Chapter Text
It had been a long day, this was the first time john had actually had a chance to sit down. Having this free time gave him the first opportunity to actually sit and contemplate what he had been through that day. He’d gone from recording a regular statement, to watching his office getting destroyed, to barricading himself into Martin's bedroom all in 5 minutes. At the moment he’d thought that was the worst the day could get, i mean how many office days are that extravagant, but little did he know at the time that was the best the day was going to get, at least he had his colleagues with him then. He was distressed over losing each of them progressively across the day as they attempted their escape.
When he’d left the archives though he’d managed to see at least most of the people from the archives, Tim obviously, Elias, and Sasha, but when he looked around he was yet to find martin. He loosely remembers losing Martin in the tunnels, but just assumed he’d made another way out. But apparently this was yet to happen. He remembered being covered in worms back down in the tunnels, he attempted to lean up to look over himself, to see if they had gone, and they had. But in their place, were the holes, little holes, all over him. Most of them looked neatly opened and carefully left to heal. But there were a few larger ones that had been raggedly cut and attempted to be stitched back together, those must be the paramedics' attempts to fix the ridiculous holes Martin's and his corkscrew had insisted on made earlier in the day.
John looked around him, he was in a gazebo style tent, clearly hastily set up on the street outside their office. He was on an ambulance stretcher. Tim, and Sasha both sat on chairs just across from him, and Elias was standing around talking to all those important people John couldn’t be bothered with right now.
Then a large stoic man in an even larger hazmat suit enters the room, if you could call it that. He told all of them it's time to move on into the “containers”. They first ushered up Elias and Tim, walking them off to this large, almost prison like transport vehicle. Elias followed the man, just like this was a normal Tuesday for him, and Tim jovially got up and followed suit. John guessed that CO2 still wasn't quite out of his system yet, or at least on some pretty hefty meds. John watched them wander up the stairs and the door closed behind them as the man in the hazmat walked over towards sasha. Sasha looked as if she had dozed off, not surprising given how much she, and all of them really, had gone through that day.
The hazmat man stood a few feet away from Sasha while trying to get her attention. Progressively saying louder and louder muffled “ma’ams” and “madams”. Eventually Sasha jumped, waking back up, and seeing the hazmat man followed him into a different transport container.
That left John alone in the tent. Alone both physically and with his thoughts. He tried to think through everything he'd been thorough, but all were drowned out by the overarching thought that Martin was missing. Where was he? Could he be dead, no, no he could think that way. Martin was just out exploring the tunnels, always too curious for himself.
Then the hazmat man came over to him. John looked at the man. He couldn't see too much of the man behind the mask, let alone hear any better. He can see the man gesturing towards the container he watched Tim and Elias head over into earlier. John gets the gist that the guy wants him to join the rest of his team in containers. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the gurney. As his legs went over though he forgot to put the strength back into them to stop them swinging once out of the bed and accidentally launching them into the metal wheels of the gurney. If the holes in his legs didn’t already make him want to cry out in pain, this certainly did. The hazmat man saw this and decided to give John a minute before taking him into the containers. John took this moment to have a breather. He looked down at himself, his clothes covered in holes and mud, and his shoes and socks somehow missing. He wiggled his toes, he could feel all the muscle pain from it, but it gave him something he was in control of. Given how out of control the day had been, it surprised him how calming this little movement gave him. He had no idea how long he sat there, could have been 5 seconds, 5 minutes or 5 hours. But once again the world wants to take back control of john. He could hear a squeaking approaching him and he turned around to be greeted by a hazmat man once again. This time wheeling in a clearly old squeaky wheelchair. He brought it up to John and parked it up next to him. John slowly edged himself further and further towards the edge of the gurney. He could feel his toes slowly touching the floor. It was weird he doesn't ever remember touching tarmac before. It was a weird experience, so cold, so shiny, it looks like it should feel wet, but it doesn't, in fact, impeccably dry in fact. He curved his feet around so he could more just propel, himself into the wheelchair rather than get up and lower himself into it. He knew he was weak, and already knew he was going to have to climb the stairs into the container, and it was unlikely anyone was going to assist , at least in any physical way, and to be honest he didn’t blame them. Even in protective gear, who wants to touch the potentially infectious holey worm man. Then the hazmat man returned, ready to roll him away so everyone could return to their normal daily lives and leave this mental day as a potential dream. Being outside of the tent, John got to see just how intense the world around the institute had gotten. Worms piled up everywhere, bright orange hazmat hardly moving around trying to get their day done ASAP so they could go home and move on and forget about the horrors they saw all about them today. And there he was, up by the stairs. He was happy to see bannisters on both sides, as otherwise he didn't think using just his legs could get him up those steps.
Out he grabbed and up he got.
It was only 3 steps, but those 3 steps looked like a marathon. But, nonetheless, a marathon he had to undertake. He could feel himself gaining more strength back in his legs as he went, the first bit of positive news he’d felt so far today. As he got to the top of the stairs he opened the door and stepped in, as he moved forward he heard a shriek. John turned around, and he saw Martin sprinting out of the institute yelling some gibberish about a body, and as quickly as it happened the door behind him closed and in the contamination container he was now stuck.