WHO: Cal Barton + Caylie Gwynn WHEN: Monday, March 30 WHERE: Trapped in the corridors of the funhouse WHAT: Cal and Caylie find themselves separated from the other Sentries, and so far there seems to be no way out.
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Cal lost track of time hours ago. He had no idea how long they'd been in there, how far they'd gone, or how many times they'd wandered in circles. He swore that they weren't backtracking, but then they'd find themselves in the same hall of mirrors, staring at distorted reflections of themselves. Every time they passed the mirrors Cal seemed to think they looked paler, more exhausted, more harried -- and that didn't surprise him in the least.
Because shit.
Every so often he checked in on the comms, but even with the best directions possible he hadn't found anyone yet. Corridors appeared and disappeared. Doors led nowhere, and then they led down spiral staircases into brightly-colored rooms with pictures of clowns and sideshow attractions from the last century.
At first, Cal had really seemed like he knew what he was doing. Clowns didn't freak him out, and he seemed right at home in a funhouse. They all worked the same way, he said, they all had certain escape routes for staff that they could look for -- and he wasn't wrong, except those escape routes just led to more trap doors and misshapen rooms. This place, as far as Cal was mapping out in his head, was at least the size of New Avalon Academy and they'd traveled through at least four levels. From the outside, it had looked significantly smaller. A shack.
So ... yeah.
"Son of a bitch!" Cal cursed as they trudged back into the hall of mirrors. He slumped down to his knees and sat back, raking his hands back through his hair. "Fucking great. I'm going crazy."