Wayward Insane Asylum

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Monica helped Reinier to his feet. His pale features and swaying stance did nothing to ease her worry. She did her best to support his weight as they began to make their way through. The pounding in her head from where it smacked against the floor only now started to affect her.
Monica nearly dropped Reinier when he suddenly shouted directly into her ear. "We'll get it all fixed up. Don't worry. Let's just get you stitched up." Monica spoke calmly coaxing him to the door. She prayed to whatever higher power there was that Reinier would listen. If he freaked out she wasn't sure she could control that by herself. It seemed the doctors didn't care either way. Half of them just watched fights escalate like it was a sitcom. "Please. Let's just go to the infirmary."
 
Ivan's nose audibly snapped as Zack's fist collided with it. Instinctively, the dislocated cartilage and nasal fracture was grabbed at, only to discover that there was also a few hairline fractures along his cheekbone. Two broken noses in one day, a new record! The orderly didn't cuss, he didn't shout. He simply stood with his hand over the bleeding nostrils and mumbled, "Get to the West Wing for your new room." before walking off to get his face looked at. The other staff members gave side glances to Mister Kori, knowing it'd be better to just ignore what he had done. "Whoo!" Shouted an elderly manic patient, laughing their ass off from the hallway where they watched it all happen and began obnoxiously applauding for the shirtless man.

A sigh of relief swept through the room from the staff now that most of the fighting had stopped. A few still had their eyes on Dr. Blake, Elissa, Alice, and Mosaic, while others where watching Caleb and Dr. Vuuren just because they were nosey. Most Orderlies left the room as Dr. Lawrence began escorting Reinier out towards the infirmary to begin assigning and pairing roommates on multiple floors of the West Wing. They had had enough of the sudden outbreak of violence, but they knew more would come in the days to follow the supposedly temporary roommate idea.




The unconscious Cateline had been removed from the playroom not too long after being sedated, her glasses being left behind on the floor. She was likely to be locked away in a padded cell for a punishment of isolation. It would be three days later before her eyes were to be greeted with a harsh light hanging a few feet above her face. "What the hell?" She thought while squinting against the light, trying to sit up to no avail before she realized that her wrists and ankles were strapped down with worn leather restraints. Laying there, she listened for footsteps or anything that might indicate that there was another person in the room, but there was only the quiet sound of Carmen's 'Habanera'. Minutes passed without other noises so she turned her head, attempting to look around the room.

Her vision was blurred since she didn't have her glasses, but she could make out the shapes of a few objects nearby. There was a tray and a chair between the operating table she was laying upon, and another where a corpse lied with its nose removed and eyeballs ripped out. It was just like the one she had seen in the corridor months prior, except this one's ribcage had been broken, the bones vertically protruding from the savagely torn flesh. Her face minimally contorted in disgust at the sight of the body. She continued to look around, spotting a clock above the door that she was unable to read, and a counter holding the radio that was playing. Cateline wasn't aware she had been out cold for three days straight. The memory of the fight between her and Reinier was a little fuzzy, along with the few unclear details of Caleb's face.

Now she was nude from the waist up, her abdomen and chest burning with pain from the wound she was now consciously aware of. Starting just beneath her bust and ending an inch past her navel was a deep slit precisely down the middle of her body. Layers of skin were peeled back and held open by little pins embedded into her sides, revealing a thin layer of muscle tissue. Every breath caused her nerves to shriek in painful pleasure with the sort of subconscious mindset only a masochist would have, but she would never willingly volunteer for such a thing. She pulled at the restraints until her wrists and ankles were red, her skin chaffing under the leather. She'd be damned if she were going to yell for help. In her situation, the chance of someone actually helping her were slim to none. It was more likely that whoever tied her up here would come back to finish their job if she were to be heard.

Since there weren't sounds outside in the halls, she assumed it was past 10PM when everyone would be locked away for the night, but she was on the East Wing between floors 6-12 where silence continuously rung after being evacuated. With no other choice, she relentlessly tugged against her restraints in hopes of dislocating her wrist to slide her hand out. Would she end up like the corpse beside her, or would she be found by someone in her vulnerable state?
 
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Just as Jack began to walk away, Alice made an attempt to grab his shirt. However, Jack moved at the last second as he moved away from the doctor, heading away from the scene of the fight to wherever he was heading. Alice simply looked at her empty hand, her somewhat addled state being confused by the lack of grabbing something. Fortunately, she seemed to have snapped out of her schizophrenic episode. Instead, she took her hand and went straight back to Elissa as though nothing had happened at all.

"Well! That was fun!" She giggled to the other girl. "You did really good back there! Trying to help both of them! hehe, I like you." Alice giggled. "I'm Alice! We're gonna be best friends!" The statement sounded oddly more like a command than a suggestion or a question.

