(Untitled)

[terrorofgotham]

Bo Hopper's been a security guard here at Arkham for a little over a year, and decided it was well time enough to take a week off to go camping. He never made it out into the woods, but that's what his cell phone message said, out of touch and back in next week

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[onlynothuman]

Simon's behaving, waiting for Giles to put his mask back on when the strange scent creeps in, a metal taste to the air that he... he knows that scent, doesn't he? He lifts his head, taking a deep breath through his nose to try to place it.

And knows.

"There's a fire, there's a fire in the building!"

[myownluck]

Outside, there's -- well, no indication of a fire, no heat, no one beside Simon yelling about it. But there is a shout of alarm from Dent's guard, then the sound of something heavy hitting the tile. And the quick slap-slap-slap of patient-issue shoes against the tile, getting fainter...

[bovril_and_book]

Simon's movement and then yelling kept Giles distracted enough not to hear or really care what just happened outside. Because there's always running feet in the asylum.

But a fire would be very bad. Very bad indeed. Someone should definitely check that.

Giles would, if he wasn't somehow in this straight jacket.

[onlynothuman]

He darts for the door, but only makes it about halfway there, rocking from foot to foot, indecisive. There's fire, he can smell it, acrid and thick and greasy. And he can see it, black and gold flickers in the corners of his eyes, (smoke and black fur) but there's nothing there when he whirls to look, nothing but Giles there.

And when he finally reaches the door, it's locked anyway. He wrenches at the handle, again and again and again, feeling the vicious heat against his back.

[notatvcharacter]

Another day, another round of annoying the criminally insane for fun and profit.

Today, Dr. McCoy is down in the infirmary, checking Mr J. Doe's staples and stitches and taking blood from him for testing, dryly quipping back in response to the patient's prodding (getting some fun looks from the regular staff for engaging him) when all hell breaks loose.

The smell isn't familiar, but the noise and feeling that comes hurtling in after it -- the rumbling beneath his feet, the sensation of movement forward at speeds far greater than any human being should ever travel at is. He's on an airplane. It doesn't make a damn lick of sense at all, but he knows it, in his bones and in his inner ear, vertigo making him lean forward to catch himself on the edge of the examining table. They're a mile in the air, hurtling in a bolted-together deathtrap of a flying madhouse...

He's gone a rather grey-green as he holds himself up on the table, trying not to scream (like he can hear behind him, screams and falling glass and metal) or throw up on the

[ha_in_havoc]

Strange smells and pleasant sounds interrupt what was a routine medical exam with enjoyable conversation. There's so much screaming. He catches the scent and everything begins to decay more rapidly. He already knew it was all rotting, but now he can see it. He can see the flesh peeling from the supervising guard as he flails, screams and flees the room.

Dr. McCoy's palms are a puddle of foul and fetid fat and blood. His bones scrape the table surface through it. The clown wonders if the good doctor is dying. The rotting isn't real, after all. No more real than it ever is. No more a lie than it ever is. It's all the truth eventually.

"What's the matter, doc?"
Are there knives inside of you that need to be let out? Let into others? He doubts it. He could empathize with that, though.

[notatvcharacter]

After the initial spike of panic, logic starts to trickle back in, though he's still gripping that table tightly. No matter what his racing heart and lurching stomach are telling him, an airborne asylum is impossible. He swallows, hard. "There is something wrong," he grinds out.

Deep breath. Focus on where you know you are, not where you think you are. He grimaces, closing his eyes as he feels cold air rush past him.

"How do you feel? What do you feel?" he asks above the wind. Compare. If it's just him, then it isn't real. Which isn't necessarily better (he's painfully aware of the possibilities, the damage psychotropics of any kind can do to a person, psychological trauma convulsions psychosis coma tachycardia hyperthermia heart failure) but all in his head.

[ha_in_havoc]

"I...ah..see that."
He stifles his laughter. Isn't that considerate?

