Night 52: Main Hall, 2-West

[hes_deadjim]

[from here with Spock]The doctor jerked with surprise. Spock seemed to appear right at his elbow, and he'd be damned if his heart hadn't set to racing. He'd just been just starting to think that maybe that encounter with that statue was a fluke, and there'd be no surprises down here, and then that damned Vulcan had to go ahead and see if he could

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[herr_inspektor]

[from here]

Out of the hallway, Lunge realised to his annoyance that he was far more aware of the beating of his own heart than he should have been. A pointless waste of energy. He swiftly relocated his attention to his surroundings- the sound of gunfire rattled down the hallway from their right, along with more general sounds of a fight. Another brainwashed patient? Provided he was right about them not chasing patients out of their areas they would be safe where they were, but they needed to keep moving if they didn't want to run out of time. L would catch up with them, he was sure. If not- well. He'd already thought it once before that night. If he couldn't keep up or deliberately chose to stay, he wasn't worth waiting for.

Before he could find a way to argue with himself Lunge cleared his throat, trying to catch Taylor's attention. "Let's go." Saying it aloud solidified his decision, and he turned to move back towards the stairs- and then something in the corner of is eye, something dark and shivering, caught his eye. He stopped.

His shadow didn't.

For a moment he just stared at the now-formless shape stretched out in front of him as it morphed in and out of focus. So I wasn't imagining it. When he raised a hand experimentally, much in the same way as Taylor had been doing we he'd arrived, the shadow followed it drunkenly, slightly delayed and slightly bled out of focus. "I see," was all he said. Then he was off again.

[to here]

[quarter_english]

[From here.]

Taylor and Lunge were a little ahead of L, so he tried to keep to as brisk a pace as he could; the rush of adrenaline that had been caused by the events of the last few minutes helped. As he moved away from the area where he had been held during the "sleep study," though, and away from what he supposed he was meant to interpret as a proximate threat of being torn to pieces, he found that the most immediate feeling was a slight relaxation of tension. He wasn't out of danger, but for the moment, the hazards were generalized, less personal.

He watched his shadow swirl along the wall as he walked, but he couldn't afford to pay much attention to it. The corridor was already empty, and they hadn't agreed on their next destination. There was gunfire ahead of him--Lunge and Taylor wouldn't have gone that way; they had probably gone back the way they came. The stairwell, then.

He made good time.

[To here.]