NIGHT 53: WEST WING, NORTH HALL 1-A
[ from here ]The doors to the next hallway were already wide open when she came through, though the ones at the far end of the hall were, as she could see from one brief flick of her flashlight, were tightly shut. Weren't those the doors to the recreational field? They were in the hall directly North of hers, it only made sense for this to be the
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It felt good, Lunge realised, to step out in his own clothes again. Very good. Far better than he had anticipated. He felt less exposed, less cornered, less like the Institute was dogging his every move and crowding him in with grey. And while he realised that the effect was largely psychosomatic, and while he understood the psychology of it- having a piece of his individuality returned to him, being better equipped to project an air of authority (suit= professional, that was written into most people's minds), being less physically exposed- part of him simply didn't care. Or didn't want to care. Now that he had a suit, he was officially back to work. Thank God ( ... )
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It was annoying to travel this way, so encumbered, but given the need to have most of these items at hand, carrying them in a pillowcase wouldn't have been any better. Some night-not tonight-he'd have to find a real bag; until then, pockets left him with the least to handle. He'd have to worry about getting the flashlight and brush axe over the wall when the time came.
There was Lunge, waiting at the end of the corridor, his feet bathed in a small pool of light. Even from a distance, L could see that he had also found a surprise in his closet.
"A proper agent of the BKA, hm?" he said, by way of greeting. He didn't smile, but the lightness of his tone made it obvious both that he was joking, and that he felt well enough to joke.
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