[From
here.]It seemed the he was one of the first out tonight, though Castiel was not surprised that he had adapted to this routine so quickly. Heaven had involved far too much routine, and while being able to use his wings would have sped up this process a noticeable amount, he could at least make the nightly walk go by as swiftly as possible
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Now that Meekins was back into the corridor, he realized that he had a problem in getting back to his room. ...Just where was his room? Before him were four hallways, and he couldn't remember which one he had just come from. To complicate matters, in his haste, Meekins hadn't even thought to note down which room number was his. And even if he had thought of it... he had nothing to write with. The only thing he had in hand was his flashlight.
But at least this time, he hadn't lost his badge, apparently. The whole time since he had first awakened in this strange building, he hadn't even noticed the tag affixed to his uniform. Maybe it would tell him which room he belonged to! Taking care not to drop it, he shone his flashlight upon it and read the information on it. Billy Bibbitt. D Class. 49895960M....That strange name that the soldiers had given him! Yes, there was a mistake after all! He had been committed here in error! In ( ... )
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Now that he was on a mission there wasn't anything that could stop him, but Gant wasn't stupid. The last thing he planned to do was storm through the halls completely alone. Even his candlestick, despite its heft, wouldn't stand a chance against most of the monsters here. At least he had some sort of cutting instrument in case piercing was necessary, though Gant still felt distaste at holding anything resembling a knife. He honestly didn't trust himself with sharp objects. He always ended up moving a bit too fast with them. But for now, that didn't matter. Staying alive mattered. And he was going to stay alive. Now to find the perfect meat shield ( ... )
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Oh yeah. That was definitely Mike Meekins. The ex-Chief sauntered closer to the loud man and waved the hand that held his candlestick in a non-threatening way. "Now, calm down Mike. Don't want to alert everyone and everything crawling around here, humm?"
First Wrighto, and then Mike. Who next, Little Worthy? Now that would be a treat! Seeing the once smug King of Prosecutors walking these damned halls. Not that Gant wished this place on anyone, though maybe someone like Mike needed some counseling or therapy to deal with his high-strung personality.
... and speaking of Mike, he would make the perfect distraction and decoy. Gant put on his most charming smile and tutted a bit. "Now, now, don't be killing me off so quickly, Mike. I may be down, but I'm not out. Not by a long shot."
He gestured around the hall with his flashlight. "Now, what do you know about this place so far? I don't suppose you've been incarcerated for very long."
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As Meekins carefully brought himself back into a standing position, he lifted the flashlight up. The beam reflected off of the man's glasses, illuminating his bearded face such that the shadows made his grin seem... sinister. Spooky. Orange suit, red cross tie, bespectacled green eyes that seemed to pierce into one's soul... It had to be Mr. Gant! It looked just like him!
"But-- But... weren't you sent to prison and ex-- executed for murder, Police Chief?" he flailed, uncertain of what Mr. Gant meant by "everything."
"Unless..." As a chilling thought occurred to the younger man, another shriek escaped him, and he started trembling uncontrollably. "You're a ghost! My roommate Mr. Williams told me lots of things ( ... )
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News of his possible death in the near future back home may have worried lesser men, but not Damon Gant. If anything, his grin grew even wider. "Perhaps someday, Mike, but not for a good while, I'm sure. Stuck here for now, aren't I?"
He snorted in derision at Meekins' spooky conclusion and shook his head. Really, the kid needed to do something about that stress of his. Maybe take some yoga classes. "It's not haunted, kid. Er, not per se..." Gant glanced around, but the hall was more or less empty by now. The rest of the patients that were bent on leaving had probably already flown the coop.
"Actually, this place has more of a thing for monsters. Your friend, Mr. Williams, at least gave you that much info, right?" He really didn't want to explain everything, but he would if he must.
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"How do I know you're not lying about this hospital, Sir?" he barked, perhaps a touch too loud. "After all, you killed Detective Goodman and made me look like I did it, Sir!"
Quickly realizing the grave mistake he may have just made, Meekins cowered before Gant and followed up his previous robust statement with one that came out as little more than a whimper. "Erm... you aren't going to murder me for saying that, are you, Police Chief, Sir?"
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"You know I'm not lying because I have no reason to lie, Mike. Think about it." God, this was going to be a long night. "Goodman has nothing to do with this."
He forgot how loud this young man could be. How did he even get past the application process for the department again? Oh, right. They needed men on the streets. Los Angeles had become a dangerous place. The idea was more men meant less bodies but it was only a theory. One that didn't really seem to have worked ( ... )
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With Meekins doing the loyal cop thing and keeping close, Gant pushed on to the next hallway at a quick pace.
[to here]
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