Jason watched this Arrow boy process what he was saying and gave him a moment to do so. He looked pathetically sad and scared, and in most cases Jason would have kicked the boy or maybe even spat on him, laughed, and walked away. But something about the way that he had whispered it... "Please don't hit me." It was seriously messing with his head.

When Arrow was ready and had placed his hand into the one stretched toward him, Jason yanked him to his feet and grabbed him gently by the shoulders to make sure that he wasn't going to fall back down. He knew full well how the drugs that they were given, often against their will, could affect them, and had had a great fall or two of his own in his days spent at Remmington's.

Once he was sure that Arrow was steady, he let go of him and backed away, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I'll um.. See you around." Jason turned and stalked down the hall towards his own room, and then looked back over his shoulder, calling out, "And hey, kid, don't forget what I said about minding the staff. They're here to help you, not hurt you..." But, as he walked away, not even Jason fully believed what he'd said.

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After she'd finished her sentence, Alytra could tell that she had struck a nerve. She should have bitten her tongue, perhaps, for once in her short life. Short, although here it seemed like it would never end... Regardless, she had obviously upset Ezra, which was a common theme for her. Most people that she knew couldn't stand the thought of being so open, especially with a stranger. Most people she knew weren't as honest as her, or were too ashamed to be honest.. But what could this rich, publicly-popular, pretty boy possibly have to be ashamed of? She pondered that for a moment, until he spoke up, and then redirected her full attention to Ezra.

When he did speak, though, Alytra felt even worse than she had before, because she could see the look in his eyes, the one that told her that he was about done with their conversation. That he would never trust her (she didn't blame him, for in this world there was hardly ever anyone worth trusting, and in Remmington's, she hadn't met one other soul yet who was). And most importantly, she could tell that he was giving up on her. The only chance at companionship that she may have had, and she'd totally blown it. Alytra was about ready to get up and excuse herself, when suddenly a deep male voice broke into her thoughts, and she recognized it instantly as Smith's. And then, she knew.

Alytra now knew why Ezra was ashamed, and she knew why he'd wanted to keep it from her, and she knew why the look on his face as the conversation between the two progressed that he seemed to turn every shade of green and his eyes hardened and his body stiffened. She knew, because she'd done the same kinds of things, too.

She watched Ezra waltz across the room to where Dr. Smith stood, almost begrudgingly and yet also in a way that seemed to scream that he desired it... And then Smith addressed her, sharply, in a way that she was not at all used to. He was never quite so... Rude? No, Alytra thought, she would settle on the word curt, because he had never been particularly mean to her before. And she thought that it was strange behavior, but thinking about what Ezra's possible relations with Smith could be... Well, needless to say, the reaction made sense, at least in her mind. So, with a last attempt at being polite and casual, despite the raging worry inside, Alytra rose, walked towards the doors that led out of the lounge and down one of those horrible hallways, and turned to Ezra one last time, beseechingly.

"Well, Ezra, it was great to chat with you. Thanks for being the first person here to show any real friendship to me, and I sincerely hope that you will confide in me again some time. I promise that no matter what, I won't judge you, and I'm just glad to have someone to talk to... Well, uh, have a good night... Or, I guess, a decent one, nights here are never GOOD... Um, ok, well I'll leave you to it then... Uh.. Yeah. Good night." Alytra could have died of embarrassment, but what else should she have said? She was internally facepalming. She smiled awkwardly and left the room, heading to her own. And then the smile fell, and her mind started going numb in preparation for what she knew would await her there.

When he stood, Arrow's vision went blank for a moment. He felt like all the blood in his upper body dissolved, like that feeling when you hang upside down for too long and then sit back upright. His eyes rolled, and it took a second for him to regain his senses. He didn't notice the man had been holding him upright until he let go, and suddenly Arrow felt small again. The man took a step back and cleared his throat, wearing an expression Arrow couldn't quite identify. If it was anyone else he would have said it was embarrassment, but for some reason Arrow had a hard time believing that was it.

Before Arrow could say any kind of thanks, the man turned, speaking over his shoulder as he walked away. “...They're here to help you, not hurt you.” The words weren't convincing, but perhaps it was this man's round-about way of trying to comfort him. Arrow held up his hand, a gesture of acknowledgment and farewell, before turning to walk the other way.

