SOUND THE BUGLE HORN, play it just for me;

[Emilio D’Inferno]

as the seasons change,
REMEMBER WHO I USED TO BE.

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A hospital wasn’t exactly an appealing place to go – hell, Emilio had avoided them like the plague when he was free. Nothing could make him go, not even if he was throwing up blood – there were few he hated more than price-gouging doctors who’d ask for thousands of dollars to pull out a bullet and stitch the wound. Most of what those fancy men in white coats could do, he could either do himself or find someone who’d do it for free.
But that wasn’t the case anymore.
When his eyes fell on the hospital emergency room’s door, he hoped with all his might that perhaps the scientists had been kind enough to at least give them a working hospital. The least they could do was provide them with someone to cleanse their wounds or give them medication. Not like he needed any, but he would sure as hell love a few antidepressants, sleeping pills, or at least a pain reliever. Anything that would numb him and make his thoughts fade away – he wasn’t too proud to beg for something like that. Relief was all he wanted – from his thoughts, from the situations, from .. himself.

As he drew closer to the building, he could see something wasn’t right about it at all – one of the doors was missing and the glass on the windows had been either destroyed or stolen. There were still pieces lying on the floor, shattered and covered with dirt.
Trudging through the opening, he almost laughed out loud – even the chairs that would usually be propped up in aisles or against the wall were gone. Either it was a ghetto hospital or the scientists were exactly what he perceived them to be.

“Is anyone there?” he called, his throat bellowing out his words loud, perhaps too loud for his taste. He knew this place was not to be trusted, just as everywhere else in the stupid dome.. But he had to have hope. He had to at least give it a shot.

“Anyone?” he called yet again, this time more aggressively as he headed down one of the halls, his eyes searching every open room, partially in fear that someone would jump out at him. That habit wasn’t learned there – his paranoia and distrust for the general public and abandoned buildings had been growing since he was a boy. If there was any word that defined Emilio’s way of handling unknown situations, it was definitely guarded.

He finally reached the end of the hall, his eyes casting their gaze up and down the horizontal passageways before finally setting his hand on the staircase’s door. It wouldn’t budge at first, the hinges obviously in need of some oil.. but he pushed against it harder. The door gave in, and he glanced up at the mechanism that would otherwise pull it back shut – he couldn’t allow it to, lest he get unlucky when he tried to pull it open again.
Reaching up, he set his hand on the spring, moving one of the latches in the way of it’s path, so that it’d slow to a stop and be unable to fully close, at least not until he came back.
He then worked his way up the stairs, going up several flights until he was on the third floor – that’s when he tried to call again.
There were a few noises on this floor.. He knew better than to honestly believe it was a nurse or doctor. It could be another shifter, a stray animal, or even a virus.. but it had to be something.

“Hello?”
His voice was impatient this time, though he still waited, almost glaring down the hallway. Nobody came..
He waited even longer, standing still like he was on the hunt, but not a single soul walked the halls – not a single voice answered him.
Unknowing of whether he wanted to keep going or explore a bit, he went with the latter, finding his way into some of the old supply rooms. Some of the closets had been raided – they were stripped of any useful items, but there were still some closets that were bolted shut, saved by heavy chains and locks. He snorted softly, running his hands over the cool metal on one of the closets. His hands clenched into fists, his grip tightening and eyes closing – his arms grew tense, back arching forwards somewhat as he let his head fall a few inches. But then his eyes shot wide, his body pulling back and suddenly shooting forward again, his entire weight loaded onto his fist as it crashed against the metal closet’s door. He drew in air through clenched teeth, his knuckles screaming in protest as he let another blow rip out, just enough to put a dent in one of the doors so that it was uneven, having an inch or so of separation between the deepest part of the depression and the other, untouched door. He used this to his advantage, slipping his hand in and pulling the other one back, losing his grip and falling square on his back in the process. His head rebounded off the tile floor, an annoyed grunt escaping his lips as he pulled himself back up.
What he saw in the depths of the supply closet, though, wasn’t something very useful – bolt cutters, gauze, and a few empty glasses, none of which he needed right now.
Reluctantly, he reached in and grabbed the bolt cutters, hoping that the tool would be of some use to him in the future. From there, he continued on his little adventure, heading right up to the final floor – until something caught his eye.
There was the fourth floor’s door right in front of him, presumably the last floor.. but there was another flight of stairs. He glanced between the two options for a few seconds, finally choosing the latter and finding himself at a dead end – the door most likely lead to the roof, but it was chained to the wall with a thick, metal chain that he could guess the old hospital owner had put before evacuating the town.
He was seconds from going back down to the main floor when he stopped, his attention being drawn to the item he’d recently picked up. What? Was he stupid or something?
A short laugh filled his lungs as he closed the instrument’s blades on the intertwined metal links and slammed the handles shut, causing the lock to fall to the floor with a few clinks and clangs.
He then pushed against the heavy, exterior door, putting his entire weight against it until it finally swept wide open.