The clown tilts his head at Luke and flexes his hands, annoyed that they're still bound together. There's clearly some different and interesting problem going on for the doctor. That's clear. He wishes he could see it.
"Oh, it's a lot of the same... I'm bleeding on the inside. You're bleeding on the outside. ... Somebody's playing with chemicals. Tsk tsk."

He slides down off of the exam table to stand next to the doctor.
"What do you feel?"

[agent_m0thman]

Sometimes it doesn't pay to get un-suspended. Did has had more patient interaction this last week then he had in a month under Warden.

He's in the rec room, acting as the game closet dealer when he notices a funny smell.

Funny smells are somewhat normal. But not this type of smell. This rotting smell. Coming from one of the patients. Who's eyes are glassy and head is lolling to the side as he groans. Groans out of a mouth that isn't closed, because his lower jaw is missing and it's just a bloody gaping whole.

Someone is screaming, which is the worse thing to do. Because the screaming excites them. Reminds them of what they should be hunting.

The person screaming might be Dib, as they are now all looking at him with dead glassy eyes and shuffling towards him. He does the only sane thing he can think of in his panic, which is throw himself in to the closet which will lock automatically behind him. And pray the door holds.

[agent_m0thman]

Eventually, the door will go. Dib knows that. But he also knows he's in the game closet. Which means there must be a weapon.

But the Clue box only has tiny, tiny weapons. Battle Ship isn't going to sink anything. Sorry is sorry indeed. The tiny armies of Risk might become tiny armies of the undead! He can't risk more causalities. Dib does find a small vial of smoking liquid. A healing potion? Mana? Dib will pocket it either way.

The door is creaking and beginning to splinter near the hinges. The moaning and pounding is near deafening. Dib made a mistake hiding here. A horrible mistake. Unless... He's Simon's size. And Simon got in to the game closet. So Dib can get out!

Dib will stuff some monopoly money in his pockets (to bargain with) before climbing the shelving to the ceiling tiles, pushing one up and away and pulling himself up into the ceiling.

As he crawls desperately forward, he hears the door finally give way.

[myownluck]

Harvey Dent turned himself in this time around, sure. But right now, sticking around Arkham (stay need to stay) isn't even the second thing on his mind. The place is a mess, though, and finding his way out is even trickier than usual. He thinks he's near the visiting rooms, now. So he's close. He'd better be.

[edsidlemirth]

Eddie has decided to knock from the inside of the visiting room, a nice, unpanicked 'shave and a haircut', and maybe a little morse code.

[arkham_warden]

Knocking is all well and good and Eddie is welcome to it. Geoffrey will watch and fume and fidget with his phone. Arkham has never had great reception. This is more annoying now.

[myownluck]

And lo and behold, someone taps back. Two bits!

His voice is muffled through the door, but the gleeful tone is hard to miss. "Who is it?"

[housepital]

The first person House runs across after leaving Warden and Eddie behind is a guard, who grabs his arm, pulling him off balance, and won't stop shouting.

"We have to get out! They've bombed the place! The whole building's coming down! We have to find shelter before the tanks go!"

"What?!" Barely keeping his own feet, he braces his cane against the wall and wrenches his arm free, looking back down the hall. When he looks back, the guard's yards away, fleeing like a startled animal. No sign of an explosion. With a snarl of exasperation, he follows after him. "Stop! Give me your radio, you idiot!"

He catches up to him trying to get through a door that leads to a cleaning closet, trying every wrong key. House gives the man an disgusted impatient look and snatches his radio off his belt.

"Attention, all Arkham staff!" His voice goes out over every radio and the PA system to boot. "All staff. An unknown substance has been released into the hospital. Regroup at staff assembly stations on floors two, three, and four, and check in with me

[agent_m0thman]

Dib is somewhere beyond the therapy rooms when he hears the announcement. Knowing there are more survivors is good. Knowing they're going to be gathering in groups just makes Dib think of every zombie movie he's ever watched, ever. It's a bad plan. "They're setting up to be a damn buffet, the fools."

Dib is still going to work on getting out. If he can figure out where the hell he's gotten himself to.