~~~~~~~~~
Chris audibly sighed in relief as Jack walked away. At least he was willing to listen to...ehm, well, reason probably wasn't the correct word here. He looked around the Playroom to see what he had missed, if anything while he was trying to diffuse the situation. It seemed that most of the other patients had left, along with Catelin being dragged out and Rienier being taken to the infirmary by Dr. Lawrence. Speaking of which, he should probably go help Monica with that - He was a doctor technically after all.

"Calm down Riener," he said rushing over to the two, somewhat concerned at the volume Riener was shouting. "Cateline did't do much not something a few stitches can't fix."
 
Caleb looked up at the doctor imploringly. He knew him. Of course he knew him. He knew everybody in this place, of not by name then by the way they smelled, by the way that they touched, he could recall them all in patterns and hues. But Caleb knew, as this doctor looked back at him, that the man did not know him. He had seen the man many times before but the man had never seen him. Caleb felt a tightening in his stomach. This man had never known him. Even though Caleb could recall sitting across from him, a year or so prior, while the man read over his file with a mixture of apart and pity. The man had told him stories of a distant land, about South Africa. Caleb had tried to respond with his own stories of Northern Africa, of the middle east - but the doctor had simply brushed aside his mutterings, and said that they had been the delusions that they were trying to cure the man of. Caleb recalled the way that the doctor had said his now long forgotten, no longer mourned name. "Caleb James Norwill" - the name that the file gave would have sounded familiar on the man's mouth, had he bothered to repeat it. But he hadn't. Because he did not remember Caleb. He could not give a name, because there was no memory of a name to say. There had never been a time when he remembered anything about this small, pale faced creature- had there?

But he had to remember Arthur. How could anybody have forgotten Arthur? Caleb could recall him in perfect detail, the first time he had seen him on the flickering TV screen. Those blue eyes wild with mania, that smile wide with hatred, those cheekbones and that forehead, the sharpness of a chin and nose. All of these were features that were now his. He had become Arthur Prince, and the flickering television set was a mirror that reflected all of his sins. They had called it Operation: Enduring Freedom, and they had put him in charge of a team, a Westpoint graduate with excellent marks in his ability to lead and inspire others. How could they have known that what was on the inside was so flawed, so rotten and sick. They couldn't have known. But now, every person in America knew his face - Arthur Prince's face. He had come out fromt he Special Forces, and on his arm was an emblazoned golden sword, representing his crusade against the evils of the world. His motto was 'to free the oppressed'. And how Arthur had freed the oppressed was simple. Caleb could summarize his philosophy easily - it had become his only light, a beacon of salvation in this dark place.

Caleb's fingers closed on the fabric of Van Vuuren's coat. The mark he left stood out brightly against the fabric. His fingers shook, but his grip was strong. His mother hand went to brush back his sheet of blonde hair. Behind the hair was his face, the face of Arthur Prince. There was no manic eyes, no hate-filled smile, but there was a sharp nose and chin. All of the mania though, that had gone away. They had killed the mania inside of him, but they hadn't been able to kill his pride, or the very nature of the Other. He was still Arthur Prince, golden haired and blue-eyed, who dreamt every waking moment of his life - he had no sleeping ones. As pleasant as it would have been to sleep, to rest, he didn't need to do those things anymore. And it would have been human to do those things. But Arthur wasn't human anymore. He was something else, a medical anomaly - or maybe closer to a god. Behind the sheet of hair was the man who had the first boots down in Afghanistan, during the War on Terror's early days, who had sold the United State's secrets to the terrorists - because it would have freed the oppressed. It was going to set him free.

Arthur Prince looked at Van Vuuren, and his lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. He looked glorious and ruined, half-way between a messiah and a drowned man. He was still deathly thin, but there was somehow strength in him, a light that they could not extinguish- or a darkness. And when he looked at Van Vuuren, he did not look at him as an equal - or look at him in the way that Caleb had, full of fear and dreaming of what the man could provide for him. He looked at him as less than dirt. Like Afghanistan dust and Iraqi blood. But it was only a moment of strength, before Caleb's face slipped back in, the shoulders hunched and the blonde hair slipped back over his face. And when his words came out, they were broken and gravelly - low in the throat. They were not the words of Arthur Prince - a conqueror bent on conquest - they were the words of a small, scared, sad creature,
"I... I don't want to be moved." He mumbled, as if the one moment of strength, the flash of the person he used to be hadn't ever happened at all. "My calendar is in my room. If it goes away..." His hands slipped off of the doctor, and instead wrung his blood-spattered wrists weakly. "I'm gonna disappear too."
