West Wing, South Hall 2-B
[From here.]It might be quicker to check the stuff at the end of the hall first and work his way back. That way he wouldn't have to back track in order to get into the main hall. Yeah. Yeah - the morgue was marked on his map, but there were a few rooms around it that weren't labeled at all. Morbid as the thought was, it would be practical to keep
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And so did the flashlights, plunging the trio into inky darkness that made it impossible to see even an inch in front of their own faces. Only the feel of the doorknob under the Doctor's hand would have made it apparent the door was there at all and that they hadn't somehow been thrown into an infinite void.
Or that at the very least the door had been brought along with them.
Several long, agonising seconds passed before, just as quickly as they'd shut off, the flashlights came back to life. The three men were standing exactly as they had been before. But the hallway itself had changed. It snaked off as far as the eye could see in either direction, seeming to twist as it did so, so that in the distance it almost looked as though the walls became the floor and ceiling. They could tell because the walls were now lined with doors, hundreds of them set about a meter apart, all exactly the same and, if any of them decided to check the closest, apparently locked.
Maybe it was an effect of the walls and the hundreds (thousands?) of doors, but the area seemed closer, like it was pressing in on them, the shadows reaching out like dozens of hands trying to catch at them. The air stank as well, old sweat and the tang of blood and fear, overlaying something faint and chemical.
Of course even if they realised what had happened, it was far too late to do much of anything about it, and somewhere close by a voice started laughing, building steadily louder until the odd shape of the hallway had the echoes bouncing back at the group, making it seem as though the building itself were laughing.
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Heading for the door, he started to reach out to try it. He didn't make it, not when the Doctor's screwdriver gave off this godawful screech, piercing right into his skull and forcing Dean to clap a hand to his ears; didn't much help but he couldn't help it and -
Suddenly it was gone. The flashlights went at the same time.
Oh hell. Dean should've figured this was coming - place with this much evil wandering its halls and they were bound to run into something, especially all three of 'em wandering around in a group like this. Tended to draw all sorts of attention. Dean turned on the spot, one hand reaching back to make sure the door behind him was secure and wasn't gonna open up behind him, his other hand drawing the bowie knife in a smooth motion. Fun times. Still, of all the stuff he'd been expecting - spirit to suddenly be standing bloody right there, werewolf prepping to charge - he wasn't ready for a hall stretching out to infinity. Dean didn't lower his knife, his eyes flicking and taking in the surroundings.
Hundreds of doors that weren't there before, a hall way that couldn't be real. Okay, pretty sure couldn't be real, 'cause he'd be lying if he said this place didn't get on you after a point. He wanted to say pretty sure. He'd walked this way with two other pairs of eyes, so that had to amount for something. There was always the chance this was like another group hallucination.
It felt damn real to him.
Dean's mouth set in a line at the laugh. He'd heard a lot of creepy-ass noises in the past and that? That was pretty up there. Dean's fingers tightened around the bowie's hilt as he tore his eyes off the hallway for a second. McCoy was still in one piece and the Doctor wasn't suddenly a body on the floor.
So far, so good. He could work with that.
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Some sort of probe, maybe?
Whatever it was, he didn't think the lights going out like that was supposed to happen. It felt like they'd all be submerged in ink, or looked into a black hole. It was the kind of darkness you could easily lose yourself in.
Just as suddenly, the lights came back on again. Dean and the Doctor were there, just as he'd left them, although why he'd suddenly thought it possible to have been separated from them in the first place was a good question. The hallway, however, wasn't the same. McCoy stared into what was the equivalent of infinity, or what the human brain was capable of comprehending as it. The hallway seemed to spiral on forever, the floor and ceiling switching places as it twisted, and infinite doors lining the infinite walls. The air smelled foul, sick.
McCoy had to wonder if this was what a patient going mad must experience. He was certain he was sane. Mostly sane, those moments he'd zone off or experience those strange moments of disorientation, as if his thoughts weren't quite his own had to be related to strain, work. But if he'd ever seen a visual and olfactory representation of a descent into insanity, this would do him.
It was then that a terrible laugh echoed throughout the hall. It seemed to come from all sides, rising and rising.
There was a very pregnant pause. "What in hell is going on?" McCoy blurted out.
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One hand still on the doorknob, the Doctor tried to look for Dean and McCoy-McCoy had been near him and Dean had been heading for the other door-but he couldn't see them... or the door. Just as he was about to call out to them, to make sure nothing had happened along with the sudden darkness, the lights came back. Whatever had caused that darkness had left changes: a long twisted hallway lined with seemingly endless doors, and stale, stagnant air.
Absently, he tucked his screwdriver back into his coat pocket. They'd need it to open a locked door, but... which door were they supposed to open now?
And then someone began to laugh ominously and the Doctor straightened, craning his neck as he looked around. He couldn't see anyone else in the hall, but that 'whatever' that had caused the darkness must have been a whoever, or at least a whoever with a whatever.
"I'm not sure," the Doctor admitted. "Obviously the hall changed- Well, I say 'it changed'... Someone changed it; must have done. Or it's a very clever illusion, with an olfactory component, and it didn't change at all..." He trailed off, glancing quickly over at McCoy, then to Dean. "Alright, you two?"
