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Daycycle 105 [ August 28 - September 03]

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

Early Morning [0800 - 0900] — All Troubleshooters Report for Duty
Felicity Smoak and Natasha Romanoff, have been selected for today’s mission. Details are below:

‘In order to help us improve our combat simulators, you will need to run through any combat situation you encounter at least three times. On the second pass through, engage the combat at a greater range than originally. On the third pass through, attempt it at a much closer range. You will provide tactical notes to our staff afterwards. If the simulators catch fire, or fail to respond to override commands... note that too. The eggheads were supposed to have fixed that.’

Please debrief the computer on the status of your mission by the end of the Daycycle here.

Morning & Afternoon [0900 - 1600] — Service Firm Positions
All Troubleshooters not assigned a mission should report to their Service Firm for their daily duties, unless specifically assigned a different shift.

Evening [1600 - 2200] — Citizen Improvement
All Alpha citizens are encouraged to better themselves through Alpha’s wide variety of educational, entertainment and cultural opportunities offered each evening. Attending these sanctioned events are not mandatory, but is highly encouraged by The Computer. Citizens choosing not to take advantage of these opportunities, have a growing number of other options available to them in how to spend their hard earned credits and free time.

Tonight’s event will be at 1700 in Hangar 15, Armed Forces Sector and will be hosted by the Alpha Complex Dogeball Association. Join us for a game of Alpha Dodgeball! All clearance levels above INFRARED welcome.

Alpha Curfew Restrictions
All Alpha citizens should be in their quarters within the Wagon Wheel by 2200, unless they’ve been given permission from a GREEN or higher clearance level citizen. Sleeping Aid gas is dispelled each night in the Wagon Wheel at 2200 to assist citizens in getting a productive sleeping period.

Confession Booths
There are hundreds of confession booths available around Alpha Complex if a citizen would like to communicate directly with the computer. Please use these confession booths to report mission statuses, report treason or terrorist acts, unregistered mutants, confess your trespasses against Alpha Complex, request propaganda or speak with Your Friend, The Computer, at any time.

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Ronan doesn't bother to argue with Adam. He feels like shit and he's grateful that Adam isn't trying to administer any drugs despite how crappy he feels. He notices the way that Adam's eyes glance off him in that way that they used to. It bothers him far more than any of the injuries he's incurred in the ring the past few nights.

"Look at me, Parrish. This isn't the worst I've been beat up. Hell, this isn't the worst you've been beat up."

Might as well put that out there.

"I'll be fine after a couple of days."

Derek gives a little shrug. "Who cares?" he asks. He doesn't, anyway. Whatever they're doing with this place is of absolutely no interest to him so long as no one comes in after them to start working on it right this second. That's all Derek cares about at the moment.

It takes Stiles a moment to respond and Derek waits patiently because to do anything else would be shooting himself in the foot. Nobody's making Stiles help him, nobody's paying him; Derek can't compensate him in any way, so if he gives Stiles a reason to change his mind, then this is all he's going to get out of it which, so far, is nothing beyond the fact that Stiles is a real person and he knows who Derek is.

The question takes him a little off guard but he shrugs. "I don't know, I don't have a mirror, but if I did, it would be on my back," he says. Suddenly, he turns with his back to Stiles, unbuttoning his jumpsuit a little ways and shrugging the top half of it off. "Do I? Is it a...trisk...ele? Triskellion? Something like that?"

If she offers, Stiles will take her up on it, even if he's better at some sports over others. The only sport he really cares enough to be competitive at is lacrosse.

In his opinion, having more of them around here will go better. They won't have to be like the bestest buddies, just be willing to help each other out a bit. Of course, Buffy gets bonus points for the references.

If they existed, those forms would have to be electronic anyway - like everything else the Computer oversees. That Buffy's able to laugh it off is good, probably. He wouldn't begin to guess at just how much of that humor is a coping mechanism. You'll need them, in this place.

He nods, it would have been ice, or the medics. And the latter would have been overkill. "Depends on how you view getting locked in a crowded elevator for hours." He shrugs. It had been tense and uncomfortable. Some guy he had never talked to before had ended up in tears while the elevator car got hotter and stuffier - but having enough air hadn't been an issue.

"We got off easy compared to other people, we just had to play sardines to sounds that filtered out through the doors." They'd all gotten off at the first floor the doors opened onto though, when the power had come back. If the stairs had been an option for all of them, they would have kept to those after.

