Night 47: M21-30 Hallway

[sdatislife]

Shinji once again lingered on the threshold of his room, debating on whether he truly wanted to step out into the dark, uninviting hallways. The sense of claustrophobia, of being watched, of being enclosed were already starting to creep up on him. He rubbed at his arms, swallowing softly. He paused to pick up his flashlight, rolling it back and

Comments

[toxicspiderman]

So the radio was part of the set-up. Question was, was the bullshit about tracing even remotely plausible? Naah. Had to be more of the same.

S.T. snagged the radio from his desk and added it to the growing pile of gear. Doing it all by flashlight wasn't much challenge. Easier than sex while camping.

Toolbox, two empty, microorganism-harboring jugs, radio, pipe, jeans, matches. Enough to get him a personal inspection by the FBI. He strapped the jugs and the radio to the toolkit with a few strips of duct tape. Inelegant, but until Landel approved mail-order care packages from Hardware Store Addicts United, niceties like rope and reusable shopping bags were out. Right. He stripped the case of his pillow and added it to the heap. Never hurt to be optimistic.

The last thing he did was to put the matches in his jean pocket, not in the toolkit, and slide the flashlight into its holster at the prow of the now-larger toolkit.

Outside the door, he set the kit down and tuned the radio. Or tried, since he was pulling in static on all frequencies. Not the middle-of-nowhere ghosts of country music, but complete silence. PAIL wasn't on either side of the Mississippi. Standardized call letters weren't included in the Anytown USA package. Sangamon wasn't the kind of geek who carried a list of international prefixes around in his head; that was what libraries were for. (Netherlands, assigned PAA-PIZ in 1945.)

He turned the volume down and crouched by the wall, twiddling the dials like a teenager with his first set of breasts.

[for Carter and Recluse]

[stlg13bomber]

[ From here.]

What would SWM 29 look like, Carter wondered. He'd probably be big and strong like TK 622, some kind of seasoned galactic soldier experienced in whatever wonderful demolition and incendiary technology the future had to hold. A real pro, not an amateur like he was.

Carter smiled giddily. Maybe by his time they'd finally split the atom. The idea had always seemed farfetched to him, but sixty years was a lot of time to work on the project. Anything was possible.

Rounding the corner presented him with a normal looking man crouched on the floor fiddling with what sort of looked like a radio. Carter came to a halt in front of him and had to actually check the door number to make sure this was the right room and the right guy. "Are you SWM 29?" he asked skeptically, one hand slipping into his pocket. This was less dramatic than he'd thought.

[tartaros_avatar]

[From here]

Stealth would seem to not be Recluse's strong point, what with his size and how much more powerful he usually was than absolutely everyone around him, but being stuck in this damned facility had brought those skills back to the fore. He moved as noiselessly as possible, glowing red eyes easily fixing on the door he was heading to, and the two men outside of it.

An obviously new, cheerful prisoner, and the one who had posted the message. At the risk of getting that flashlight directly shining into his sensitive eyes, he snuck up behind the men, waiting until he was just a few feet away before speaking. "Yes, inquiring minds wish to know."

[toxicspiderman]

S.T. grinned. One geek and one hulking brute popped out of the darkness. Like a lobster boat pulling in traps right in the path of a barge. Silent and impersonally deadly to whatever was in its way. Nice guy to have on his side. And the glowing red eyes were a nice touch.

"Guilty as charged. Sangamon Taylor. S.T. for short." S.T. swung the flashlight -- aimed to avoid polluting their night vision -- towards the main hall. "I was planning to head straight to the chem lab. If that's all right with you gentlemen."

[stlg13bomber]

But he'd said his name was SWM 29, what was this S.T. business? Maybe it was an alias. Or the "S" stood for Sangamon Taylor and the rest was something else--what.

Carter's hands clutched together in schoolboyesque glee. "There's a chem lab here? Just waiting around, no guards or anything?" He burst out into a full grin. "Boy, this is the best prison I've ever been in."

[tartaros_avatar]

Ah, so this was one of those involved in the Search and Rescue. "I am Recluse, or Stefan Richter if you must." His eyes narrowed at the bright light, regardless of where it was pointed. "I've sent someone to the lab before on my behalf. There is a decent selection there." With Scourge now blind, he would have to find someone else to delegate the task to.

[toxicspiderman]

"Right. Hang on." He opened the door behind him and ducked back into the room, without bothering to close it. He crossed to the desk, and set down the toolkit . In the drawer was his standard-issue spiral-bound. He flipped through to a stack of already-detached papers. Maps. The one on top he thumbed past; it had been Phoenix's sole copy. Over-generous duck-squeezer pushover, like most of S.T's friends. Though S.T. would admit he'd made a pretty pathetic charity case. The ones behind it were copies he'd done in the Sun Room, as a stop-gap measure against boredom.

This way he could be generous and equipped. If he remembered to carry the fucking things. He closed the notebook and slid it back in the drawer. As he did, a small card fluttered out -- no, a photograph. He picked it up. Looked like the staff had gotten some of his roommates crap mixed in with his when they moved him -- it was Jason and some chick. Pretty girl, looked utterly devoted. Maybe Jason was back home, screwing her right now. Maybe she was still pounding at government doors trying to file a missing-persons report. Maybe Debbie was doing the same thing. He didn't want to think about it; shutting the door and working up a good depressive funk was tempting, but inefficient.

It felt like he'd been standing there with his head up his ass for half the night, but it had only been a few seconds. He shoved the picture in his back pocket, grabbed his kit, and headed back out.

He held out the map in the general direction of Carter as he started walking down the hall. "Carter, map. Map, Carter. I'm sure you'll get along great. Let's hit the road."

[to here]