The East Wing was like walking through two Buckingham Palaces interconnected, without the walls, the stuffy furniture and general Victorian appearance. There were statues of various mythic figures, prominently of Greek gods and goddesses. The statues were painstakingly hand carved with some marks left from tools used and the statues were made of the most expensive material, the kind that most could never afford.
The benches that lined shopping centers were a mix between gold and bronze, an odd mix but the gold sheen coming from the dim lights made it seem that Midas himself had touched each of the benches and turned them into solid gold. The walls were burgundy in color with gold painted accents on borders and raised parts, hand painted by the strokes. It looked as if money was spent propping up the East Wing in it's entirely as a place of Rockefellers and those with steep pockets.
There were suites for those who were willing to spend thousands to have the best view of the seabed, undisturbed by the goings of the life, with everything they ever wanted at an arm's reach and a telephone call. Names of those who owned the suites were lost to the ages.
Food courts of all types served everything from carnival foods, made with the finest beer batter, to even beef of all kinds, the prices were as one would expect from foods that were made with the finest ingredients.
The clothes behind boutique shop windows were dated. They were made of the finest silks and cloths available, costing more than one would pay for clothes alone.
The flowers in the painted pots were engineered and because of their engineered nature, they were the only living things found in the entirely of the East Wing. And even the floors were made of quality material; there weren't even foot impressions or scuffles anywhere.
The East Plaza was spacious enough, it could've very well contain the entirely of London's population if the option was available and it alone gave the duo an unnerving feeling. The feeling that at one point, people of status once went about their days here, whatever reason that drew them here to this now decrepit palace was lost to time.
Despite its luxurious appearance, even the East Plaza couldn't escape the ire of time and apparent vandalism that happened to be marked on some of the walls.
Some of the words were faded with time, of different colors, though it appeared several were made with markers or whatever anyone had on hand. Words that weren't faded enough gave some instructions to other people.
Alyx!
Get to the Borealis at Pier 17!
Take Lamar with you.
Go without me.
I'm sorry.
-Freeman
We are slaves.
We are slaves.
We are slaves.
We are slaves.
We are slaves.
We are…
(It continues for forty more lines)
Oh my God!
Someone
Anyone
The labs!
It got out!
IT GOT OUT
Z (…) IS OUT!
SOMEONE
PLEASE
SOMEONE
HELP ME
We R Dead!
God Save Us
GOD PLEASE SAVE US
Sofia Lamb!
You irresponsible INCONCEIVABLE IRRATIONAL DELUSIONAL SADISTIC WRETCHED C(…)!
You did this.
We trusted you.
You betrayed us.
Now we die because of you!
May Hell be evermore!
STOP WRITING!
STOP WRITING ALL OF YOU RIGHT NOW!
THEY CAN READ YOU IDIOTS!
THEY KNOW WHAT YOU'RE WRITTING
NOW THEY KNOW WHERE TO FIND YOU
YOU IDIOTS
YOU DAMNED US ALL!
Sonya,
I'M SORRY
I HAD TO ESCAPE THROUGH THE AIR VENT
PLEASE
HEAD TO THE SUITES
I'LL BE THERE
-K
The words continued, some were dated erratically while others were made in haste. Something else happened here, something else besides the Plague Doctor and the others escaping. While the Plague Doctor mentioned that he and others that were with him went against Sofia and the scientists, it would've happened in the South Wing. There weren't any reasons for them being here in the East Wing.
"Must've been Sofia then," Sherlock stared at the graffiti that lined the walls. Some were neat while others were skewed as if someone wrote in an angle. Sherlock glanced at the Doctor as he read some of the graffiti that were too faded to be read properly. He asked, "Doctor, how can there be nothing about what went on here?"
"I don't know, I have been looking through all the universes that came to mind. Some were less than happy with me asking questions and some just didn't know what I was on about," the Doctor took a deep breathe before he exhaled. "I suppose that's one of the useful benefits for being buddies with government parties."