"Yeah, we get it," Natasha responds with a lazy drag in her voice, and the amused smile she gives is still tainted a little with concern. The idea of Steve being compromised isn't just worrisome, it's downright scary. The possibility of challenging his version of reality is very real, and Natasha knows well enough to know that challenging a man like Steve Rogers is a bad move, no matter how agile she is. "You're old. I'm already trying to figure out what kind of dental plans they have here just in case your dentures get lost overnight.”

The way that Steve looks away from her when she responds is strange, and she can’t tell if he looks betrayed because of her or because no one told him that she had arrived. Either way it’s concerning, because Natasha doesn’t know just how much trust he expects out of this very tyrannical system that they’ve been thrown into. For him to expect trust out of something that would take them against their own will just feeds into her fear that he’s been lost to the conditioning process, and that’s terrifying. Taking on The Winter Soldier was hard enough with a supersolider on her team, but if Steve is lost to The Computer, there’s no way she’s going to be able to get him back. He’s dangerous. And thinking of him in such a way hurts her in ways she doesn’t want to think about.

So instead Natasha decides that he looks betrayed because of her, and although that doesn’t feel much better, it feels safer. “She knows how to shoot a gun without blowing her own foot off now, if that counts,” she responds with a half shrug and a passive tilt of her head toward the same shoulder. However, after hearing that he’s been in this place for three months Steve manages to shock Natasha out of her defensive stance, her arms dropping to her sides and her eyes worrying with concern for him that she can’t help but let rise to the surface, even if for only a moment. “Three months? You’ve been here for three months?” And he’s fine. Of course he’s fine, he’s Steve, but that doesn’t make her feel any better. It doesn’t make her worry any less. She hates him a little, for that; the fact that he manages to make her worry.

He’s moving, and summoning her to follow him, something that she’s not sure she wants to do just yet. What are her options? Go with him into the unknown, or betray the fact that she’s not certain she can trust him, a hidden thought that may be her only protection from him now due to his obvious outranking of her. She wants to be cautious, but this is Steve, and Natasha can’t help but nod and follow, hoping for the best. It’s irrational to think him different from anyone else in this place, because he’s just as susceptible as she is to being conditioned, perhaps even more so due to Natasha’s extensive training. She’s lucky – lucky being a loaded word – because she knows how to put up mental defenses against such a thing, but that’s not fool proof. The idea of someone staying here for three months and managing to get to GREEN clearance without being tainted in some way is unrealistic, but… it’s Steve. Despite the probabilities and numbers, there’s still a part of her that believes him to be strong enough, although to expect that out of anyone would be unfair. He’s good, she’s seen that in everything that he’s done, and if anyone can make Natasha doubt all logic in favor of absurd optimism based on nothing more than ones character, it’s Steve.

She steps into the elevator with him, shoulders tense as if prepared for the unpreparable. He knows her. He knows that she most likely got through conditioning without the intended effects of it, and if he wants to act upon that he can. Her eyes survey the elevator as the doors close; small space, nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. The best she could do if he came at her was get low and hope for the best, get behind him and on his back until the doors open again to give her an escape. Ceiling looks solid. Walls are solid. Here chances aren’t good.

But he doesn’t do that, and she waits for the doors to open so he can lead the way with her close in tow. “I never thought green was really your color,” she remarks conversationally, but the look in her eyes as she glances up at him says more with suspicion and concern. Who is he? Who is he really? “You gonna tell me where we’re going? You know I hate surprises.”

Felicity’s acknowledgement of her size prompts an actual smile out of Natasha this time and she nods with approval. “That’s right. Don’t worry, your size is an advantage. Looks like blondie knows a thing or two after all, huh?” She waits for the woman to take the metallic arm and at her comment Natasha’s smile is paired with an expression of amused interest, her body moving to stand beside Felicity so that her back is facing the wall. It isn’t until the doors open and the droids step in that she responds, though, her smile quickly fading when she realizes that they’re moving into position much faster than the previous two waves. “I’m starting to think that I should have just picked up knitting.”

And it begins. Their eyes light up and Natasha swears under her breath when she realizes that she was right, these are definitely faster, and that puts a kink in her plan to take them both down before either got to Felicity in the first place. They start moving forward and Natasha’s tactic changes with the situation, steps echoing in the chamber as she sprints in their direction instead of allowing them to meet her halfway across the room. When she’s gathered enough speed she drops, allowing herself to slide across the floor with her leg out and elbow down to steer herself in an effort to knock one off of it’s feet. Her heel collides with a metal femur and… nothing. She’s pretty sure that it wobbled a bit but that might have been in her head to make herself feel a little better.