 
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Jakobus stared at the creature that stood before him for a moment. He then looked at his sleeve where he had been touched, and saw the red-black stains. Looking back at Caleb, he pulled down his glasses to the tip of his nose for a moment, inching his face closer to him while he did it, then straightening his back and pushing the glasses back up his nose. The broken thing of a man spoke to him with the tone of a child and the voice of a hundred year old man, but the doctor could for the moment think of nothing else than how hideous this...man...was. Thin like a skeleton, dehydrated, bleeding. How can he even be alive? "Why not just bring it with you? You could just request a new one, otherwise."he spoke, his voice charged with indifference. As a final gesture to his statement, he lightly shrugged his shoulders.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Jack entered one of the many - now eerily empty - corridors of the building, walking through it in a brisk, angry pace. He couldn't wait to get back to his room, where he could have his first daily workout, as well as lick the wounds on his pride in solace - something he would probably miss now with this roommate bullshit. Suddenly, he stopped. He put his hands on the sides of his head and groaned. "God fucking dammit, Jack, you have to make a scene all the time, don't you?"said John, before he continued walking down the corridor.

As he walked, he thought about that black-haired woman, she who had intervened in Jack's fight with that little girl. She seemed different from all the others. She was not a doctor, a nurse nor an orderly, yet she seemed...sane. John did not want to spend years in this place alone with two other minds. She did not get a first good impression of him, but if he could just have a proper conversation with her, perhaps he could gain a proper companion, an ally, maybe even a friend. Jill sure could use a friend.

It did not take long for John to reach his room, where he stepped in with a sigh, closing the door behind him and going straight for the bed, where his current book already lay. He sat down on his bed and picked up the book. The covers were dirty and in disarray; Jill had not been around the bed for a while now. Thinking of her, John looked to his left, where Jill's painting and drawing materials were laying on a table, and where her drawings covered the wall, and her paintings leaned against it. The drawings numbered in the hundreds, all pencil-made, depicting faces, animals, beasts, landscapes and abstract depictions of notions and emotions. Most of them very detailed, some deliberately stylized and poor in detail, but all beautiful. The paintings even more so; some colourful and elegant, some dark and powerful, some dripping with purple melancholy - all enveloped in a miasma of emotions and states of mind. As his light blue eyes, adorned with dark rings gained from countless sleepless nights, looked upon these works of art, he found it almost unbelievable that it was his two hands that made all of them. Yet it was not him. It was Jill. He wrote books, and had apparently done it quite well, judging from the money that had appeared in his bank account from the selling of his stories. But those were just words, not at all like Jill's fantastic visualisations. He could not possibly ever be able to do something like that in his lifetime, but Jill could. He was jealous of another personality within himself. The irony was not lost on him. With that, he opened his look, looked to where he was last, and started reading.
 
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Zack grabbed Ivan's shoulder as the orderly walked past. He wasn't going anywhere, oh no. Not until Zack was done with him. The lavender-haired man grabbed Ivan's arm, and his cold eyes started scanning the orderly's face. Zack's permanently neutral expression only served to highlight his ruthlessness. Everyone has a weak point. If not the nose, where was Ivan's? The eyes would be difficult to get at without a weapon. The throat? No, choking him would take too much time, time that Zack most likely didn't have. He needed something quick, something that would make his message clear to this pitiful, inexperienced man. Perhaps the mouth? Ah, yes, that might work. Choking didn't have to happen from the outside, after all.

All this internal planning took place over a few seconds. Zack's meticulously cleaned fingernails bit into Ivan's arm, and the shirtless man's eyes never moved. Without any further hesitation, Zack shoved his free hand firmly down Ivan's throat. No mercy. Only revenge.
 
Caleb wrinkled his nose, his features disappearing under his curtain of white hair. His blue-green eyes seemed to glint with an unknowable light, a distant and forgotten intelligence. He had once been intelligent - thought smart and full of promise. He knew that he, Caleb Norwill, had graduated at the top of his class, and if it hadn't been for the need for so many extracurricular, would have made the honour-roll of his highschool. He knew that he, Arthur Prince, had graduated from Westpoint with honours, and had been loved and well respected by the teachers and instructors there. Westpoint had been grueling. They hadn't taught you more than they forced you they pushed you to lead, and to lead with all of the individuality of yet another cog in the grand military machine. They had excelled at their training, at breeding greatness in already promising boys and girls. They had two-hundred years of practice at it, two-hundred years of taking the raw talents and practiced skills of people and shaping them into something the army could use. When Arthur had graduated, he had sat there for three hours in a stiff military uniform of grey and gold, his close cropped blond hair half-concealed under a hat. He wasn't recognized individually. None of them were. But he remembered the President speaking to all of them. He remembered what that strange little man - with wide-spaced ears and close-spaced eyes had said.