He remembered he was staying in room 17. However, the few times he had actually been there he had been so wiped out from the effects of his medication the doctors practically had to carry him. He recalled being told he had a roommate, but he wasn't sure if they had actually met. If they had, he couldn't remember their name. No guards, nurses or anyone else seemed to be looking for him, so he guessed he was just supposed to go to the room. He walked down the hallway slowly, squinting at the numbers painted on the doors, looking for the right one.

He turned a bend into a hallway that – of course – looked just like the rest. A few doors down, he found the one with a gray number 17 standing out on an otherwise perfect white paint job. He stood in front of it for a moment, feeling a little unsure of himself. He was sure he probably still looked like a wreck. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, clearing away any tears that might still be clinging to his lashes. He knocked once on the door before opening it and poking his head inside. He called out a soft “Hello” to announce his presence before stepping inside.

Arrow was the first one back. He breathed a small sigh of relief, glad he would get at least a few short minutes of solitude. The room was bare, with the walls once again being painted all white. Though perhaps it was just his imagination, but the shade of white seemed to be just a little darker, as if it had almost tried to be a creamy color. A single florescent light lit up the space. There didn't seem be be a switch, so it was probably automatic.

There were two beds on either side of the room. One was already made up with white sheets and a single pillow. The other still had the sheets folded neatly at the foot of the mattress, but had yet to be put on. Arrow assumed that was his bed, so he moved across the room and flopped heavily onto it.

'I'll put the sheets on in a minute,' he said to himself, eyelids heavy, 'I'll just relax for a minute first.'

Ezra doesn’t reply, only going so far as to direct a small, near imperceptible nod at Alytra when she rambled her farewells. Contrary to what this gesture might’ve suggested, and what the girl might’ve believed, there wasn’t anything she could do for him. Not while they were still stuck in here, anyway. This mess was something he had gotten himself into, his own private hell, and perhaps, he’d already dug too deep for reparations to be of any real use. For him, however, this personal suffering had become a conduit of sorts for other people’s. Just walking down the corridors of Remmington’s was an agony, an aching slog through every stranger’s own hardships. This guy’s PTSD, and that girl’s depression - they were in hell, too, but it was everybody’s hell, this endless, white sea of chemical waste.

A light, almost-gentle touch at the back of his neck jerks Ezra out of his thoughts, fingers curling into fists at the sudden intrusion of personal space. Looking up at the man before him, his expression curdles into a scowl. A telltale sign of rebellion, even as he continues to do whatever he’s told. Still, no matter what he tricked himself into believing, there were no doubts about who the dominant party was, in this situation; the imperious look on Smith’s face only affirming it. This, much like everything else in life, had to be borne, and his current need for that sweet, sweet nicotine seemed to quell most of the perturbation that heralded what was to come.

Taking the plastic cup from Gregg, Ezra downs the pills and swallows hard. The bitterness dissipates almost as soon as he hands the cup back to the scientist, but the scratched, scraping sensation in the walls of his throat remains. It was something he’d never get used to, no matter how many times he’d done it before, even if it was the least of his worries.

“You know I’m just trying to help you.” Smith begins, and there’s even a hint of contrition in his voice. “Dr. Remmington wouldn’t -”

“Don’t.” Ezra’s interruption is swift and sure, his rage managing to slice through the haze of drugs. “Don’t even try to explain any of this. Don’t pretend that this is all on me, because you’d be fucking blind not to see it.”

He could see the muscles in Gregg’s jaw working furiously, the way a fire lights up behind his eyes. But at the same time, the man also looked as if his inside had been scooped out and replaced with lead. He is trying so hard not to show his anger-slash-dismay, though Ezra knew better. That was the thing about Gregg, so plainly transparent whenever he tried not to be. All that effort put into bottling up his emotions? They were all for naught, now that Ezra had learnt to see right through him.

Almost as abruptly as he’d exploded, however, Ezra folded right back up - all that white, hot rage burning out into ashes. Instead of lashing out once again, he just grabbed his companion by the wrist, and began leading him towards Room 2. “Come on, I’d like a smoke before someone else comes around to bust my ass.”

---

It wasn’t until a little after midnight that Ezra stumbled back to his room. If it were anyone else, they would’ve gotten in trouble for wandering around past lights-out, but the hallways were deserted, and none of the orderlies seemed to be around to flag him down. That was one of the perks, he supposed, of his little arrangement with Gregg. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought, though, bile beginning to rise at the back of his throat.

