Play@YSDC

The exhaustion peels back from his mind in layers, snaking its tendrils back into itself, and allowing his consciousness to float back to the surface of a sedated world. Jack's eyes flicker open, close, then open again, still drawn to shut by an uncanny fatigue that creeps through his bones. His injuries don't hurt but his neck does and when he twitches his toes he can't feel his left leg. He's lying on something hard, cold, and damp. Tiles or linoleum. Something like that. The air smells musty with a hint of a chemical tang. Above him is the metal underbelly of some sort of table with hydraulic legs that could lift it or drop it. Looking around, he sees several drains interspersed across the floor. The room is lit by several fluorescent lights on a sagging ceiling that has, in places, dropped to litter the floor with ceiling panels. The hiss of his pocket radio plays in his ears. His shotgun is nowhere in reach but he still does have his switchblade at least. Reaching into his pockets, he can feel the warm edge of the small flashlight.

"Am I.... Am I in the morgue?!" Jack tried to stagger up and failed, causing a loud crash. "Crap, more of them are around.... How did I even get here?!"

He flicked on the flashlight and shone it around him.

The small flashlight gives a weak glow but it's hardly needed in a room filled with fluorescent lights. Still, it's good to know the thing still works. The morgue doors are mostly open, some of the operating tables partially pulled out, or dropped on the floor, as though someone had hastily searched through them without regard for the bodies or any general sense of tidiness. The hospital is as quiet as everywhere else, but for the sound of his own breathing and footsteps, he might have thought he'd gone deaf.

Jack tapped on his left leg and tried to get up...

Jack manages to stand but his left leg is quite deadened from how he's slept on it. He also has a kink in his neck which makes it painful to turn his head.

Not an ideal situation to find oneself in. Jack growled.

He limped towards the door. Perhaps he could find a better weapon than his switchblade somewhere outside. Perhaps he could even manage to find some help... Ash said Katie was here, right? Perhaps he could find her as well...

With each step Jack takes, the bodies in the white sheets jiggle and move, as though his very footsteps were drawing them from their eternal slumber. The sheets themselves are each painted with a letter in thick red paint but he can't make out all the letters without approaching them, and in some cases, opening the morgue doors so he could see what was inside. If anything was.

Jack turned from the doors to stare at the bodies. Moved on by some unnatural curisosity, he moved towards the bodies to examine them.

The bodies twitch and shudder with each and every step but seem incapable of moving apart from that. The bodies that he can see each have a red letter: ATMHESOHRE. There are three morgue doors that are shut. Perhaps there are remaining letters inside of those trays that might provide additional insight into what is going on in this mad resort town.

He wordlessly flipped out his switchblade.

"Sure, bodies have been giving me good clues lately. Why should this be different?"

He opened the last remaining morgue doors and dragged out the slabs.

Two more letters: A and N. In the final tray sits no corpse. Instead there are words written on the tray itself in red paint: 4132 brings the kiss of life.

The jumble of words meant nothing to him. Disgusted, he stepped away from the bodies.

"4132... Maybe a room number? Letters? Phone code? Date? What does it mean?" he mumbled. He turned towards the door. He had nothing left to do in the morgue.

The letters mean something vital but he is instinctively aware that he might never determine the answer. Still, that other number could come in handy - though he is guaranteed to forget it if he doesn't write it down somewhere. The morgue door rattles in its frame. Locked. His radio hisses to life: "Jack? Are you there? Are you there, Jack?" It's Ash's voice, if he's not mistaken. Well, he had given her the other hands-free radio / walkie talkie. "Please be there!"

"Ash? Ash?! You are okay?!" he yelled into the radio. He paused as he dug through his pockets for the diary and the pen.

"Where are you?"

He quickly transcribed ATMHESOHREAN on the diary along with the numbers 4132.

"I-I managed to kick it off of me and I ran... I'm in some sort of theatre. I don't know what it's called. I'm hiding in one of the change rooms." She pants into the radio. "I'm hurt pretty bad. I-I didn't even think the radio would ... that you'd hear me. Oww... I-I'm not sure if I'll make it. I lost a lot of blood. I just wanted to say I... I'm... I'm sorry. You should find ... find Rochelle. I think she knows more ... more about what's ... what's happening. The deals ... the drugs ... I know you didn't agree but... Oh shit, they're getting closer. I can hear them. Find her." She coughs wetly. "Over and out." The radio drops back to its regular gentle static.

"Hello? Is somebody out there?" Jack yelled, tapping on the door.

There's no response.

Jack took out his lockpicks and began tweaking at the door. Of course, he did not expect it to work but...

*Click*

Enter Murray's Thread Here.

Re-Entered Thread From Here.

Jack is now down a switchblade and standing in a disused hospital corridor, alone once more, with one last unmarked door left to explore to find that blasted generator. Assuming he can get it working again. Still, short of climbing the brickwork to the second floor and hoping he can smash a window, this is the only option he has left.