Day 49: Late Evening

[damned_intercom]

Although the trip was longer than usual on account of the rain and wind, the buses did eventually - and safely - reach Landel's Institute. No strange happenings yet; the patients were escorted off the buses according to the usual protocol and made to go to their rooms and change back into their normal uniforms while the nurses temporarily left them

Comments

Re: M17

[neuepolitik]

To say that Ludwig was disoriented was to be putting it mildly. He'd woken up in a new place, and before he'd been given a chance to get his bearings, a brightly-smiling woman in a nurse's uniform had come to him and well-nigh dragged him out of the room, as though expecting him to put up a stout resistance once he realized what was going on. She spoke rapid-fire, spitting words like bullets, bombarding him with information and keeping him disoriented. Words like 'Institute,' 'getting better,' and 'recovering' were peppered throughout, but one trio of words grabbed his attention more than any other.

"Poor Mr. Beilschmidt."

That wasn't his last name, though. 'Ludwig' he answered to, but that was his brother's name, one that he'd never accepted as his own. And yet the nurse insisted on calling him by it, posing another puzzle for him. Was it common knowledge, who he was related to? Was Prussia somehow involved in this newest round of insanity? The nurses spoke very good German, it would make sense if this was some odd bid for dominating their nation once more.

It was only at that point that Germany realized the truth. 'His' nation? He didn't feel it anymore. He didn't feel connected to the millions of souls who made up his land, the machinery that drove his military, the trains and planes and endless lines of automobiles that pulsed through the land like blood in arteries. There was... nothing. No connection to the land, no warmth from his industry, nothing. Just himself, and for the first time in his life, Ludwig was completely and utterly alone.

He wasn't sure how long he remained stuck in the loop of stunned incredulity. He must have gone through some motions of life, but before he knew it, he was being dragged back to his room, still without any explanation for what had happened or what, in all reality, was going on. That was why he suddenly found himself sitting in a plain white room, on a bed, holding in his hands some kind of... curry? It smelled spicy, anyway.

There was someone else there, and Ludwig hoped that he could get some sort of answer. He put the curry away, though- he had no appetite, not now. "...I'm new here," he awkwardly began, not sure how to even begin organizing his thoughts, "are you as well?"

Re: M17

[its_the_mileage]

Indy glanced up as an unfamiliar man was led into the room. Early twenties, blond, probably a few inches shorter than Indy himself, looked for all the world like an Aryan poster boy. Another new roommate. Indy wondered briefly what had happened to Rorschach. Not that they'd talked much, but he had at least a passing interest in the welfare of someone he'd shared a room with.

The new man didn't speak at first; after studying his dazed expression for a second or two, Indy went back to the curry. Eating and processing the day in silence for a few minutes before striking up a conversation had evolved as something of a tradition in M17, and it was one that suited him well. Once he'd finished eating, he'd see what he could do to alleviate the guy's obvious confusion.

As it happened, though, things didn't pan out that way. The man put his dinner aside and started talking--and damn if that wasn't another German accent. It was just as unplaceable as the one from that morning, too. (Berlin? It was a possibility, but he wasn't sure he'd put money on it.) Indy stifled a groan. Again, he told himself, he didn't have anything against Germans per se--the ones who weren't Nazis, anyway--but there was something about the way he kept getting thrown in with them shift after shift that felt about as coincidental as the nurse handing him Short Round's ball cap.

He could only hope the guy was from the future, when the Germans had stopped burning books and started letting blue-haired teenagers become prosecutors. As far as Indy was concerned, that was going to be a decided national shift for the better.

"No," he replied, "I've been here for coming up on two weeks. I'm Dr. Indiana Jones." He gave an acknowledging nod but stayed where he was for the time being.

Re: M17

[neuepolitik]

"Ludwig." A pause. Should he pretend to act like what he was supposed to? After a moment, he stiffly offered, "The nurses call me Mr. Beilschmidt."

He still wasn't quite sure what to make of all of this. The severance of his connection with his home lands was still disorienting, and he had no idea quite what to make of... well, anything. Normally he had some sort of frame of reference to work in, but at the moment, he had nothing. Not only did he have no national drive- something that he always had relied on, no matter how hard things got- but he also had never been in a situation like this. It was completely new territory, and that worried him.

So, for now, he'd rely on what he knew. Gathering information was always a worthwhile activity, and taking notes, too, was part of what he was. That in mind, he walked over to his own desk- 'his' now, as though this was territory to be claimed?- and retrieved what he knew was there, a journal. There was a roll of pens in the drawer, and he withdrew one there, testing the ink on the first page before nodding at Indiana. He preferred standing right now, needless to say. "Very well. Could you tell me what's going on, then, Dr. Jones?"