"History has also issued its call to your generation." Arthur felt like the president had looked directly at him with those words, his small eyes gleaming with foresight, base cunning leaking from his tear-ducts. "By confronting evil and lawless regimes, we do not create a problem, we reveal a problem. And we will lead the world in opposing it." Arthur would later say those words to himself, as the helicopter lowered him down into the barren desert, and he stroked the sword emblazoned on his upper bicep. The latin words 'de oppresso liber' were embroidered below the golden sword, and he swore by them every day. Even later, when he would blast the head off of each and every one of his squadmates, truth, justice, and the American way were still throbbing in his heart, and the words that the President had said echoed in-between his ears. "At the end of every day you will know that you have faithfully done your duty." And he did know that. Arthur knew that, Caleb knew that, they all knew that - but the world didn't understand that what Arthur Prince had done was all in the service of the United States of America, one nation, under God. What they saw were the cruel actions of a mad man, driven by... something. Something evil and animal. Intelligence had never entered into the equation. Arthur Prince had not been told that he was intelligent since his senior year of high-school. He was simply told that he was worthy.

He didn't feel worthy or intelligent now, with this man speaking to him like he was a child. Perhaps he thought that Caleb was too broken, and too ruined. He did not seem enough like a man - he was too diminished. Caleb picked at the scabs that had already begun to form on his wrists, and lowered his head. When he did, his eyes and face were hidden once more. He wished that they would have let him dye the damn hair. It made him look too much like the Other. It made him too much like Arthur Prince. His hair had never been white-blonde - when he was a boy, he remembered it being a shade closer to brown. But everything had changed now. He was Arthur and Arthur was him, and his memories were Caleb's. They wouldn't let him dye his hair, and now they were taking away the only thing that made this place have time. Without that calendar, nothing here was real. It was all just one long, self-repeating dream. And despite the fact that Van Vuuren did not recognize him, and that the man didn't seem to have any empathy - only condescension for this small man, this little thing that dared approach him - Caleb was desperate. He needed to feel real. His time here had to have some meaning.
"Please, Doctor Van Vuuren..." He mumbled, addressing the doctor by name. "My calendar was made of..." He grimaced, and pulled at his scabs again, thick red blood trailing down his wrists. This served as an explaination for what the calendar was made of. "I... I have requested things. But..."

Caleb stared down at the floor. He remembered all that he had requested. Books. Newspapers. A real calendar, not made of flesh and bone. Hair dye. A razor to shave with. A notebook. Crossword puzzles. Something to read - anything. But all of his requests were gone. Not denied, not fulfilled - just gone. They had vanished into thin air. And Caleb was vanishing along with them. He had been forgotten. His voice cracked out from behind his rough, split lips.
"They forgot me. For three years. Please. Help."
 
Van Vuuren continued to look at the little man in front of him, actually begging him. He scratched his chin, the rough texture of his stubble scratching against his finger in a strangely satisfying way. "I have worked with twisted."he thought to himself. "I have worked with split, with disturbed, even with gone...but never with broken." With that, the creature swept in a blanket, scabs covering his body and thin, whitened hair covering his face - a pathetic excuse of a human being if he ever saw one - suddenly opened up a new level of thought within the doctor. And all of a sudden, from being annoying and useless in his eyes, this little man was now a thing of fascination. He crossed his arms, putting on a warm smile - the warmth was not genuine, but the gesture served his goal. "Don't worry, I will try to help you as best I can. No one deserves to be forgotten in the dark. If I can get you transferred to my care, I can get you what you need. What is your name?"he asked, again pushing up his glasses, as they had slid down his nose slightly.

This mind, although obviously broken and torn, might reveal interesting things; little diamonds in the dust.
 
Ivan turned into the touch of someone's hand. He wasn't aware it would be Zack pestering him again until he was halfway turned about, first seeing the odd colored hair. "What do you want now? Thought you were desperate to go." He felt the grip on his arm and attempted to shake it free, keeping his palm dutifully over his nose. The sting of fingernails piercing the skin wasn't too painful, but it was bothersome. "Look, kid-" He was cut off by the attempted mouth-rape of Zack's hand, but his mouth wasn't big enough to fit much of it. He gagged nonetheless on about a quarter of the male's palm along with his fingers, nearly regurgitating the eggs and toast he had for breakfast.

The orderly staggered back, coughing up thick saliva while his already bruising eyes watered. "God-" He couldn't talk between his fits of hacking, now doubled over with his free hand on his knee. This kid was out for him. For just putting on a required bracelet though? Jeez. A few other orderlies stepped in, one roughly grabbing Zack from behind as a third tried to fit him into a straitjacket. They had heard the stories of Mr. Kori and tried to be careful around him, unlike Sir Hacks-A-Lot trying to catch his breath.
