced the latex gloves with the leather ones from the military uniform: they might make the ring harder to crack, but that would be a benefit if he and Lunge

From M25

[predictator]

And just what was this place's 'code red' supposed to be!?

The 'project of great importance' Berg had mentioned had made Izaya curious, but before he could even gather his things and venture of the room, the sirens had started blaring. Izaya covered his eyes as best he could-but it did little to block out the wailing and the automated voice coming from the intercom.

He took a hand away from his ears long enough to pin his flashlight under his arm, and then the hand returned to its place immediately. After it became clear that the alarms weren't stopping, Izaya stumbled out of the room, eyeing the pink glow (!?) that had covered the door and walls, and hurried down the hall. If the sirens were going to wail all night, he'd get outside as soon as he could-it would be quieter there, and maybe busier there if others felt like escaping the noise as well. Maybe he could figure things out there.

[To here]