A pause, as that last name tickled his memory. Jones... and the way the man spoke... Ludwig glanced up at the other man, then quietly asked, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but would it be safe to assume that you are American?"

Re: M17

[its_the_mileage]

"Beilschmidt?" Indy repeated. Now that definitely didn't sound like a coincidence. "You wouldn't be related to a Gilbert Beilschmidt, would you? Strange eyes, a few years older than you?" Come to think of it, Gilbert Beilschmidt had said he had a brother in Germany he was looking to get in touch with. If Indy's guess was right, they might be in contact sooner than they'd thought.

He watched as Ludwig found the journal and pens and prepared to take notes. Whatever other traits the guy might have, at least he was already ahead of half of Indy's students in that regard. Indy lowered his fork and gave what he hoped was a matter-of-fact explanation: "What's going on is what it looks like. You've been kidnapped and taken to a mental hospital, where the staff will try to convince you that what you remember about your life is a delusion. And at night, things really get interesting."

Indy paused for a forkful of curry, since he'd need to get dressed before long and dinner had to be relatively efficient for him to get out the door as soon as it unlocked. Once he'd swallowed, he continued, "Landel--the man who was talking a few minutes ago--does experiments. Some of them are on wild animals, which he lets loose in the building at night. Others are on people." That was a start, anyway. It wasn't a very upbeat explanation, but the man might as well have a clear idea of what he was up against before he started wandering around on his own.

At that last question, though, Indy's ears pricked up. Why was Ludwig Beilschmidt interested in whether he was American, and what "wrong way" was he expecting him to take that? "Yes," Indy answered warily, waiting to see whether the other man would go on.

Re: M17

[neuepolitik]

He hadn't expected that to be the response, but in all reality, he probably should have. If Gilbert was involved with anything, anywhere, at any time, it was likely that people would know his name. But even knowing that, Germany didn't respond right away. Questions ranged in his mind: 'How much did Prussia tell people?' 'Has he made an idiot of himself?' 'Would disavowing any knowledge of his actions be the best course of action?' But at the same time... he thought rationally, carefully considering those words. The man had said Gilbert was 'a few years older.' If he knew their secret, then he'd mention it now, or at least mention that 'a few years' was nearer to 'several centuries.' So it was likely he considered them both as humans, which meant the older man was showing an unusual amount of restraint. ...if anything, that was even more worrisome than anything else Ludwig had experienced. "...yes, he's my older brother," he said at last, "have you met with him?"

Of course, he had to wonder what the reaction to that would be. In terms of build, hair color, eye color, accent, mannerisms- really, in every particular- there was nothing like a familial resemblance between them.

Once the explanation began, Ludwig said nothing. He allowed Dr. Jones to speak on; the only sounds coming from Ludwig were quiet affirmatives and the scratching of his pen in his journal. Of course, when the man started talking about 'experiments,' that made Germany look up once more, a worried look in his eyes. He knew about experiments on people, and his blood ran cold when he thought of what could happen to him, to anyone here, if there was a hospital where the doctors were allowed to conduct 'experiments.' Even still, he quietly prompted for more once the explanation was complete. "What kind of 'experiments'?"

He should have guessed that this was an American he was speaking to, though. Not just the way he spoke, but just... something in the cast of his features. Next he was going to mention he was interested in archaeology and was handy with a revolver. But surely, that would be too much of a coincidence, now wouldn't it? "I see. You wouldn't happen to have met an Alfred F. Jones here, would you?"

Re: M17

[its_the_mileage]

So this was the long-lost brother. Indy couldn't say he saw the resemblance, but he knew better than to mention that. Some people were touchy. He stuck with a quick account of his conversation with Gilbert: "I talked with him for a few minutes this morning. All he mentioned was that he had a brother he'd barely seen since the end of the war, and that you'd be worried about him."

Were they both from 1947, then? Indy's wariness spiked. It was one thing to inadvertently share a bus seat with a person who'd just been on the wrong side of a world war, but he certainly wasn't eager to live with one. He didn't imagine Ludwig here was likely to be much happier about it. Gilbert'd been clear about the tensions lingering between the U.S. and Germany at that time. And if Landel thought Indiana Jones was going to spend every night making small talk over dinner with a Nazi, or even an ex-Nazi, he had another thing coming.

"I can't say for sure," he answered about the experiments, which was the truth--Javert hadn't gotten him those notes today. Tomorrow he might have more information; the only question was whether he'd want to give it to this guy. "They take patients from the rooms right after dinner. Sometimes they put them in somewhere in the building with weapons and brainwash them into attacking other patients, sometimes they're individual trials." Which reminded him, he needed to find out what kind of shape Lunge was in. Indy didn't plan on interrogating him right away, but maybe he'd have some solid information to share about what had happened to him and what he'd seen.