 
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Monica Lawrence sounded distressed, which was unusual compared to her normally perky tone " Please. Let's just go to the infirmary " she uttered. Reiner began to squirm in discomfort as he was currently being led by the two doctors " St-stitches!? " He repeated what Dr. Blake had cursed upon him, eyes growing wider " Weren't you trying to calm me down!? ". The three Wayward occupants finally escaped the prying eyes of those in the playroom, entering into a nearly deserted hallway. They were all too distracted to notice Zack plunging his hand into the poor oderlies mouth with the intention to go down his throat. Ouch. Their frantic-feet pattered down the hall disrupting the reflections from the beaming lights of the ceiling. They turned a sharp corner, the faster they got to the infirmary the less damage there would be to haunt Reiners face, or so he hoped. Damn I'm going to kill that girl.

They made their way to the beat-up elevator as their situation could be classified as an emergency. A few feet before the trashed old piece of shhh... I mean machine, Reiner jabbed a button which was draped in a scratched-up downward arrow. Judging by the squeaks behind the wall growing louder, Reiner could tell the elevator was close. What a disgusting thing to board, the doors creaked open, and Reiner cringed. As they stepped in he couldn't keep his mind off of the, obviously at one point in time shiny, floor presently covered in a thick layer of scuffs and dirt. The heavy unreliable doors extended out to each other and closed, only then did Reinier feel as though this ride would be a gamble on his life. Reinier was shaking, but not form the OCD. From fear. From growing anger. He really was afraid though. Afraid of the unsymmetrical. But what could have made him like this? what could have carved him into such a demented shape?
 
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Monica nearly cried out in joy that Reinier didn't fight, he just went. She hurried along with him to the elevator. Monica had nothing close to OCD but her disgust at the obviously I cleaned elevator made her face contort in distaste. The pounding in her skull was getting worse but she had to get Reinier fixed up.
Once in the elevator Monica leaned heavily on the back wall as Reinier slammed his finger into the number leading them to the infirmary. Her eyes closed as Monica counted her breathing, just for something to keep her mind off the throbbing. 'These patients will be the death of me.'
The elevator made a soft chime as they reached their floor. Monica opened her eyes and once again wrapped an arm around Reinier to keep him steady as they walked over the broken, dirty hallways of Wayward. "Don't worry about the stitches. My grandma taught me this little mix that will reduce the likelihood of scarring." Actually, Monica had fallen when she was younger and had a long scrape across her jaw. After her grandma coated it in a mix of vitamin E and neosporin it was untraceable.
Monica sat Reinier down on the cleanest chair she could find and grabbed a clean rag, big surprise there, and wet it in cold water and began to clean off the dryig blood that coated the side of his face. "Thanks for coming." Monica said addressing Chris for the first time. She had been so worried about getting Reinier here that she had nearly ignored him.
 
Without missing a beat, Zack jerked his elbow backwards, digging it into the stomach of the orderly behind him. He then attempted to wrestle free of the other attempting to get him in a straitjacket. Anything that restricted his physical movement was...it was just so hideous. It was rare that he felt any fear, but he was certainly coming close, the way things were going. "Just take the wristband off and I'll stop struggling," he hissed.
 
On the main floor, staff waited with the last object for the elevator. They had just gotten off of it and ready to reload the last one when the groaning of cables pulled the thing back up. "Must be an emergency," one of the females muttered. "It better be a damn emergency. I'm ready for a break!" The man who had been rolling these heavy things for the past hour or so was irritable and his arms were sore. "What are these things anyway?" He continued on and pulled up the gray tarp about a few inches before a hand smacked his.

"No, no."
crooned a familiar third voice. "Those are surprises for everyone, we can't have you peeping at them just yet!" The man gave a sheepish, nervous grin. "Oh. I'm sorry, I was just curious after lugging these things around all day." They smiled warmly with authority at the staff members, stroking down the tarp once more before returning to an office nearby. The female coworker who had spoken earlier rolled her eyes once their back was turned then watched the numbers above the elevator doors. Each one lit up as the car passed certain floors, finally pausing on five. The brakes squeaked loud enough for them to hear before descending a single floor below, the number 4 lighting up as the brakes squealed once more.

The Orderly who had been hit in the gut cringed forward from the blow as the third, a shorter man with green eyes, wrapped the straitjacket around Zack despite not getting his arms in. "Nurse!" Ivan had slightly recovered, yelling for help despite the pain it caused his sore throat. If anything, they were going to need someone to sedate the patient before properly getting that thing on him. "Nurse!" He called out again before coughing some more. Damn kid. He sure liked making things harder on himself. They had ignored his statement. It was already explained why the patients needed it, so they weren't going to add on the work of re-educating someone. The second Orderly tightly buckled a few of the straps to try and restrain his arms as a nurse hurried down the hall in light pink scrubs, a glass syringe with sedatives in hand. She stopped a foot short as the Orderlies struggled with him. There was no way she was going to get near him unless they had Zack a bit more secure.
