[OPEN] doesn't matter what i say.

[perseus james rudman]

The fact the room he was currently in needed a key wasn't enough to stop the brilliant young boy from stealing one. The lack of real books around here was enough to give him a head ache. How could you hold a million people in one place and deny them access to books?! He'd never understand it. It was torture if you asked him. It wasn't the normal records he was interested in. It was the records his brother controlled that he wanted. Why were people dying? And how were they dying? A bunch of caged animals is what they really were around here.

He ran his hand over the spines of some of the records, his bright blue eyes scanning them. He stopped when he came to the death records, plucking one off the shelf. 'J. Bowers - Nurse' read the title page. He drew his eyebrows together, wondering just how a nurse could die on her own territory. He flipped it open, reading over the sheet on the inside slowly as he leaned against the shelf. He didn't care if he got caught or not. If he had, he wouldn't have left the door propped open, now would he?

[tarquin finley ellis]

The denial of books wouldn't much bother Quinn, no. It wasn't something he particualary enjoyed anyway. A sore spot, more than not. Roman had liked books, journals; all that stuff. Quinn? He liked doing things. Taking action, moving around. He did not like to hold still for very long. Or at least... not unless he was in a certain situation. That did not seem very likely anymore. Being thrown into this place had crushed out any real hope, and Quinn would take it out on anyone he had a mind to. Being semi-addicted to cocaine wasn't helping matters any, but he had stopped caring what it meant, what it did to him.

Nothing really mattered at this point. He was here and it didn't look like he was getting out. Quinn was all around forgetting what it was like to care.

So there were no questions he needed to have answered. He did not care why people were dying -- hell, he'd be one of the things that killed them if they stepped too close, bothered him -- so it wasn't that which gave him pause when he saw the open door to the record room. There was a file he might as well check out if the place was open access, though. It did not honestly change anything, but there was a slight curiousity to find out what was written about himself, about Roman, even. This was why Quinn stepped into the area, walked along.

There was someone else here, but he did not give the other male much more then a passing glance before he headed down the records in search of certain names. Finding them -- right with each other, how convenient -- he opened the folders and looked over the pages, saying nothing. There wasn't even a change in expression. Nothing changed.

[perseus james rudman]

Perseus read over the rest of the file, then tucked it back onto the shelf. That wasn't what he was really looking for. Crazies killed people every day. The fact they'd taken down a nurse meant nothing to him. He searched further down the shelves for the start of the patient files. He reached up and pulled one from the top, playing absently with the tongue ring he had in. He hadn't bothered to take it out, not any time recently. He'd been a little too high to care about his piercings.

He tapped his foot on the floor, his ADHD wearing thin on his patience. He should have known standing here for a long time reading was going to bother him. But he couldn't sit down. If someone walked in, he was screwed. He glanced over at the boy he hadn't realize had came in before he lowered his gaze again. Since being here, his brother had promised his life would be a living hell if he banged the fellow patients. And he didn't doubt it one bit. His brother was handy with a scalpel.

"Fucking hell." He muttered, shoving the file back onto the shelf. He stepped back, realizing some of them were more discolored than the others. The question was, did he want new or older files? He pulled an old one from the shelves, opening it to the cover page to read what was written.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Crazies did kill every day, didn't they? And oh, Quinn supposed he really was that brand of crazy now. There had been a time where death had been an accidental thing. That was no longer the case. He killed if he felt the overwhelming urge to do so, if a reason presented itself. Where had his concious gone? Now he simply did not care how many bodies piled up along the way. There would be more, it was undeniable. Quinn no longer kept any kind of restrained control over himself. He gave into the violence went the want or need -- or what he considered need -- came. Life went on. For some.

Eye flicked up from the files at the sound of a tapping foot, and his features became a degree tighter before he peered back at the files. He went through them with the same silence, idly going over the words written down. Half truths and guesses here and there and ah! There, what he'd been looking for to begin with. He shut the files and shoved them back into place with a pensive expression. Coroner's report was amusing in some sick, twisted way. It was a moment of weakness that he had quickly repaired. Something that should have happened a awhile ago.

Quinn did not bang fellow patients; he doesn't let that type of weakness back in. Honestly it was a good thing, at least for those that might have caught his interest. There was nothing gentle there anymore. It was best for everyone to keep a distance. The last person Quinn had sexual contact with had ended up with a snapped neck. But that had occurred for so many other reasons. He was greatly disturbed.

