Nightshift 49: Homeworld - Kira Investigation Headquarters, Tokyo
[From Bill's Hardware.]
As he followed Lunge through the door, L expected that one of two things would happen. There was a chance that the door would work as normal doors did, and they would be out on the street in the rain with hostile company. Alternatively, the wave of dizziness and confusion might hit him, and then they would be in an impossible place, one that shouldn't have connected to the hardware store. With no basis on which to calculate the probability except for Landel's comments about "renovations," he couldn't make a solid prediction in one direction or the other.
The disorientation was becoming familiar enough that he anticipated it. He would prefer not to vomit -- more than most people, he suspected, even at the best of times. In the current situation, it would be impossible to rid his mouth of the taste. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to ride out the vertigo; reeling, he reached out to steady himself, and realized that his hands were no longer full.
Impressions flooded in, overwhelming him. His feet were bare, and the surface under them was cool and smooth, some kind of glossy tile. The pungent scent of lumber and oil had vanished. In its place, there was a smell almost shocking in its familiarity: new construction, coffee, a distant metallic tang of the kind associated with electronic equipment. When his hand came back into focus, he saw that he was no longer wearing the grey Institute-issued sweatshirt; instead, fine white cotton jersey covered his forearm. He blinked, and began to be able to see more of the room beyond his hand, and made a soft noise of disbelief.
L and Lunge stood at one end of a large, high-ceilinged room. Dim illumination came from fixtures in the ceiling. Glass staircases nestled against the walls to the right and the left, seeming to float free, without support. Two leather sofas and a multi-level glass coffee table sat under the staircase on the right.
Other elements of the room commanded more attention, hinting at its function. A bank of video screens occupied the distant facing wall. One, quite large, took center stage; eight medium-size screens formed columns flanking the largest one; three smaller screens made a line below it. Under them, there was a long counter with three chairs, three monitors, three keyboards, and a complicated telephone. The video screens were turned off, but the computer monitors were the room's primary source of light. Each showed the same picture: a white background featuring a single black letter in an archaic typeface.
A third option. He found that he had been holding his breath, still too wary to feel elated. Without pausing to think, he made for the console at the far end of the room. Informing Watari of his whereabouts was the first order of business.
Glancing back, he saw that Lunge was still wearing an Institute uniform. His pace slowed, and he frowned. If I am back in my headquarters, why is Lunge here with me? Is it possible that --
"Only investigation will tell us whether or not this is an illusion." In spite of his suspicion that he would feel foolish about it later, he couldn't keep the hope out of his voice.
As he followed Lunge through the door, L expected that one of two things would happen. There was a chance that the door would work as normal doors did, and they would be out on the street in the rain with hostile company. Alternatively, the wave of dizziness and confusion might hit him, and then they would be in an impossible place, one that shouldn't have connected to the hardware store. With no basis on which to calculate the probability except for Landel's comments about "renovations," he couldn't make a solid prediction in one direction or the other.
The disorientation was becoming familiar enough that he anticipated it. He would prefer not to vomit -- more than most people, he suspected, even at the best of times. In the current situation, it would be impossible to rid his mouth of the taste. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to ride out the vertigo; reeling, he reached out to steady himself, and realized that his hands were no longer full.
Impressions flooded in, overwhelming him. His feet were bare, and the surface under them was cool and smooth, some kind of glossy tile. The pungent scent of lumber and oil had vanished. In its place, there was a smell almost shocking in its familiarity: new construction, coffee, a distant metallic tang of the kind associated with electronic equipment. When his hand came back into focus, he saw that he was no longer wearing the grey Institute-issued sweatshirt; instead, fine white cotton jersey covered his forearm. He blinked, and began to be able to see more of the room beyond his hand, and made a soft noise of disbelief.
L and Lunge stood at one end of a large, high-ceilinged room. Dim illumination came from fixtures in the ceiling. Glass staircases nestled against the walls to the right and the left, seeming to float free, without support. Two leather sofas and a multi-level glass coffee table sat under the staircase on the right.
Other elements of the room commanded more attention, hinting at its function. A bank of video screens occupied the distant facing wall. One, quite large, took center stage; eight medium-size screens formed columns flanking the largest one; three smaller screens made a line below it. Under them, there was a long counter with three chairs, three monitors, three keyboards, and a complicated telephone. The video screens were turned off, but the computer monitors were the room's primary source of light. Each showed the same picture: a white background featuring a single black letter in an archaic typeface.
A third option. He found that he had been holding his breath, still too wary to feel elated. Without pausing to think, he made for the console at the far end of the room. Informing Watari of his whereabouts was the first order of business.
Glancing back, he saw that Lunge was still wearing an Institute uniform. His pace slowed, and he frowned. If I am back in my headquarters, why is Lunge here with me? Is it possible that --
"Only investigation will tell us whether or not this is an illusion." In spite of his suspicion that he would feel foolish about it later, he couldn't keep the hope out of his voice.