 
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Caleb blinked at the man. He saw him. He saw him, but he didn't know him, he recognized him as a fellow human being - but he wasn't. He was something else, something pathetic and small that was not worth living in this world, but also something that could not be killed, and more importantly, would not be killed by any mortal man. He was something immortal and ancient, despite the fact that he was only thirty something years old. Was he even that old? He could not remember his age, despite having made marks on the wall, in order to try to categorize his time here, in order to try to ensure that he survived, that he was in his proper place, and that he was alive and real. But real was so far away. It seemed though, that Van Vuuren recognized him as a person, as a something. He was real and tangible to the doctor's eyes, and that gave his life renewed purpose and meaning. It almost made him happy - but happiness was just as far away as reality, if not farther away. He was never happy. He was content - he could be appeased, but he was never happy. Happy was for somebody else. Happiness was for July 4th fireworks and American dreams. It was for Mission Accomplished strung between war-ships, it wasn't meant for grey-walled asylums. It wasn't meant for the insane. And so, it wasn't meant for Caleb Norwill.

Caleb Norwill looked back at Van Vuuren - but the more appropriate term would be looked through him. He looked beyond him into something else. He saw the Other behind him, standing confidently and smiling, and his teeth were suddenly everywhere, filling the room. The teeth became a beach, fractured molars that a sea-tide washed up against. The waves were the colour of freshly spilt blood. Arthur Prince stood at the prow of a boat-without a bottom, and his eyes were filled with smiles. His blonde hair - shortly shorn, standing up like feathers on his head, moved in a stray breeze. Caleb approached him, and he could smell sea and surf filling his nose. There was a horse's body strewn on the beach, the organs pulled out and the viscera tangled around the hull of the boat, lashing it to the jawline of the shore. Arthur smiled at Caleb, and reached out a hand to him. His fingers were white and manicured - the fingertips were not rotten away like Caleb's. His wrists were clean and clear of scars. From him, Caleb could smell something, wet ashes and forgotten forest fires. He had gone three years without sight, but he could see this, he could see the boat on the shore, he could see his Other - and in his boat without a bottom he could hear the voices of a thousand different sea creatures who had risen up from the depths to sing him a song of worthiness. Worthy, worthy, worthy. He was worthy. He had been chosen. The President had said so.

Caleb reached out his hand to touch Arthur's, and when they touched, there was an unbearable sense of coldness that slithered up his spine, resulting in a spark of pain between his temples. He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his hand was on Van Vuuren's elbow, grasping the protrusion of the joint like it was the only thing keeping him from drowning. Perhaps it was - but such things were not things that Caleb could speculate on. He swallowed again. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, a putrefaction. His teeth hadn't rotted yet, but there was something sick inside of him. He suspected that he was rotting from the inside out, and by this time in three years, his exterior would be as ruined as his interior. He was filled with cancers and tumours, and this infection was not simply of the flesh, it was something poisonous and wrong to the very core of his being. But maybe, just maybe, this strange foreign doctor could help him. Maybe there would finally be peace in his head. He found himself, strangely, absurdly, and wrongly, filled with hope. This small, sad patient smiled in the smallest, most fractured of ways, but the broken and scared smile did not last.

Names, names, names. They always wanted names. And he could never remember his. 'Caleb' didn't belong to him - it belonged to somebody else, who had died on an operating table in Thailand. Or was it Hong Kong? He couldn't recall. But they had died cloaked in blood and gore, and Caleb was not that person. But he wasn't Arthur Prince either. Arthur had died in a firefight, with bullets ripping through lungs and shoulders. The entire United States had celebrated his death, just like they would celebrate the death of Saddam Hussein, or Osama Bin Laden. The traitor Prince was dead, and so the man who stood before Van Vuuren was a ghost. Unreal, and unknowable. He had no name. But he had told the girl he was Caleb, hadn't he? He supposed that was right. But was it really? He wouldn't want to mislead his new ally in his crusade against evil. That would not have been worthy of him. He did not want to lie.

And so he reached to tug at the bracelet around his wrist.
"Eight-three-ninety-eight." He said mechanically. His tone was utterly flat, deprived of emotion of guidance. Caleb's voice was as hollow and empty as the interior of his chest cavity, where there were no lungs, and no air either. Just blood and dead memories. "I... I think I was somebody." He mumbled. "Once."
