Room 11
1305
Soon the water was rushing over the bed. Matt did not stand to keep away from it, though it was cold when it reached him; it seemed he would have to swim sooner or later, at this rate. And it wasn't much longer before he was driven to do so. He kept his feet on the bed for support for as long as he could, until he had to tread water to keep his head at the surface. It felt heavy to swim in his clothes... And his breath was already hard with panic, and his muscles were weary with adrenaline. But his biggest fear was not wearing out and drowning, but the whole of his room being filled until he had no other choice but to drown.
As the water continued to rise, he noticed with a pained look that the ceiling appeared strangely sky-like. He was in a critical situation, and his mind still found the vigor to hallucinate...? His mental stability must have been really hopeless. The air was feeling stuffy so Matt more easily took notice of how little of it might be left... But he found himself growing unusually and suddenly tired, more like he had been swimming all day. A few more soft whimpers escaped him. He kept swimming, but his frame felt so tired, and his eyes so heavy, until just as his face started to bob below the surface, he had a vague feeling of someone lifting him from the water, and a blurred vision of a foggy figure above.
~
The sound of his name pulled him slowly from sleep. Was that just his mind...? The remnants of a dream? Or had he really heard it? His eyes fluttered drowsily open; he felt exhausted.
His most recent memories hit him like a truck. Matt bolted upright in bed, breathing hard. A panicked look around revealed he was still in his empty room at the strange facility, but it was not full of water. His hands clutched the bedsheets, then his jeans, then his shirt, then his scruffy head of hair, but none of it was wet in the least. It had been more than a dream, but it had been so much more than even a hallucination... He had been dying, he was sure of it.
His name... Had he heard his name? His gaze shifted to the door, which was open. A short whimper, and he was toppling out of bed and scurrying to the door - his muscles ached. He paused to clutch the doorframe and peer around the hall for anybody who might've been the source. He spotted a girl passing by, with long, black hair pulled into a braid. What was her name... He knew her name.... "... S... Sarah..?" He called quietly. It felt difficult to muster his voice, as if he feared the breath wouldn't come to him.
Infirmary, Room 6
1305
The woman smiled curtly at him, but almost immediately took to talking again. She rambled about her family. Names he didn't know. People she was drawing associations about - comparing him to someone he had never met. It both bored and annoyed him. He glanced at Xavier and had the fleeting notion to launch into another fight with the boy, but the masked woman carried too much of a.. presence. He didn't want to take his attention off of her for too long.
Finally, she started to approach. But as she stepped closer, the air he was breathing began to feel thicker in his lungs... No, no, no, shit, no. Devan stumbled back against a counter behind him, his head feeling progressively unbalanced and his eyelids suddenly heavier. He lifted his arm to try to breathe into the pit of his elbow, but his legs were growing weak beneath him, until he needed both arms to cling to the counter and try to keep himself upright. He tried to keep his eyes on the woman drawing nearer but could barely keep them open, and it wasn't a minute more before he slumped to the floor, still clutching the scalpels in his hand.
~
A very nearby voice roused him abruptly. He blinked, feeling drowsy with the kind of heavy sleep he did not like - the kind of sleep rarely achieved on his own. But he lifted onto all fours and shook his head persistently to wake himself. His empty hands closed on the bedsheets then, and he looked down at them, a vehement scowl bleeding its way into his features.
Devan tore himself off the bed and moved briskly across the room to kick the wall hard. His breath came heavily with fury. He had finally gotten hold of a worthwhile weapon, two of them, and they were both gone now. His head tilted toward the door, which sat open patiently for him.
The youth stormed out the door, promptly kicking it as he passed as if he meant to knock it off its hinges. His pitch dark eyes lifted to sweep for familiar faces - Xavier, Tori, or the gas mask-clad woman who had taken his hard-earned scalpels. Or perhaps, in his present mood, anyone he could throw a fist into.