"Doctor, you don't suppose she killed them?" Sherlock looked at a graffiti that was written by someone in a hurry. The Doctor gritted his teeth, "I don't know. Until we get into the South Wing, anything is possible."
There were more graffiti, helpful tips to hide from the Beta Series. "Beta Series," Sherlock's mouth was gap as he came across it several times. The Doctor cringed, "Damn it."
"Is that what that thing was?" Sherlock remembered the scuba diver from the West Wing. The Doctor slowly nodded, "Aye that was probably one of them."
"Dear God," Sherlock cringed. "What are we going to do?"
"We need to find the maintenance shaft and get inside the South Wing," the Doctor looked at him. "It's the only way to get to the bottom of this."
"Right, I take one half and you take the other?" Sherlock glanced around the East Plaza. The Doctor glanced around as well and nodded. "Right, I'll go left and you go right. Come back here when you're done. Anything happens, radio me," the Doctor instructed.
They went their separate ways. The Doctor went left and Sherlock went right. The left side of the East Plaza was where the apartments and the boutiques were. The right side had the food court and the spa that was advertised in the West Wing.
To say the Doctor wasn't scared was to say a Dalek was spooked by the sight of a wee spider the size of a gnat crawling on around the tip top of its head. It just wasn't possible. Not possible at all.
Sherlock on the other hand was someone else entirely. He had his share of scares, from being drugged, knocked around like a boorish wrestler, flung off sides of buildings and the like, and the occasional poisonings that time to time crop up, but this was a case he never experienced before. To say Sherlock was never afraid of anything was to say Moriarity wouldn't shoot you over spilled tea; it was highly inconvenient and probably dangerous if going with the latter.
Two very different men, both detectives in their own right, both equally afraid of the long stretch of halls that seemingly go on forever, afraid that at the end of the halls was something waiting for them, something or another that would be their end and the Compound would be their tomb.
With the graffiti that covered majority of the walls, it made matters worse. These were people who were trapped in the Compound, where there was no way to escape it, alone, and under besiege by the Beta Series that stalked the halls. The Beta Series was supposed to be maintenance workers that did tasks that no human could ever do, but something went wrong and they became hostile toward everyone as the Alpha Series had done so before. The Beta Series attempted to drill holes into scientists, refused to acknowledge Keepers, everything about the Beta Series mirrored what felled the Alpha Series.
It made both the Doctor and Sherlock cringe at the sheer thought that more humans were turned into more of the Series.
They watch you
They hear you
Circle you
Circle you
They come for you
Come for you!
Come for you to take
To the ones that take control
The Doctor turned a corner of the graffiti toward the apartments. He glanced around corners, his hearts stopped when he thought he seen a shadow or two move at the edge of his eyes. The Doctor carefully walked as he kept glancing behind, in his mind he imagined scenarios where he glances back and there would be something there.
However, the Doctor prevailed and he managed to head toward the reception area. The reception area had automated services where luggage and the like were delivered from the ports below. All the chairs were plump and looked expensive as everything else in the reception area. There were four sets of large elevators, two for guests and two for the bellboys to carry luggage and anything else that the guests requested. Posters lined the wall, all dated, their watermarks indicated they came from the '70s at most and they were of Rockefellers arriving at the suites while flicking a coin in their fingers, giving a smile to the receptionist.
The Doctor edged near the reception desk where it once manned six receptionists at a time; behind the stools in a large cabinet there were keys that were neatly hung up, each with a ring on them with the suite number they went to. When he touched one of them, he found dust had caked it; it hadn't been used in years. Looking for the keys to the janitor's closest, the Doctor riffled through the receptionist desk, there was a set of keys needed to open the bottom drawer of the cabinet, likely where keys to some of the suites functions were.
He found old photos of friends of families that belong to the receptionists that once worked there, he found even a few love letters, those tame in today's standards, while some he simply stuffed back where they were found and quickly moved away.