The entirety of Remmington’s Angels was silent, the only sound Ezra could hear being the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights. Bleary eyes scanned the heavy, steel doors that lined each side of the corridor - 15, 16, before finally, 17.

Slipping quietly inside, Ezra sat down on the edge of his own cot, at the far left of the room. In spite of the darkness, he could still see the faint silhouette of what appeared to be his roommate. Out cold, as usual. The boy always seemed to be passed out, and if there was a time where Ezra had actually seen him awake, he didn’t remember. Right now, though, he could care less about making friends. Satisfying his need for a cancer stick remained top priority.

With shaking hands, Ezra slips one of the newly-acquired cigarettes between his lips, lighting it with a cheap, plastic lighter he retrieves from under the pillow. For a moment, it almost looks as if the cigarette wouldn’t light, but soon enough, the paper begins to char, revealing the glowing, red cherry underneath. As clouds of blue, nicotine-tainted smoke fill his lungs, Ezra visibly relaxes, letting out a sigh of relief.

That asshole always got him the good shit, at least.

Midnight.

The pacing was subtle. Back and forth, back and forth. The occasional sigh of boredom or the tap of something against the wall in room 18. It's sole occupant hadn't been able to go asleep yet. Another sedative made useless on her immune system for all that it did in making sure her eyes never closed for long. The mangled stuffed animal on the ground was a sign for something wrong to a degree, a single utterance of it's apparent "betrayal" in the grand scheme of things as she kept moving back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.

A half hour to pass.

The insatiable slam on the wall was that of a punch being thrown at it as she began to speak of things that didn't quite make sense. But one of the many claims against the empty air came in a voice quite terrifying and completely enraptured in the tale that was being told as a result of things.
"TWO PILLS A DAY will keep the bad things away! HIDE THE PILLS AWAY and the Guests will come out to play!"
Whatever the fuck she was on about, it wasn't anything normal. Another hallucination perhaps? Had they hidden her pills from her? That just wasn't nice.

Fifteen minutes after the half-hour.

She'd stopped banging on the wall and had sat down in front of her own room door, knocking on it in an uncoordinated and messy pattern. Sometimes, They knocked back. The little game of "Knock Knock" was played by so many of the Guests. So much fun, so much fun...Haaa, she might actually stop causing too bad a racket that the Plague Doctors wouldn't have to come and gas her room again with that pretty purple smoke. Instead, it would just be the simple but effective methods she had of using up her time as she failed to sleep or even manage herself into reasonable bed attire.

Knock, Knock Mai.

Knock Knock.

Knock...Knock.

...Hahaha.~

Nails only dared to let her eyes flicker open once the person was gone. She supposed that they must have been sent to her room to make sure she hadn't died in her sleep, as sedated people sometimes do. She was lucky - or unlucky, depending on one might view it - to have been born healthy, otherwise her treatment in this place may have crushed her before she was even old enough to feel its weight. Still, she bore several trademarks of Remmington's abuse. Dark bruises often marred her skin, especially under her eyes and along her jaw, and tonight her lip was bleeding.

Nails winced as she adjusted her position on the bed. One of the staff had jammed his knee under her shoulder in the process of pinning her down during one of her "episodes", and it was apparently still sore. Despite all of her physical problems, however, Nails' head felt remarkably clear at the moment. Wishing for time to write, she mentally cursed curfew and tried to get some real rest.

Alytra took her time walking to her room, moving as slowly as possible. She was full of absolute dread, knowing what was about to happen. It was unavoidable, and she knew that this was all her fault. If only she hadn't attempted to escape the facility yet again, then she wouldn't have to deal with it. But she knew that, like the last times, Jason would carry out the threats that he had made to her fully. When she got to the door, she fumbled with the handle, finally managing to open it with shaky palms. As she shut the door to her room behind her, she turned towards the bed and shuddered. Jason was here already.

There he sat, perusing a book that had been laying around, one of the only pass-times that Alytra could find in this place once she was sentenced to nightly solitude - Or, what was supposed to be alone time - at lights-out. He finished the section he was on, shoved a bookmark into it nonchalantly to hold his place (as if he'd be coming back here often, that pig), and set it down, then turning his full attention towards her. "Ahhh, Alytra. How happy I am that you decided you wanted another visit from me." He smirked at her, looked into her eyes, and winked. "Now. This is going to be extremely satisfying... For me. So just do as you're told, for once in your life, please, you fucking bitch."