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But not still.
There was a flicker of movement, just on the edge of their vision and somewhere behind them, like something was moving towards the trio while trying to avoid being seen. Though it could have just as easily been their minds playing tricks on them. Two of their group at least would have known better than to automatically assume that, however.
There was the sensation of movement again, and a sound that implied whatever it was was moving very fast as well, which might have been enough to prompt at least one of them to look back. If they did, however, all their flashlights would find would be, of all things, a statue.
It looked like nothing more than a stone angel with its hands covering its face as though it were weeping.
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His running theory had been faeries and their bullshit…except they liked to prey on loners, not big groups like this and it was a little more asshole and less spooky haunted mansion. The faery theory wasn’t looking air-tight - Dean was no closer to saying what for sure was causing this than the Doctor and he could only shrug.
The flashlight choose to sputter on him, flickering weakly and for a second he thought his was dying there on the spot (which would’ve been awesome, if not typical, timing). Nex thing he knew, there was a damn statue where there hadn’t been anything before, Dean starting a little in surprise. He half-expected the thing to move but it just stood there, this creepy-ass angel covering its eyes and neatly blocking the way they’d come. Seeing as statues didn’t plain get up on their own steam and move around just to screw around with you, he figured someone put it there. Couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, except with this place’s track record, he was willing to bet it wasn’t for a good reason. It could be anything from someone just slowing down any escape attempts to that thing being cursed with its own spirit and for all he knew, trouble could come rolling their way anytime soon.
He adjusted his grip on the knife, glancing from those hundred or something doors back to that angel statue.
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He was in the middle of answering the Doctor when the laugh died out.
McCoy turned, a split second after Dean. A statue was just suddenly there, occupying space that until now had been very empty. It was humanoid, an angel, and it reminded him of those old statues you saw in gardens, except most gardens didn't make it a habit to staff itself with unpleasant decorations. It certainly wasn't exactly something he'd want around his home. The hands to its face was strange, almost depressing. It seemed to fit right in.
The doctor studied it skeptically. He'd half expected it to move, but when it didn't, he had to wonder what the point of this was. It wasn't leaping at them like that thing that had attacked Jim. It was just sitting there. Death by fine art? What was it supposed to do?
Maybe that was the question. Maybe it was just there to waste their time, stalling them, getting them to poke and prod at it.
"Don't suppose one of you knows what that is," McCoy said. It was eerie, he'd give it that, but other than giving someone the willies, he didn't see what else it was supposed to do other than a little psychological feather ruffling.
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It was McCoy's question that caused the Doctor to turn, to see what the doctor was asking about, and when he saw the stone statue holding its face in its hands, he froze, staring at it.
"I do," he said, the sound coming out almost hoarse. His voice was stronger as he continued hurriedly, "Keep looking at it. Don't look away, and don't blink; it's stone as long as it's being observed, so just keep looking at it."
It wasn't exactly an explanation of what it was, but it was the most important bits for now. This was... really bad. The Doctor looked away from the angel to shine his torch down towards the other end of the hall, trusting that at least one of the two others would heed his warning for the moment. If it was just the one angel, well... that wasn't as bad as it could be, but it was still bad. They needed to get out of here, they needed to find Donna, and they needed to do it fast.
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But even if that were the case, it didn't explain how the statue had gotten there in the first place, and it certainly didn't explain what happened next.
The flashlights flickered again, almost like they were purposely trying to upset the group of patients, and in the fraction of a second between one flicker of light and the next, the statue had moved. Its hands weren't covering its face anymore, but had been lowered enough for the carefully sculpted face to be seen clearly. Its eyes were empty and blank, but nonetheless... there was a feeling that it was watching them.
Something else had changed as well; for some reason there was a small radio transmitter in the statue's left hand, a small light flashing to indicate it was active and heralding a crackle of static.
"Hello? Can you hear me?"
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The Doctor's voice was strained. McCoy was about to look at his face, get a good feel for where that tone lay on how much trouble they were in exactly exactly, but caught himself in time to remember that warning of his. So he knew what this was? And what the devil did that mean, it was only stone as long as it was observed?
Still, he couldn't quite stop the skepticism coming out. "You're saying that thing's alive." It didn't look it. About as alive as a garden gnome, except far more disquieting. Even the Horta had, despite being completely different from any other life form they'd encountered, showed some sign of life they could identify, such as movement and thought. "So what is it?"
The flashlights chose that moment to flicker. McCoy glanced down quickly, gave it a shake. It seemed to do the trick. The light came back on, steady as before.
He looked up and jumped. Despite knowing better, that it was just a statue and this was foolish, and frankly, he was getting too old for ghost stories, found that his heart just about leapt out his chest. The statue had moved. Its face was no longer covered. The blank eyes were uncovered and McCoy could almost swear it was looking right at them. His skin crawled. It had happened in all of a fraction of a second. It was far too quick for someone to have just replaced the statue with another.