The droid bends swiftly to grab her and she barely manages to roll to her side out of it’s way in time, moving until she’s flat on her back so she can wrap her legs around a steel joint that worked as the droids knee. She pulls with enough force to make it trip, but she aims it for the other droid, who’s already making it’s way in Felicity’s direction. They collide and it’s a momentary distraction as they untangle their limbs, but neither fall completely and Natasha informs her temporary partner of what she’s learned. “They’re heavier! Which means they hit harder.” It should also mean that they move slower, but it looks as if the first two rounds were just teasers with obsolete technology to the main event.

As soon as she’s on her feet again she’s running, this time using her momentum to toss herself in the air with her hands planting firmly on the droids shoulders. She hoists herself up until she can wrap her legs around it’s neck, but the attachment is too solid; she can’t snap it. She does the next best thing and grabs the optical lenses from it’s face, effectively tearing out it’s eyes in a mess of wires. It reaches up to try and tear her off, automated fingers digging into her thighs where she knows bruises will be left, and Natasha quickly realizes that Felicity is going to have to survive for a minute longer on her own than Natasha originally wanted. This was a lot easier in Sokovia when she had Steve’s shield to borrow.

It’s dangerous but she doesn’t have much of a choice, not with another person in the room. When she feels it finally loosening her grip Natasha grabs her blaster from the holster and pushes the barrel directly against the back of the droids head before pulling the trigger, it’s face exploding out in small pieces as it immediately falls. She jumps and lands with a roll, trying to take as little damage as possible from the loss of height without letting the thing fall on her. “Felicity,” she says the woman’s name loudly in the process of getting back onto her feet and running, refusing to allow herself to fall still for even a moment as she tries to see what’s going on. She can’t, not with the second droids back facing her and Felicity on the other side of it, so Natasha dives in quick thought and grabs onto one of it’s legs, pulling with all f her strength to make it go down. Or at least distract it. Either would be good, in her opinion.

Well, she'd rather have people she likes and can trust on her team than people she doesn't know. Stiles is quickly joining the circle of people she likes and trusts here.

No, but she does genuinely hope that Stiles will become a friend.

True enough and that's kind of weird. She still remembers when Giles was complaining about everything going digital. Now it's common place even in her world. Humor is a major coping mechanism for Buffy. She thinks maybe it is for Stiles as well, but that could simply be because she's used to humor as a coping mechanism.

Hospitals of any kind have never been high on her list of places to go. She winces a little. "You had it way worse than I did." She's claustrophobic and she knows that despite realizing (hoping) that reason she's claustrophobic is an actual glitch. No one wants to wake up in their own coffin buried six feet under only to have to claw their way out of their own grave.

The elevators might be Buffy's least favorite thing here. They're pretty high on the list in any case. In fact, all of the confined places here make her a little itchy.

If he weren't so upset over this whole ordeal, he might have actually flinched at the comment about his own history with being beat up. As it is, there's just a slight twinge beneath the surface that no one can see and only he can feel.

Adam has to look at Ronan to tend to the cuts on his face. He never really looks into his eyes though. His hands, elegant even in their dirtiness, mechanically tend the wounds with well-practiced precision.

"Do you have to keep doing this?" He asks.

He's trying to show Adam how okay he is, trying to comfort him.

"Parrish...come on, look at me," Ronan says in a quiet voice that's more distressed than usual.

"if we want gas masks so we don't have to go to bed when they tell us to, I do."

They can get so much more done at night when everyone else is asleep.

Pure, unmitigated rage filled him as he took in her wince. Whatever it was she'd been through had been enough to hurt her. He hadn't had a good opinion of this place since the moment he opened his eyes and realized he wasn't home, but this just cemented that opinion. The only system he knew of that took untrained people and put them into that kind of situation was the draft and even then, they'd usually had some rudimentary training before being sent out.

He wanted...he wanted to take off her shirt and see the extent of the damages. But that would probably get him a stern look unless her injuries were severe enough that she actually needed someone to look at them. But he still wanted to. He did have to admit that he found it a little unusual that she'd run up to him and hugged him, but he knew she still loved him. She just didn't trust him in the same way she had before.