Weary eyes peered out as the light cascaded all around him, making his pupils scream in agony as they shrunk. He furrowed his eyebrows, eyes narrowed by default as he took a cautious step forward. The cool, afternoon air welcomed his skin anxiously, instantly shocking and pulling it away from its previous, almost burning temperature. Beads of sweat, scattered on his shoulders and forehead, seemed to sink back into his skin and be dissolved as his eyes surveyed the rooftop.
There was gravel and a few old structures on it – air vents, broken down air conditioners, a few random objects that were obviously left behind from other passers-by, and a lightning rod.. but nothing really caught his attention more than the distant horizon. It was dusk and the clouds had all parted, giving him a clear view of the darkening sky, and the fading of the sun’s brilliant, yellow light into the deepest, distant shades of blue. He marveled at it for a few seconds, his cynicism of the Menagerie disappearing for just brief moments before he could remember where he was.
God, it all seemed to real – why’d he have to remember?!
For those few moments, his body had been an empty shell – it’d stood there entirely alone, for his mind was somewhere else. The city skyline in front of him, the distant shores.. it had faded into oblivion. The landscape had morphed, buildings shooting up out of the ground and the familiar palm trees of Los Angeles sprouting from dry, grass-less areas on the sidewalk. There were cars, there were crowds of people.. Off in the distance, he could even see the flashing red and blue lights of some police cruiser that’d pulled someone over, the old bastard most likely hoping to nail someone for a ticket and score his monthly quota so that he’d get to hunt another day.
But sights weren’t all he saw – there were sounds: sirens, talking, gunshots, yelling.. there were even smells. Then the question surfaced – where were Josh and Angel? His brother and sister. He almost called out their names, but was silenced by his own mind before he could do so.
With that simple question, it all came crashing down around him – everything from the buildings to the smoggy skies. It all shattered like glass.
His chest heaved, muscles tensing all over his body and his hand clenching around the bolt cutters he’d used to slice through the chains that’d bound the door shut earlier.
His breathing sped, his heart racing like he was back in the streets – but he wasn’t, and that made it beat harder. He approached the side of the roof, standing about a foot from the edge. Someone else might have jumped.. At four stories high, the fall would surely kill him. Death would be the only way out – death had always been the only way out: out of his gang, out of his problems, and now out of this wretched cage. But he couldn’t. He feared not death, but the opportunities he’d miss out on by taking the plunge.
Thus, with his lips curled into a snarl worthy of hell, his arms tensed up some more, one pulling back and rocketing forwards, releasing his grip on the bolt cutters at the final possible second. The poor tool never had a chance – it flew like a bird, landing somewhere he couldn’t possibly fathom. The throw itself had almost knocked him off balance, causing him to panic and pull away from the drop. He’d been one false move from doing what he’d talked himself out of just mere moments ago. Something about the Menagerie was killing him.. Had he ever felt so homesick before in his life?

“What are you doing to me..” he whispered, his grandfather’s smoldering, hazel eyes narrowing as his hands reached up to meet them, covering his face for a few moments before they slipped to his forehead, his gaze rising to the sky.
One day this would all be history, he just had to figure out when that day would come.

[/justify]
word count; 1,783. /shot