With that, he pulled her towards his own body, until she was standing between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached up and began to kiss her; first her jaw, then her neck, then her chest, and so on. Alytra squirmed under the heat of his lips, but she knew better than to try and fight him or run or call for help. First, no one would hear her if she did. Everyone in the facility, besides a few specific officials, were supposed to be in their personal rooms or offices right now, and would remain there until morning time. Second, if Alytra even tried to run, fast as she was, she would never outrun Jason. And lastly, she wasn't strong enough to fight... And she knew that she would pay worse if she did. Alytra had a few secrets of her own, things that Jason knew about and that no one else could. And so, Alytra stood there and took her punishment.

Jason moved his hands, running them up and down her body, all over her, and although she felt physically sick, he felt nothing but pure ecstasy. He was enjoying every bit of this. As the hospital clothing came off, he admired her body and was thoroughly pleased. And just like that, Alytra was once again conditioned to believe that her trying to escape Remmington's was a very, very bad idea...

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In the morning, Alytra awoke, alone, in her bed. She wished that it had been to the sounds of birds chirping or the rays of sunlight through the windows. But it wasn't that, not at all. It was another dreary morning in Remmington's, and this life felt more like a nightmare than her dreams did. She wished that her dreams were her reality, that what happened last night wasn't real... But it was. Alytra felt sick again. She lay in bed for a while, and then stood, shakily, and reached over to grab the pills that lay beside her. Someone had been in here, and it was possible that it was Jason who had set them here, but it was probably a doctor. She swallowed them, one by one, and wondered how late she had slept in. Sighing, she walked over to the door and opened it, stepping out into the white hallway and preparing to face a new day.

“Get yer arse up, boy.”

Arrow's eyes flew open at the sound of his father's drunken, slurred speech. The room was dark and silent, and it took him a few long seconds to remember where he was. His hands clenched the edges of the mattress and his heart hammered against the inside of his ribcage. He sat up slowly, squinting into the darkness. Across the room he could see the dark shape of his roommate on the other bed, so he must still be in his room. It was not uncommon for someone to come and collect him just before wake-up, so it might have been the first time he actually woke up there.

His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and he brushed it back, using his fingers like a comb. Was it hot? He was probably just from the nightmares. He pulled his white tee shirt off and tossed it to the foot of his bed, then flopped back onto his pillow. What time was it? There was no way to tell, because there wasn't a clock or a window in the room. In fact, he hadn't noticed much more then the two beds. Each of them had a small night table with a single drawer. He rolled over and opened his, but it was empty.

He laid there for what felt like hours. He drifted in and out of sleep, but not really enough to actually feel rested. Just when he thought he would go crazy from waiting, the lights came on in the room. He groaned and covered his face as the sterile white light filled his vision. Just as he started to regain his sight a nurse walked in the room. She didn't say anything, but handed him a little plastic cup with a few pills in it, as well as a bottle of water. She smiled ever so slightly at him, maybe amused by his extreme bed-head, then set a clean set of clothes on his table and left.

He eyed the cup of pills suspiciously before setting it down on the table. He wasn't going to take those nasty thing willingly. Besides, it had always been the injections before. Why would they suddenly switch to pills? Maybe because of the biting incident? Either way, he didn't trust them.

He wasn't sure what they were supposed to do after the lights came on. Perhaps he was supposed to go find breakfast or something, but he had no idea where it would be. So, instead he sat on the bed and leaned against the wall, eventually dozing off again.

Nails darted out into the hallway the next morning, already starting to feel a little tense. It had been some time since her last dose, and she was most definitely aware of her rising panic. She lifted a pen that she'd stolen from a staff member up to the nearest wall and paused in thought. Then she jotted down a short, simple sentence. You'll know...someday. She went from room to room like this, scribbling cryptic phrases on the walls and doors nearby. When she got to room 22, Nails was in the middle of trying to climb a doorframe in order to reach the ceiling when a young woman opened the door and stepped outside.

"Shit."

Ezra had always been a light sleeper, and no matter how exhausted he was, the sound of shuffling sheets was enough to keep him up all night. The dosage of Xanax Gregg had given him was about as useful as a screen-door on a submarine. Every time, just as he thought he was about to drift into unconsciousness, the soft, curling tendrils of sopor simply withdrew, leaving him in the uncomfortable limbo between sleeplessness and slumber. Once or twice, Ezra had half a mind to get up and give his roommate a good talking-to, but then he hesitated. This place was bad enough as it is, was it really worth it to make himself more enemies than he’d already done?