Still, he was there and he took advantage of her shock to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly.

"I just got in last night. I saw Barry for the first time this morning."

The last thing they needed was to start blaming each other for assumed slights. If they were going to survive this, they were going to do it together. Felicity had taught him that. And Barry.

He tucked his chin against her head. "How long have you been here? How long have you been going on these missions?"

Buffy makes a good point there - in terms of people Stiles would actually seek out in the City, she's one of them.

It had felt like paper office work would never really go away, and though digitization existed, there were times when a both versions would be required in order to satisfy all the different groups and workers involved. And yeah, humor and sarcasm - his only defense. He can't remember a time when he hadn't used it.

Stiles gives her an assessing look. "Matter of perspective?" he offers. He's not going to guess at which part of being trapped in a dark, powerless elevator is making her uncomfortable - there's only so many to choose from.

"I wasn't exactly in a position to get hurt, so it worked out well enough."

"Uh, just because the place is like this now, doesn't mean it'll be in the future - what if I want to come back? What if you want to come back? Though yeah, that doesn't really matter now," Stiles frowns briefly, looking up at the rafters.

That's not exactly true, the fact that Stiles had recognized Derek already meant he wouldn't have let this go; the mystery of it would have gnawed at him.

Well, that solves that problem, Stiles thinks. It's direct, and to the point, even if he felt like he should be rolling his eyes over it. "There's spirals linked together," he confirms, he doesn't really care for tattoos. "Does that fit with what you're calling a triskele?" Because he also remembers another shape, one that's more triangular, sharper.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. He'd heard part of the conversation with Barry, at least the beginning. Or maybe he hadn't, but he had to have associated the name with the face somehow. It also implied that he was Oliver's roommate, which meant that he was one of two people.

"Then you must be either Adam or Ronan." He'd checked the list and had slipped inside his own room, but he'd also left as soon as the imposed curfew was over. He hadn't spared any time to That was going to have to be one of the first things he looked into. He needed a way around that.

But first, introducing himself to his roommate and figuring out whether the staring was simply considering the roommate who hadn't been there the day before or something else. He didn't look particularly scary, but appearances could be deceiving.

He held out his hand. "Oliver Queen. Sorry I didn't introduce myself last night. I was a bit...disoriented."

Oliver was torn between asking any number of questions, but there was one question that was topmost in priority. "How safe is she in one of these missions?" He was preparing himself for any number of answers. He wanted it to be completely safe, but he was suspecting otherwise. Any place that had cameras everywhere was suspicious and one that had cameras that had been circumvented was dangerous.

"I don't suppose there's any way to get her out of them? Volunteer in her place?" He was sure that she hadn't signed up for it, which meant that these missions were mandatory and either assigned randomly or predetermined.

He had other questions, too. So many questions. Who was 'he', were they where the computer said they were, if they weren't, what was being done to get them out. He wasn't sure what to ask if they were where they were told they were. It was a novel situation and one he would only face when he had to face it. He preferred having some kind of hope.

Roling his eyes, Derek shrugs. "There's like six hundred of these places around here, Stiles, if they use this one, we just find another. It can't be that hard," he says, sounding a lot more sure about it than he actually is. The fact of the matter is that he has no idea whether they'll be able to find another place if they need one in the future. He hasn't had much of a chance to look around enough to have a stance on that.

"Three, right?" Derek asks as he gets the jumpsuit back on and turns back to face Stiles again. "Three spirals that sort of meet in the middle. Right?"

That's something, isn't it? The fact that the symbol he remembers from the glitch is actually on his body, still. That has to mean something, right, that has to mean that there's more to the glitches than a hiccup in a system somewhere.

Stiles gives Derek the side-eye, he does not share that certainty. "Somewhere new every time?" he asks. They would run out of spaces one day, even if all of them were usable.

"Yep," he says. "They all turn the same way too." He wouldn't try to draw it out - he doesn't have a pen, for one, and two, getting it to look right could be a challenge. "It's not the only time I've seen it either - the symbol, not your tattoo." He shrugs, he isn't really clear if it actually means anything, just that it's an important symbol for the Hales. Like a family sigil.

