iwascloned
in
damned
Nightshift 41: West Wing South Hall 2-B
[from here]
Now that he'd made his daring escape, Spider began considering important questions. Questions like, "where the fuck am I?" "where the fuck are my drugs?" and "did I accidentally smear shit all over myself instead of blood?" The third question would require a second opinion, and the second question depended wholly on figuring out the ( Read more... )
Now that he'd made his daring escape, Spider began considering important questions. Questions like, "where the fuck am I?" "where the fuck are my drugs?" and "did I accidentally smear shit all over myself instead of blood?" The third question would require a second opinion, and the second question depended wholly on figuring out the ( Read more... )
Close encounters of the crazy kind averted, Scourge treked down the long hallway towards the chemical rooms. On the map he'd managed to find, someone had marked the area on the area to his left as "disciplinary therapy", a phrase that made the tracker walk even faster. He didn't understand most human customs, but being locked in small rooms with people intending to make you "see sense"...that he was intimately familiar with. And without Cyclonus to make sure he survived the experience he didn't factor his chances too highly.
Scourge listened and found nothing, just the unbearably loud sound of the beating of his organic heart. It was a relief when his hand finally landed on the door handle, and a terror when he found it locked. He almost wanted to turn back and run the other way, but the thought of Lord Recluse's burning eyes kept him in place.
The lock itself felt rough under his fingertips and a bit of powder came off on his fingers. Rust, it felt like, or maybe the door was deteriorating somehow. Scourge crouched and peered the lock, then tried jamming the blade into it. The soft sound of metal against metal as he wiggled the blade made him wince and look behind him.
That seemed to help. A bit. Scourge drew in a breath and took another furtive look behind him, already tensing from the clamor this was going to make. Still no one. He lifted the hilt and begain slamming into into the lock, cracking apart the rusty components and wiggling the handle (he'd seen this in a movie once) until the door finally fell open before him. Without bothering to look back, he scrambled through and slammed it shut behind him.
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