"And no, I haven't. Your brother asked me that too."

Re: M17

[neuepolitik]

The end of the war? That caught Ludwig completely by surprise. They'd been in various combat theaters for some time, sure, their 'defense force' had grown in scope to 'whatever hired muscle America needs for his latest Middle Eastern foray,' but they had remained in contact pretty well. Why would Gilbert make mention of such a thing to a complete stranger? It didn't make sense, but he wasn't going to air out his confusion to Dr. Jones. He'd figure it out by gathering additional information from Gilbert, and until then, all speculation was fruitless. In the end, he simply shrugged. "I'm always worried about him."

If he noticed Dr. Jones's wariness, he didn't mention anything about it. He was preoccupied with the puzzle laid out before him, and besides, reading people had never been his strong point. Instead of answering right away, he tapped his pen against the journal, musing over all of this new information. Brainwashing into attacking other patients, equipping them with weapons, and then these 'individual trials'... what possible point could they serve? What was the point in turning one patient against the others? "...what kind of weapons? And is there no security at night? You speak as though escaping at night is easily accomplished."

Which, considering where they were, made absolutely no sense. A mental institute was usually careful about letting the inmates escape, and if they were running experiments, why would they want to risk the patients attacking or escaping? None of that made sense, even considering it from another perspective. Ludwig frowned at the page, not sure where to even begin taking additional notes. "...I see. I suppose that's for the best. You wouldn't happen to know where, exactly, we're imprisoned?"

Re: M17

[its_the_mileage]

It didn't escape Indy's notice that Ludwig had dodged further discussion of the war. Indy let him, for now. It'd come up sooner or later.

The question caused him some irritation, which probably made itself evident in his voice as he replied. "Guns, knives, one of them had some kind of shootable webbing material that stuck to things; I don't know!" He also didn't care, because it was such a ridiculously minor point in the face of everything else that was going on here. Trust a potential Nazi to be interested in where the weapons were right off the bat. "As for escaping, you can try. It's easy to get out of the compound, but even if you walk all night, you'll still wake up right back here." Not that his findings on that point were thorough enough to be publishable, but Indy thought that outcome was a pretty damn good bet.

If he hadn't been able to tell those two were related by their appearances, their identical lines of questioning were sure giving them away now. They could practically be twins. "Probably somewhere in the American northeast," Indy answered shortly. A beat later he added, "2009," to see what kind of reaction it would provoke. He wasn't all that interested in whether his new roommate thought he was crazy, so might as well go fishing.

Re: M17

[neuepolitik]

...shootable webbing? Not only was that something firmly in the realm of science fiction, it was such an impossible idea that he had no idea what to make of it. So, guns and knives it was. Though that left the big gaping question still unanswered: why would an institute equip some patients with firearms? Was there no security? Or was there some inscrutable reason for it? There wasn't enough information to go on. He'd have to find more before he could even think of coming up with something.

However, his mind was so preoccupied that he made his next response without even thinking. "2010." Dr. Jones probably just hadn't gotten used to speaking about the new year quite yet, it was understandable. As it was, Germany scratched in his first notes- 'Find Gilbert. Investigate grounds. Find escape route. Clearly mark location in case of 'waking up' back in the grounds.'

It wasn't much to go on, not even for him, but he'd come up with something. At the very least, he could investigate some of these things before meeting with his brother, so he wouldn't be completely out of his depth. Once those notes were written, Ludwig put his journal back on his desk and walked over to the door, testing the knob. It was locked, but... he could find a way through that obstacle.

Re: M17

[its_the_mileage]

2010? Indy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Was he repeating the current year he'd heard from someone, or the year he'd been taken from? If that was really when this guy was from, it would come as a real relief; he'd already surmised that relations between the U.S. and Germany had likely improved quite a lot by that point. But it didn't fit with what the brother had said. Indy could believe that they might be from different times--it'd be no more unusual than any of the other barely-credible time things that seemed to be going on here--but surely not more than sixty years apart.

"My mistake," he said smoothly. "But it's interesting that your brother told me it was 1947. Any idea why he would have said that?" Gilbert could've been lying, of course, but why? What would be the point?

Ludwig was trying the doorknob now; Indy watched his efforts with a flicker of amusement. "It'll unlock on its own in a few minutes. You'd be better off spending your time getting ready." So saying, Indy pushed aside his tray and got up to do just that. His adventuring clothes were neatly stowed just as always (and once again, they'd even brushed the hat); he picked them up and moved out of Ludwig's immediate field of vision to change. He still didn't have any particular plans for the night, but whatever they ended up being, he was sure they'd be better accomplished in his own gear than the Institute's ridiculous uniform.