Just five days ago, the two of them had been traveling the world together, wrapped up in each other's arms day and night, and then suddenly, Felicity had woken up from that fairytale and was told that it had been a dream. It had been a glitch. She'd questioned herself during that painful orientation, trying to figure out if any of it had been real. If Oliver had been real. But ultimately, Felicity had always known that she wouldn't be able to accept what the Computer was trying to sell her as truth. She'd loved too deeply and hurt too strongly for it all to be fake.

So right now, when Felicity feels his arms wrap around her, for a second, her lower lip trembles. She's kept her head high for five consecutive days — acting stronger and tougher than she thought she ever could be in a world like this. She's had her guard up, trying to adjust, while also trying to make sure this place doesn't change the person she really is. But despite her best efforts, there has never been a minute here when Felicity felt truly safe. Until now.

She feels the tiny prickle of his chin against her forehead and the reassuring pressure of his arms around her body, and all Felicity can think about is how much she feels at home when she's with him. She loves Oliver so much that it hurts and she means to answer his questions — she really does. But instead, she tilts her head up and nuzzles her way past his neck and his chin, her nose brushing lightly over his cheek until her lips finds his.

"I doubt we'll always have to find a new place each time. Some of them are bound to be abandoned for a while," he points out. There's only so much man power, after all, right?

He nods at Stiles's description as he finishes buttoning up the jumpsuit again. "Yeah. ...my sister and I got them after the fire," he says experimentally, giving Stiles a wary look as if to ask if any of that rings a bell. "It's not the only place I've seen it either. I remember it even when I was a kid," he adds, and it feels strange to sound like he believes it because he's been fighting it since he woke up here. He pauses.

"I remember going to the tattoo parlor. I remember my sister taking a blowtorch to my back when we got home, but that's crazy, right?" He pauses again. "...or no?" Because the healing thing.

Steve didn't waste any time after he got Morgana's message.

When he showed up at her door, he doesn't ask what's wrong. Whatever it was, it could wait until they were in his room and Morgana finally has a moment of privacy. So instead, Steve smiled gently, as he offered his arm and escorted her up to GREEN.

She's seen his room two days ago when she and Lydia were here making food for Dick's surprise party. It was more space than any of the lower ranks got to themselves, but Steve had barely made it his own. Standard furniture, sparse belongings. If she really investigated, there was a robot he'd powered down and put in the closet.

"It's been a real ... learning experience," he said, smiling as he shook his head. "Please, sit." Steve made his way to the kitchen, getting them both a glass of water and setting it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. When they're both seated, Steve folds his hands together and rests his arms on his knees. When he looks at her, there's a hint of concern in his eyes. "Hey, tell me what's going on."

Edited 2016-09-07 14:07 (UTC)

"Glitching, yes." His tone didn't give off a hint of whether or not he agreed with that sentiment. If and only if he was a clone, he was still a clone of Oliver Queen. And to him, though he wasn't a scientist, it didn't make sense that a clone of a person could carry the memories of that person. But it was possible he was wrong and he was sure there were people here who could successfully argue with him, so he wasn't going to say definitively that it couldn't happen. But either way, his memories weren't glitches.

"You're one of my roommates." He'd checked the list earlier and so he knew the names of them both, even if he'd never actually met them last night. Now that he knew that he knew people, he would have preferred rooming with one of them, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"They..." Slightest hesitation. "Woke me up last night. I just slipped in and went straight to bed after my tour."

The quiet as Steve moved around his room was easy to her in the way that quiet rarely was. Though she joked that he was a blond pretty boy like Arthur, with more muscles than sense, she found herself thinking about him more like she thought about Guinevere back home. The quiet readiness, the willingness to be a comfort, the sly, dry humour that could be poked out of him but wasn't always obvious to people who didn't know him.

Even the way he walked, though if you put them side by side their stride would surely differ, reminded her of Gwen just the same. She sat, automatically going to smooth her skirts under her and only finding the rough linen of her jumpsuit. Morgana felt stiff and straight even against the relative comfort of the sofa, which was surely nicer than her bed and yet she sat almost as if she were sitting on nails as she looked to Steve and listened to the soothing timbre of his voice.

Twisting her hands in her lap, she shrugged.

'Bit of this... bit of that.' she began, wondering where she was supposed to really start with any of it. How was she supposed to twist all her feelings into simply explainable sentences without letting them overcome her? Perhaps the only thing Arthur wasn't wrong about when he tormented and dismissed her was the fact she was too emotional and Alpha Complex was no place for that.

