(Untitled)

[sgt_cruz]

In storms a very cranky looking New York City Anti-Crime sergeant.  She's dressed in civillian clothes, and really, aside from maybe the gun strapped in its holster, the only evidence she's associated with the police is the ID badge hanging from her neck.

As soon as she realizes she's in a hotel lobby, and not her lieutenant's office, she stops in

Comments

[hugefbiguy]

Smecker looked around exaggeratedly. "It just may be a hotel lobby - " He paused to peer at her badge. " - Sergeant."

[sgt_cruz]

She sneers. "Well, no kiddin'. I can see that. Who're you?"

[hugefbiguy]

"Agent Paul Smecker," he answered with a smirk, flashing his badge.

[sgt_cruz]

Impressed? Pfft. No. Instead, she wrinkles her nose. "So what're the feds doing here, Paul?"

[deathvisions]

Sam had been going over the things he'd seen in this place. Things people had done and the like when he heard the voice he didn't know. Looking up brow eyes looked towards the woman.

"People have dubbed it Hotel California."

[sgt_cruz]

"So, it's a mental institution?" Cruz frowns a bit. Does that mean she's hallucinating? Or insane? What the hell's going on here?!

[deathvisions]

"No. It's a hotel. Okay, have you ever heard the song Hotel California?" He asks. "There's a line in it that goes something like 'Relax said the Nightman we are programmed to recieve. You can check out any time you like but you can never leave.'" He gives a slight shrug. "That about sums this place up."

[sgt_cruz]

"Yeah, I heard about that part. Some fed mentioned it. So what's the deal with this place, anyway? How'd we all end up here?"