Night 50: M21-M30 Hallway

[toxicspiderman]

O.K., what had made it back with him. Pipe, flashlight, toolbox? All present and accounted for. The kit had a few new dents in it, courtesy of one exploding lab bench, but the hinges still open and shut. He didn't need it tonight. A bottle of mixed pharmaceuticals extracted from it was enough in case something tried to eat them or Scarecrow's

Comments

M27

[dual_worlds]

Spock checked his desk for signs of the mysterious item Martin Landel had referenced, but there was no ring. If it was true that every group received a ring, then he could assume that theirs had gone to Dr. McCoy. He would have to wait until tomorrow to verify that, however. Kirk's orders on the bulletin were clear: to further investigate the second floor. Spock couldn't say he approved of the manner in which he'd gone about issuing the order, seeing how it had given little time for them to assemble their own reconnaissance groups. Consequently, it was apparent he would have to either conduct his activities alone, or locate patients who were willing to work with him.

There were drawbacks and advantages to both courses of action. If he proceeded alone, Spock would likely move unhindered by any unnecessary chatter, which would in turn allow him to use his time more efficiently. Furthermore, although sporting equipment was not an ideal weapon by any means, possessing a baseball bat meant that he would not need to encounter any creatures with his bare hands during a worst case scenario.

However, Spock had enough experience with Landel's Institute to develop a clear understanding of the volatile and unpredictable nature of "nightshift". That factor made traveling alone rather foolish. Spock had been unable to identify a pattern that would help gain a clearer idea of how often they would be subjected to some sort of unusual or unpleasant stimuli. It was possible there was no pattern, and that the experiments they were forced to endure were a result of some sort of randomization conducted by the institute's administrators. If that was the case, then Landel's was all the more dangerous. Yet staying in one place was completely unacceptable, as he'd be unable to learn more information if he wasted his time in such a way.

Although asking Gabriel to accompany him was a possibility, Spock decided against it. There were too many unknowns regarding his character for Spock to work with him in that sort of capacity. It was better for him to keep his distance for the time being.

Clearly, then, he had few options available to him. Spock would have to venture out alone and leave himself open for the possibility of allying himself with patients he met later, while staying on guard for creatures that could be prowling around the area. He remembered Alkaid's warning that stronger lifeforms could be found on the second floor. That was all the more reason for him to act with the utmost caution while surveying the area.

After collecting his baseball bat, a pillowcase to store potential supplies, his light, and the radio, Spock was ready to go outside. It was a lot to carry, but he assembled his items in such a way that he could manage it for the time being.

((To here.))

M27

[7_to_midnight]

Sylar spent the grand majority of dinner shift not eating, but instead laying on his crummy bed with one crummy arm over his eyes. This served two purposes: one, it helped out with the damn aching that seemed to have stuck to the back of his eyes since last night, and two, it made it a little easier to avoid Spock. Not that Spock was exactly pushy: he seemed to do his usual dainty eating and terse leaving just fine without Sylar getting involved.

As soon as Spock left, Sylar moved his arm from his face, blinking slowly at the now-dark ceiling. At least Nightshift was easier on his eyes, even if the rest of his body didn't really think so. He hated the shock to his gut that he felt when the door closed, and he was trying his best to ward off the overall tension in his body in general. For once, he wanted to think it was just his nerves getting the best of him. For once. He didn't want to think back on whatever it was that had happened to him in the Chapel this morning for a variety of reasons, the biggest of which was the fact that he might lose control of himself all over again. Whatever the bastard doctor had done to him, it'd left lasting effects, and he'd have to be even more careful from here on out. Keep control, keep going. He wasn't going to let last night get the best of him.

With that resolution, he steadily rose from the bed, grabbing his flashlight from beside him and walking toward the door. For a second, he hesitated, his hand on the doorknob and his brow half-knotted. He listened for the faint sound of bulky orderlies approaching, or the droning hum of machinery, and then shook his head. Nothing here but the usual horrors. Nothing to worry about, except the rising feeling of something inside him, growing bigger and stronger with each passing moment. He swallowed, shoved it down. Kept going.

He pushed open the door, then walked into the hall, shining his flashlight from side to side. No one here but the usual suspects, and even then, not the more interesting ones. Not that Sylar really wanted to run into Peter right now; in fact, that's part of why he'd stayed laying on his bed for a while. Cowardly, sure, but better than the gamut of dangerous emotions that might pop up like they had earlier today with Claire. If there was anyone who didn't need to know about Sylar's current condition, it was Peter Petrelli, but then again, it wasn't too hard to keep Peter in the dark about anything.

Sylar quietly closed the room's door behind him, then proceeded down the hall to the block's main area. He didn't neglect to keep checking the ceiling while he walked, but the coast looked clear. So far.

[ To here. ]