Night 58: West Wing, North Hall, 1-A
((From here.))Although some patients took a great deal of time to memorize their way through the building, Spock's eidetic memory allowed him to remember most details from an area, even if he'd only seen it once. Of course, he'd passed through this hall several times during his reconnaissance assignments. The path to McCoy's quarters wasn't
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It didn't last. The radio was replied by a louder intercom message, barking back at the tinny voice of the device at Billy's hip. The conversation between them would have been one sided if they were tied to their technology. It all matched, of course. One young man, tired and begging for cooperation, mourning a dead friend, hiding in a bunker. Another older man, authoritative and with a totally different sort of anger, demanding information on a traitor. What the fuck was happening here?
There was no obligation for Billy to care. He listened enough to know it was a mess he couldn't get into. He was already neck deep in a bigger one. Another rush of frustration took him, fast and biting. He would run to the Darwin Center, to the other side of the city if he had to. Billy imagined he had the look of a man who would be stopped by nothing. He wanted that look. He wanted anyone who cast their eyes his way to step aside and wordlessly understand. It would be a lot easier than having to say it.
[To here.]
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