What in the name of all that was holy and good was going onTolten couldn't begin to imagine what a 'red alert' in this place consisted of, but his instincts kicked in and he leapt to his feet with a frightened expression. He was suddenly very glad he'd eaten his weak dinner, and the greyness that swam behind his eyes didn't drag him back down to
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"So they weren't kidding about reacting," he muttered. Chances were good their were other security measures being enacted as well, particularly all those guards. God only knew what else. Under the circumstances, it seemed foolhardy, maybe approaching suicidal, for Indy to go out there in his injured state.
He immediately went to the box and started getting dressed.
It was a painful process, slower than usual, but Indy would much rather be wearing his clothes than theirs. The clothing was intact (even the shirt) and all his equipment was back in the box just as it'd been at the start of the night before last. He picked up the whip and machete even though his ability to use either was questionable at best, and he stuck his journal and a pen in his jacket pocket in case they got a chance to start mapping the medical wing. Something told him that might be a long shot.
There was no point in hesitating after that. Indy ducked out into the hallway, just as the alarms finally went dead.
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