 
Chris followed Monica silently, helping her carry Reiner towards the infirmary. Perhaps mentioning the word 'scar' wasn't the brightest of ideas and wouldn't be good for his health in the long run. Still, he had a job to do and he would. The elevator ride was easy enough. Thankfully the patient wasn't struggling much which was a huge help. Otherwise he'd have to sedate him and carry him. It didn't take them long to reach the Infirmary after the elevator ride. He let Monica set Renier down and went to get some medical supplies from the cabinet.

"Don't worry about it. It's my job." He replied to Monica after she had addressed him. "And not yours." He said, grabbing her wrist to prevent her from further touching the wound. "I need you to step back and let me do my work please." Chris held a syringe in one of his hands, filled with a liquid. "I need to apply a local anesthetic to prevent further pain. Then I can go about cleaning the wound and putting the stitches in."
 
"Oh sorry." Monica mumbled and stepped back. "My last job was personal care." Monica had to to do everything for her charge and it would take a while to break some habits.
Monica sat in a chair near the pair. She rubbed her temples with a sigh as she watched Chris clean and stitch Reiner back up.
 
At the sight of the pointed drug-filled needle that would render him unconsious, Reiner shuddered. " Don't worry about it. It's my job " Doctor Blake pushed Monica away with his words " And not yours " her facial expression looked confused and slightly disappointed, she just wanted to help after all." Oh sorry " She seemed to have a pattern of apologizing for most things, Reiner wondered why she sometimes thought so poorly of herself. " What if I don't need stitches... " he muttered, his tone deprived of hope " Isn't the scar from that things fangs enough... " He didn't expect to get an answer. Reiner's cheek was still excreting blood but its flow wasn't as intense. You could finally see the teeth marks, previously unrecognizable while drenched in the contents of his veins, from the small daggers that resided beneath Catelines lips.

The infirmary's curtains harbored a boy, his face had been cursed, he lay on the clean-looking white surface of a hospital sheet yet he didn't appreciate the large noticeable ruffles of the ivory cloth that surrounded him. In his own bed there wouldn't be a speck of dust or even the slightest chance of his blanket rippling, his bed was tucked in very firmly. He remembered his cot-making hour-long procedure, meant for keeping his sleeping area up to 'standard'. Unfortunately Reiner was here, in these walls full of cures and diseases, being mocked by a loose beds overlay. Reiner couldn't feel much pain, but he also couldn't feel much comfort, therefore having a rigid lump of sheets to sleep on wasn't a problem. As for his pain tolerance, he felt it was a bonus most of the time, other than the odd 'him-not-realizing-a-needle-had-been-driven-into-his-shoulder' situations, it was great. He grew drowsy, the world around him drifted from slight blur to pitch black.
 
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Elissa Kay LaCroix
Number 6313; The Six-Faced


Elissa's eyes continued to dart back and forth, watching and waiting. The tension between the two patients was electric and for awhile she second-guessed her nerve. With Orderlies swarming them she had to ask if she should have gotten in the middle of this. Movement in the corner of her eyes caught her attention as a doctor made his way over to the group. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in the form of a sigh when the white-coat finally stepped in to intervene. The man who stepped forth was decently young-looking, with a fairly tall build and light brown hair that was combed back to sit out of his face. Though he still retained a decent amount of youth there was a mild fatigue in his eyes.


The doctor turned to, who appeared to be the greater threat,
"Alright, that's enough." He stated to the enraged male. "Walk away sir. Neither of us wants me to have to sedate you and put you under and recommend me putting you in a straight jacket. You are also making some of the other patients...uncomfortable"
Elissa watched the man talk to the violent character until a small sigh caught her attention. Elissa glanced over and down to see the petite girl pouting slightly. The child turned her gaze over toward her and Eli blinked one in surprise, "Will you be my toy since Mr. Grumpy is getting in trouble."
Two bright eyes staring up at her brimming with something long the lines of hope.


Elissa opened her mouth to reply with a small 'no' and a shake of her head, but the word was lodged in her throat as she looked at her. The little imp from before seemed to have vanished. The look the girl gave her made it difficult to reject her. She looked away, "I......"
The girl pursed her lips, trying to think of a way to get out of this one. To be honest she didn't fancy the idea of being a toy, that implied she was a possession and that she could be thrown away when she got boring. The girls silver-grey irises glanced back over at Mosaic and she sighed. The 'yes' lodged itself in her throat as well, finally she forced a response, "...H-How about I'll be your friend instead? Is that alright?"

She suggested with a slight smile, up until now she'd been avoiding making friends due to her current... circumstances... but this seemed like an option would most likely not cause the girls imp to come back out in a moment of rage, while also not giving her the idea that she owned her.
"If I see that little shit again..." The males snarling voice interrupted her thought process, Elissa's gaze was torn for the girl as she watched the man, "And you don't make sure she stays the fuck out of my way, I will knock her fucking lights out."