Re: M17

[neuepolitik]

That was what baffled Ludwig at the moment. Gilbert might have lost track of time some days- especially when he was drunk and forgot that forcible annexation was centuries out of date- but he never lost entire years. This, combined with that Dr. Jones had said earlier, worried him deeply. 1947 was... well, to put it mildly, it was a bad time for both of them. But of the two, it had hurt Gilbert far more than it had Ludwig. The events after that would shape their destiny, and more than any other time in their lives, it was where they had both suffered. Yet, ironically, it was unjust even in its injustice: of the two, Ludwig was the one who deserved what transpired, he was the one who should have been put through what had happened next, not his brother. Why, then, would Gilbert speak as though he had come from that horrific time?

In the end, the young man simply shook his head. "I don't know." It worried him deeply, though, even though he tried to keep his stoic expression intact. Dr. Jones didn't need to know about something that didn't concern him, and even if he did know, what would it matter? This was something for the two of them to solve, not a complete stranger.

As the professor moved out of his field of vision, Ludwig still tried the knob again, just to be sure. It seemed to be locked from the outside, which baffled him to no end. Why would it unlock 'on its own' when neither of them could come near to opening it? No, someone had to come around and open it, and so Ludwig crouched down, listening intently for the tell-tale sounds of movement. If it was staff coming along, they'd have a contingent ready for two potentially violent inmates, and a group of people in a narrow hallway couldn't move that stealthily. As he listened, he quietly spoke, clearly not wanting to drown out any potential sounds. "'Getting ready'? Surely they wouldn't be so foolish as to leave materials lying around for prisoners to use?"

Re: M17

[its_the_mileage]

Of the two brothers Beilschmidt, Indy definitely preferred Gilbert. The older one was a hell of a lot less tight-lipped an informant. This guy, on the other hand, was evidently from the same conversational school as Ryuuzaki, in which you tried to get a maximum of information while revealing as little about yourself as possible. That was fine in a classroom, but in the field it was grating. Despite his occasional bad track record with finding reliable associates, Indy preferred to trust the people he was around. It was hard to do that when they didn't give you anything to work with.

He shrugged on his jacket. Although he wasn't enthusiastic about the way things were shaping up so far, he didn't have any particularly good reason not to give Ludwig at least the very basics--no point getting on the man's bad side over what was common knowledge anyway--so he answered the question over his shoulder. "Look, this isn't an ordinary asylum. No one's sure what kind of game Landel's playing, but whatever it is, letting us scrounge up materials and feel like we're making progress is a big part of it," he said, keeping his voice low as well.

Indy settled his fedora on his head, got the whip out of the dresser drawer, and came back around to his desk for the flashlight. A quick test demonstrated that the batteries were still good, at least for a while. Ludwig was still messing around with the door. Listening for someone coming down the hall? Well, it was worth a shot.

Re: M17

[neuepolitik]

In all reality, that was how things usually went amongst the two of them. Ludwig had very, very few friends, and this was one major reason for it. Being so taciturn and withdrawn, and with so many natural defenses, it was difficult for him to consider opening up and offering information about himself. Gilbert, meanwhile, found it easy to be open- far too open for the disapproving younger brother. Alas, it was a blind spot of his, one that only wore away with time.

Even still, when Dr. Jones stepped out from the closet and gave his explanation, Germany found himself staring in disbelief. He didn't mean to, of course, but... he hadn't even thought that there would be different clothes. That outfit was more suited for an archaeological dig in some remote country, not an insane asylum in the American Northeast. It proved the doctor's point, though. This was nowhere near what Ludwig had expected. Not even in the same continent.

There were quite a few questions that Ludwig wanted to ask- why a whip? where did you get that outfit?- but he didn't. Not tonight. What he did ask, though, was something that had niggled at the back of his mind, and that the handiness with the whip and flashlight brought up to the fore. "...if you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your field of study, Dr. Jones?" Perhaps that would explain everything else?

Re: M17

[its_the_mileage]

"Archaeology," Indy said, trusting that that would explain everything. Ludwig's incredulous expression was the reaction he'd come to expect by now, although he was of the opinion that the fedora and leather jacket would start to look pretty run-of-the-mill as soon as Ludwig started running across people in nineteenth-century French costumes and kimonos. Not to mention whatever the hell that red and blue thing was that Peter had worn.

He had a feeling he could probably anticipate the next question that would be coming, so he went ahead and answered it preemptively: "They're my clothes, but I don't know how they got here. They just turned up in the closet one night. It's happened to a number of other people as well; seems to be random."

Was it worth taking the radio? Probably better not to be encumbered with it, since it wasn't likely to do him much good, Indy decided. He did take a moment to fit his journal, a pen and a scalpel into various pockets before sitting back down and picking up his fork again. There was still time before the door unlocked, and he saw no reason to waste dessert.