He moved then, fingertips tapping idly over files and any nearby surfaces as he went along. Finally, he paused just shy of personal space of the other male; gaze calculating. "Does it help? Reading all the nasty little things they put in these files?" His tone was even, it gave away nothing.

[aureolin rafiel lyrian]

Faster, faster, FASTER, AUREOLIN! Don't let them catch you! 

The boy's mind was screaming at him as he sped down the hall, pain spasming up his legs, to the very tips of his wings. Torn and bloodied, the wounded Angel was loosing energy. Fast. Tears mixed with the thick red fluid dripping form his nose and lips, dripping onto his white overshirt with little red marks. All down the hallway, blood splattered across the ground. Red followed him, dripping, plopping, white feathers now scarlet as they drifted from his wings to the ground. No, no, he couldn't get back there. Not the cellar. No, not again! No more needles! No more knives! 

His bloodcurdling scream echoed down the hallway as he felt one of the staff grab his neck, attempting to cut off his air, make him black out. But Aureolin wasn't giving up this time. Not again. He slammed his head back, knocking the other off balance, and continued to limp away at a fast pace down the hall. With the staff catching up to him, he had no choice. Diving into the first open door he found, he turned and slammed the door shut. A cry indicated someone's finger had been caught in the process. But he didn't care. He didn't want to go. 

As he slid down into a sitting position against the door, leaving a heavy smear of blood down the metal, he could only struggle to breathe. Blood seemed to run from every opening he had- it dripped from his nose, his lips, his ear... The mass of white feathers, now thick and scarlet, mangled pieces of flesh, we're all that remained of his wings. Trembling uncontrollably, the boy curled up in a fetal position, his voice hardly heard over his wracking sobs, "P-p-p-please, m-no mor-more..." he begged the other two in the room, "N-no more... No... No..." 

[perseus james rudman]

Perseus read over the report quickly, then put it back on the shelf. He plucked another one down from it's resting place, chewing on his lip as he opened it. He was afraid of nothing, but what was inside bothered him. Too smart? How could someone be too smart? Then it occurred to him- if they were going to do this to people in the first place, did they really care if they died? They probably weren't above doing it. He assumed the whole motherly 'I brought you into this world, I can bring you out' applied to their situation now.

He glanced over as the boy spoke. But he couldn't remember seeing him before now. Or at least, before he had wandered in here. "Help? No. I lived with the coroner for twenty years. Nothing helps. But I've been told satisfaction brought the cat back." He shrugged, his blue eyes wandering over the boy's face curiously before he tucked away the file again. He looked back as another boy ran in, sliding down to the floor.

"Well, if you don't wanna be found, stop making so much racket." He said matter of factly. He wasn't anymore concerned about being found now that the boy had ran in making noise than he was before. What was the worst they could do? Being brilliant didn't mean he had anymore of a conscious than he did before he came here. It really was none of his concern what people thought about him breaking into random rooms. He thought for a moment that he should break into the medicine room, see what he could get his hands onto.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Quinn did not give too much thought on everything going on here. It was what it was and nothing more. He didn't doubt that they wouldn't care much about those who died while here; why should it matter to them? One less person to keep track of, and at least then they knew that exact experiment didn't quite work, right? Next patient, etc. It wasn't as if they had a lack of fresh blood coming in every now and then. And no one really left. Hell, Quinn wouldn't be surprised if they killed patients randomly when whatever ability ceased to interest them.

When the male responded, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the words. "Well then, are you feeling satisfied?" There was the slightest of smirks curling at a corner of his lips. There wasn't anything particularly satisfying to be had in this place at all, in Quinn's opinion. The fleeting feeling after wiping the floor with someone? It was nice, for a moment. Gone the next, though. A neverending cycle; nothing was worth much of anything to Quinn with Makism torn away. He does not pretend that bliss could ever be had again, but it's a deep seated wound that won't close. The source of his unchecked wrath. Any wounded animal would probably react the same way if they could.

He tensed at the sound of the scream from the hallway, pondering the sound for a moment before losing interest and settling against a shelf, gaze moving over the labels idly. Of course his attention was pulled back when some male dived in and slammed the door shut. On someone's finger, no less. Bloody and beaten already, this one. Quinn felt nothing. If the staff wanted to do more, they would. End of story. He turned away from the scene, going back to the files with a bored look. He barely followed the comment of the first male who had been in the room. They'd be found for sure, but whatever, right? It changed nothing.