It took a while but the Doctor was able to find the keys to the bottom drawer and unlocked it. There were almost ten sets of keys, each labeled by a different numbering system. Once again, it led the Doctor to riffle through the receptionist desk looking for a reference sheet. In his second search, the Doctor found old pill bottles with faded texts before he found unlabeled pill bottles filled to the brim with a very popular drug. It appeared the receptionists had a nasty habit while they worked in the suites, likely picked up as means for coping, as the Doctor found letters from loved ones, describing everything under the sun, literary, meaning that at least a handful of people who were in the Compound weren't happy being inside.
Lightly patting the drawers he pulled out, the Doctor found a stapled stack of yellowed sheets, stained with Tabaco and traces of the drugs in the bottles. The Doctor went through the list; there were references for the suite keys themselves and those that were used by staff. Eventually the Doctor found the sheets he needed and went through the keys in precise order. The key to the janitor's closest was F-21 and the Doctor snatched it from the foam that it rested on and stood up from the floor, rubbing his sore knees as he cautiously glimpsed around the area. He didn't know how many of the Beta Series there were, the graffiti wasn't helpful in that area, but he dreaded what might happen if he were to come face to face with one.
With the key in hand, the Doctor headed over to the elevator and pressed the button. It lit up and the Doctor stood beside the elevator. One could never be too careful, the Doctor learned. He heard the hum as the elevator slowly came down, a loud ding and the elevator door slide open.
He waited for a few minutes before he poked his head out to see the elevator wasn't occupied and he entered it. Following the reference sheet, the Doctor hit the third button and the elevator closed. The Doctor held his breathe as he felt the elevator slowly ascending. He closed his eyes briefly as he tried to remain calm and collective and almost jumped when he heard the elevator ding once again and the door opening.
One could say he was jumping out of the elevator, but the Doctor would laugh and claim he was merely getting out of the elevator before anything happened. Centuries of near deaths helped curtail some of the Doctor's behavior, not all, but enough that the Doctor wasn't going to stick his head out of an elevator.
The hall was empty and the stink of dust made the Doctor cringe. The lights were flickering erratically, the bulbs at the brink of burning out and as the Doctor walked, some of the bulbs were blown, leaving behind the connectors and the barbs intact.
There were plotted plants here and there, all engineered and all continued to bloom without a notice to the lack of presence. As the Doctor passed one, he flinched when the leaves brushed against his hand, almost sending his hearts to his throat.
The Doctor looked at the gold etches of numbers, he muttered as he moved down the hall. He figured it would be at the very end, alone, away from everyone else and as he edged near it, he heard humming.
The Doctor stopped and listened. Someone was humming in one of the rooms and the Doctor turned his head toward the source. It was Room 13. The Doctor stared at the key in his hand glanced at the door to Room 13, he chewed on his lips before he decided to take a chance.
Carefully, the Doctor stepped in front of Room 13 and stuffed the key to the janitor's closest into his pocket. With his hand, he knocked on the door. "Hello?" the Doctor called out. The humming continued. The Doctor knocked again and he listened as he heard something shuffling around inside the bourbon colored door. There were sounds of shuffling as he heard someone go to the other side of the door. The Doctor chewed on his lips as he mustered, "I'm the Doctor."
The door unlocked, the Doctor waited for it to be opened, but it never did and against himself, he opened it. Upon doing so, he found there was no one inside the suite. He found no trace of anyone being inside the suite recently or at all and the Doctor's blood slowly chilled as he tried to understand what was happening.
He heard humming. He heard humming. The Doctor sat down on the bed as he glanced around the suite. It was barren aside from the furniture that hadn't been taken out. The Doctor shook his head and stood up from the bed, "Bloody hell what am I doing?"
He went toward the entrance of the suite, shaking his head. "There aren't any," he muttered under his breath as he exited back out into the hall. As the Doctor passed the suite, heading further down the hall, the humming started again.