With that he turned and began to stalk away, with a final glance over his shoulder a glare bore into her. She narrowed her eyes at him and her turned away and walked on, shoving people who got in his way aside. The cute red haired girl from before seemed to have arrived on the scene in time to make a swipe at the boys shirt, but to no avail.


Elissa's focus remained on the dark blonde boy, and when the door closed behind his retreating figure her eyes lingered on the exit for a few more short moments before wandering away. The roux, who seemed to have snapped out of her moment of prolonged confusion, walked directly over the Elissa and the small girl with cropped black locks of her own.

"Well! That was fun!" She giggled to the other girl. Elissa gave her a weak smile of recognition, wondering what her definition of a bad time would be if this was fun, "You did really good back there! Trying to help both of them! hehe, I like you."
The girl blinked once in surprise, and a small surge of pride welled up within her.


Though the red girl giggled about it the weight of her words struck a feeling of happiness that Eli had all but forgotten about as of late. "I'm Alice! We're gonna be best friends!"
Eli paused a moment, the 'gonna' in her statement and the way she said it especially caught her attention. For some reason she knew she shouldn't bother trying to object to that proposition... Even though this Alice girl was all smiles, bubblegum and rainbows Elissa could swear there was something sinister about the way she'd spoken. In any case, it was written off as a delusion and forgotten momentarily, "It's nice to meet you, Alice"


Elissa glanced between the two girls. Two friends in one day, she had to wonder if this was a sign of things getting better... or so much worse...

 
"But that means I have to share." Mosaic stared up at the girl who suggested friendship. She'd never had one before, mostly because Mosaic didn't like when her "friends" played with anyone else. They were her friends. No one else's.
Seeing as she had no way of making Elissa be her "toy" as Mosaic out it, she would have to deal with friend. Mosaic's pout faded as Alice popped over. No words were said to the bubbly girl as the red head and Elissa talked. Mosaic simply stared at her with an expressionless face. And then she said it. Alice said her and Elissa were gonna be best friends and the tone showed no question about it.
Mosaic reached up and held Elissa's hand. She had a small frown glittering her features as her blue and green eyes stayed on Alice. She had to share with this red headed girl and Mosaic wasn't too fond of that. Tugging on Alice's hand she looked up at the dark haired girl. "I wanna go play."
----------------------------
Monica had taken two aspirin to calm down the ache in her head. Maybe she would get Chris to check for a concussion once all the patients were away. Things were a little foggy but not to the point that disoriented her.
Once Reinier was stitched up and placed in a bed. Monica dabbed vitamin e and neosporin over his stitches. She sighed softly as she cleaned off her hands.
Stepping back out to the main room Monica sat down. "Are you going to stay with him or would you like to return to the play room incase anyone else needs your help? I think that little girl with the two colored eyes might need looked at. I think Jack broke her nose." Monica sighed shaking her head addressing John by his other personality. One time she hadn't and Jack nearly ripped her a new one.
 
"Nice to meet you too! I think I already said that, but I'll say it again!" Alice replied with a smile, not seeming to notice Mosaic. Today was turning out really well! First she was going to have a hopefully nice roommate, and now she had made a new friend who also like to help people! Maybe her time in the Asylum was finally going to be turning better. Of course, she was already fairly happy here, she just hadn't met anyone else who also wanted to help someone aside from the doctors, who tended to be all business except for Vurren.

"I wanna go play."

Alice was just now seeming to acknowledge Mosaic's presence. The redhead looked at the girl with a smile. "Hehe! We should go do something fun!" Alice giggled, seeming to immediately assume Mosaic was also a new friend of hers.

~~~~~~~~
Chris injected the needle near Reiner's wound, the anesthetic quickly taking effect and numbing the wound and the area around it. He then set about cleaning it with a solution designed to kill bacteria and hopefully prevent infection. The cleaning was probably the easiest part of putting stitches in someone, and it didn't take long for him to finish. Next, came the hard part. "Not gonna lie. This might hurt a bit." He said readying a needle, preparing to get to work on the wound.

Thankfully, Renier was co-operative and didn't put up much resistance and the procedure was done fairly quickly. Christopher but a bandage over the fresh stitches and was done.
"Alright, done. Rest here a bit if you want, otherwise, you're done here." He gruffly stated to Renier and left him laying on one of the beds.

"I'm going to be staying here." Chris began in response to her question. "Aside from taking care of a few things, I need to make sure I have plenty of medical supplies here. I don't think this roommate thing is going to go over so well. These two little incidents today is more than enough evidence of that. Bring that girl here if you want and I'll see what I can do, otherwise I've got paperwork and other things to take care of."
 
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