Then a voice came from its direction. He hadn't noticed the little radio in its hand before. The voice itself sounded quite alive. Maybe it was a recording? The doctor studied the statue, but was certain he hadn't seen the mouth move. Nothing about it was mobile, despite having apparently just moved. The only difference from before was the small flashing light.
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"A Weeping Angel. It's alive, yes, and it's not friendly, but it can only move when-" he started to answer, cutting off sharply as the lights began to flicker. Of all the times...! He jerked back around to face the angel again, in case, in case, in case...
He swallowed and then finished, "-when no one's looking."
It had moved in that brief time it was unseen. It had moved; it had lowered its hands; it was holding... "A radio?" he asked aloud, the pitch of his voice rising into a squeak. "Why a-...?"
It didn't make sense. What would the angel be doing with a radio transmitter? Almost as if in answer, there was a short burst of static and then a voice coming from the radio. The Doctor eyed it in suspicion, the puzzle of the doors forgotten only for a moment.
He remained quiet for a long moment before answering, unsure if the voice over the transmitter would be able to hear them. "Who is this? Who are we speaking to?"
The Doctor kept his eyes fixed on the angel, but added lowly to Dean and McCoy, "We need to find a way out of here-before the lights go out again. If the lights go out, we can't see it and the angel moves, and if the angel moves, that's very bad news for us."
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"It's me, Bob, sir. Though I don't expect someone like you would really remember me that well. I wasn't as important as you were. I was just a cleric who was supposed to help you against the angel. Not that I did a very good job of it. Sorry, sir."
The flashlights were flickering near constantly now, always on the verge of going out but not quite doing so... at least not yet at any rate. The angel seemed as aware as they were of how many doors there were in the hallway, how many they'd have to check before they found the right one, all the while with it right behind them. Waiting.
It was good at waiting.
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The goddamn thing did exactly that when the lights flickered, its hands suddenly away from its face and if he didn't know better, he'd say it was staring at them. Dean's hand stiffened around his bowie. Now call it a hunch, but he was pretty sure trying to stab a statue wasn't going to get him anywhere fast, much less when he wasn't sure what this thing was capable of.
If the Doctor told him a few days ago that by the way, there was such thing as flying robots with phasers and there was killer statues thrown in for shits in giggles, he wouldn't have believed him. Probably would've thought the guy belonged in a funny farm like this.
Dean groped about behind him along the wall as he moved along against it, doing what the Doctor said and trying to test the doors for a way out. His instinct was to just go for the sonuvabitch, which was fine and all when you were fighting one of the flesh and blood monsters out there. But charging something you had no idea what it was capable of was a great way to getting a big ass kicking and Dean opted instead to just follow the Doc's orders.
He continued to feel along the wall, keeping his eyes on the angel and figuring McCoy was smart enough to do the same despite this being off the wall crazy.
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Despite the Doctor's warnings, McCoy's curiosity was piqued.
He complied, moving along the wall opposite Dean's, keeping his attention on the angel as he felt around.The chances of all of them happening to blink all at once were very low. The chances of the lights going out seemed a lot higher, and who was to say this hallway hadn't been stretched as far as they could see. They could be at this for a long time. If it wasn't just an optical illusion or hallucination, they could wander out of sight from the Doctor. What then?
For all this talk of how dangerous this creature was, what did it do when unseen?
He backed up a few steps and tried another door.
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"What? What are you talking about?" the Doctor asked, confused. "I've only run into Weeping Angels once-just once-and there were no clerics, no one named Bob. Just Sally Sparrow and her friends; no one else. I would have remembered anyone else."
There was, of course, another possibility: that this cleric Bob was someone he would meet, in his future, just like Donna was from his past. But if that was the case, what the cleric was doing here, now, communicating with them through a radio held by an angel... The Doctor wasn't sure. A distraction of some kind? The lights were threatening to go out again but hadn't quite, but it was really only a matter of time before the angel had the chance to move again.
The Doctor moved carefully towards the other side of the hallway, keeping his eyes on the angel the entire while. He could check more doors and talk to the cleric at the same time. "Where are you, cleric Bob? Is this angel the one you said you were supposed to help against?"
The first knob didn't yield, so he moved on to a second. Checking every door was far from the ideal situation, but even the way they'd come from-now blocked by the angel-looked like it continued on forever, and getting closer to the angel with the lights flickering dangerously seemed like a terrible idea.
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"As you say, sir," the voice said again over the radio. "You've only met the angels once so far that you know of."
Bob apparently didn't feel the need to elaborate on that point further, instead focussing on the other questions. "Yes, sir," his voice confirmed. "This is the angel I was supposed to help you with. The one you left me alone and afraid in the dark to fight, sir, while you went on ahead with your friends. But the angel found me first and it killed me. Snapped my neck, which hurts a lot more than you'd think, really."
The radio fell silent again, leaving the hallway quiet except for their own breathing. The flashlights began to flicker again, more noticeably now.
"It's going to do that to your friends, I'm afraid. One by one while you can't stop it."
Bob's voice almost sounded triumphant with that, though it might not have been the first thing they noticed. Once he was finished speaking, the lights died again but for longer this time, and when they restored, the statue was standing over Dean, its face a twisted snarl.
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