'I.' she began again, only to pause so she could take a deep breath. 'Do you remember when I spoke of home, I must have told you about my dreams I used to have?' that was an easier topic to begin on than some new girl basically accused me of lying and not existing all at once. Admittedly, this topic was closer to treason than the latter, but what was a little treason between friends?

'I think they're coming back.'

He inhaled sharply and his fingers curled against the back of her shirt. As much as he wanted to lose himself in the moment, there was something wrong. Felicity had been pretty clear about ending things and though they'd agreed to work together after Damien Darkh, she hadn't mentioned wanting to resume their relationship. In fact, she'd been pretty clear about just the opposite.

But still, he told himself, this was probably just stress. An extreme situation. Old emotions could rear their heads during extreme moments. He eased the kiss gently and then pulled back and kissed her forehead. He didn't want to take advantage of her when she was upset, even if he dearly wanted to. And besides, this was neither the time nor the place for something like this. And if that was his excuse to be the gentleman he should be, so be it.

"Do you remember how you got here? What's the last thing you remember?" He murmured the words in her ear. If there were people overhearing, he didn't want them to hear this particular conversation. Not only was it private, it was something that could be used against them.

Stiles might have suggested a new place each time, if it wasn't for what they're trying to do: basically poking at trouble with a big stick. It's like a bad habit he won't ever try to change.

"We could probably read it off a sign," Stiles says, thinking back to the ones they'd passed while making their way here. And it's not like the City ever sleeps anyway, not the machines, at least.

He doesn't know much about Laura, especially not the stuff she and Derek may have gotten up to when they'd left Beacon Hills after the fire. "I never knew your sister." Corpses don't count, and it wasn't like the Hales were people he would have run into much when he was a kid. They might have been involved in the community - he doesn't know - but not in a way he would've paid attention to. Except for when the fire made the news. "It's was a door. Like X marks the spot."

He winces, "Yeah, no, I totally didn't need to know about the tattooing process. The needles were bad enough, I am leaving the room the next time you get your hands on a blowtorch. I don't even care if that's not possible here, I'm saying no in advance."

Derek gives a little non-commital facial shrug. "Yeah, probably," he agrees. He makes a mental note to do that when they're on their way back, because...they should probably head to their respective rooms soon unless they want to end up spending the night in this place, which is exactly what'll happen if they don't go back before the SleepAid gas gets released for the night. There's got to be a way around that...

"I know that," Derek replies. Digging up her body doesn't count, he thinks and a frown forms on his face for a moment. But the fact that he acknowledges that yes, Derek has a sister, and yes, Stiles knows she existed in the past tense is still a baby step of progress.

Rolling his eyes, Derek gives a long suffering sigh. "Yeah you didn't take it well when I did it for Scott, either. Don't worry. I'm not a big fan of the process myself. It hurts like a bitch."

Derek looks down at his PDC. "...it's getting late..."

He's stalling. Right now, he doesn't really want to go when they've barely gotten anywhere with the discussion they're having, but he also doesn't actually know where they hell they are or how long it'll take to get back to their rooms. So maybe he's sort of off-handedly fishing for that information without even realizing it.

Does the gas affect the entire city? And would they find themselves carted off somewhere if someone happens across them if it did?

Would that be the bit about the vault door, or his sister, Stiles wonders, giving Derek a quick look. "For both things?" he asks. "Sucks that her dying was the reason you even went back in the first place."

Stiles makes an exasperated expression. "I hated his tattoo," he says quietly. Beyond what had been required to get it done in the first place. But it was Scott's choice, and for all his misgivings over Scott's reasoning, he'd still gone with him when he'd gotten it. And then had to actually help out again after. Ugh. "And good." He points, for emphasis.

Humming, Stiles leans over to try and look at Derek's PDC screen. It's not like he doesn't believe Derek, but he just likes to see for himself. There never seems to be enough time. "It wasn't like it was early when we headed off. The night life isn't exactly active here - not even a single bump in the night."

At least they've got that squared away.

He reminds her of Xander in all of the best ways. She thinks she'll keep him.

That gets a shrug. "Probably?" And doesn't that speak for itself? That there are so many things about elevators that could make someone uncomfortable? Elevators are evil! Or maybe it's just dark, enclosed spaces.

"I"m glad," she say sand she means it even if she wouldn't take his experience over hers.

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Page 4 of 10

Daycycle 105 [ August 28 - September 03]

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

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