Minutes ticked by as he weighed out the pros and cons in his mind. In the end, however, Ezra decided it wasn’t worth it. He was no stranger to sleepless nights, after a year spent in Remmington’s, and he already had enough trouble on his hands, as it was. Maybe with a few more favours, he could get Gregg to transfer him to a single room, but for now, all he could do was suck it up and try to sleep.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. Soon, the buzzing fluorescent lights of the room flickered on - 7 a.m. Ezra did get a few winks of sleep here and there, but not nearly enough for him to be fully awake during the day. Propping himself up on his elbows, he turned to look at his roommate. Still asleep. No surprise there, though he had to admit, it was pretty impressive how the boy managed to be insensate every time he saw him. When his gaze flickered downwards, Ezra noticed the cup of pills sitting on the nightstand. While he had resisted taking them at first, he learnt over time that it was either this, or an injection.

With a hard swallow, he downed the medicine, setting the little plastic cup back down on the nightstand. Now, he needed to get himself some breakfast. But first, a smoke was in order. It would be awhile until the nurses came back to check on them, and Gregg’s influence was more than enough to have them look the other way if they did catch him in the act.

In one swift, practiced motion, Ezra had a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, the plastic lighter quickly disappearing back beneath his pillow. For a long moment, he just sat there, clouds of smoke spilling from the corners of his mouth, his free hand laid across his stomach.

“Hey, kid.” Ezra began, almost involuntarily. His voice was soft, though it still seemed to carry across the room, bouncing off the stark, white walls. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure what he’d hoped to achieve with this, but he pressed on. “You awake?”

“Mmh?” Arrow stirred when he heard someone speak. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, rolling over lazily to face his roommate. Man, why was he always so tired all the time? He brushed his messy hair out of his eyes and had to blink a few times before the sleep cleared from his vision. He could smell the cigarette before he could see it. It was actually a sort of a comforting scent, which he thought was a little weird. With the exception of the bleach they used to clean, there weren't any defined scents in the facility. The smell of nicotine reminded him of his mother, who always used to sit on the back porch with her cigarette.

He banished the thoughts of home as quickly as they arrived. That wasn't something he could think about, not here. “Oh, good morning.” He said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes sleepily. He turned and crossed his legs so he could face the other occupant. He raked his brain, trying to remember his roommate's name, or if they had even really met before. He didn't think they had, but he felt awkward asking. He reached for the water bottle on his table and took a swig of it, ignoring the pills. There looked to be about six of those suckers in the little cup. He had no doubt that even just half the dose of shit they pumped him with was enough to kill a small child.

His head tilted in curiosity. “Do they let you have those here?” He asked. He ran his finger sub-consciously along his collarbone as he spoke, tracing the greenish blotches from bruises that had yet to completely fade.

The morning led to another night without sleep, prompting Mai to be rather skittish and jumpy by the time she was out of her room and into the main lobby. Her face had planted against a wall twice before she had actually gotten there and came to a point that her attention span lifted up to notice someone else -- wait, a person! A PERSON. She was shorter than her, and running around writing stuff on the walls-

Was this a game?!

"HEY! WAIT FOR ME! I WANNA JOIN IN ON THE GAME TOO!"

And off that girl was, running after the one with the pen that was defiling the clean, white, shiny walls around her. Her mind had turned it into a race of sorts -- a race that she needed to compete in to win! ...

Uhh...Wait. But, what was the prize? ...

FUCK IT. SHE WAS GONNA TACKLE THE GIRL DOWN! AND TAKE HER WITH HER! So that they could both go together!

Alytra decided that it was time for her to get up and leave her room, for the longer that she sat here, alone with her thoughts, the more inclined she felt to do something completely reckless and stupid. She rose, collecting herself, running a shaking hand through her hair and wiping away the sleep that was in her eyes.

A nurse had already come in and given Alytra her daily dose of crazy-meds. She swallowed them back, the bitter taste staining her tongue, without the need for water (but not for lacking in want). She moved towards the door and oriented the handle shakily, attempting to calm her queasy stomach.

Upon leaving her room, Alytra heard something... Strange. Following the source of the noise, she stumbled upon a young girl, possinly the youngest one here, floating from wall to wall, her nails flying around with her. There was another girl in hot pursuit, seeming cuddly and yet also aggressive somehow.... Well, this was just another say at Remmington's. Alytra yawned, and shuffled along to the lounge.