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A similarly colored chain connected the note to the bird, binding the note in a purple flame. It took off, finding the correct door and landed on it's doorknob. The bird dissipated as Ajax placed his hand on the knob

((It's in his art))

it seemed like they were slowly surrounded by things looking like blobs of shadows in the darkness They also could hear chains rattling behind them.

It read,

There's only one right door, but the right door isn't a the safe door. You're not getting out of this so easily. :P

Your- Aw, can't I spoil it for him? No? Fine.- Your Random Helpful Stranger, A.

For some reason, the note had random things like butterflies, rainbows, and severed heads littering it.

“Bang up job spotting the angel, Jack! Really spectacular! I thought hunters were supposed to be observant!” shouted the Detective, facedown on the floor.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Nah, I spotted him, I just thought I’d let him be a surprise!” he said, making spirit fingers. He hadn’t gotten up first, so, to any observer, he appeared to be making snow angels with deformed wings.

The Detective grunted, shifting to his feet and picking his glasses back up off the floor. “Where are we, anyway?” he asked, wiping the specs on his shirt.

“No idea,” said Jack, climbing slowly to his feet. “Angels send you back to the past to feed on the potential energy of an unlived time stream. But if the PPC ever looked like this, I was away for it.”

Filing away the suggestion of a past prolonged absence on the part of his partner, the Detective rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve already covered that this probably isn’t an angel. At least not a subspecies I’ve heard of. They don't operate this way, and they don't teleport into hallways, for a start. Plus, we met that first one totally out of the blue," he said, also climbing to his feet and taking in his surroundings. "No. . . Not Angels."

We’ve been transported somewhere entirely different by not-Weeping Angels that are pretending to be angels. Spooky. So probably something designed to scare us. And transported somewhere, mind, with a horrible standard of general maintenance. Also. . .” he scanned the area with his screwdriver, “energy charged red liquid. Method of power conduction? Flooding of the electrical systems? Vaporization of the liquid could result in the atmosphere, providing a tolerable atmosphere for whatever those moving things are. Might even be toxic to either of us. . .” he murmured absently.

The Detective looked around the room- some place he didn’t understand, or expect in the slightest.

“Interesting. . .” he said with a grin.

"Maybe," said Jack, squinting. "But we still need to find our way back."

As the pitter patter of Daggers lodging themselves into the door filled the room Ajax yelled out "I'm guessing there's not correct door?"

Before any of the Agents could react, both of them were transported in another dark corridor. Both the walls and the ceilings looked in bad shape, and a hazy atmosphere was lying around. Some red liquid charged with energy was flowing through the corridors, and little things seemed to move in the shadows.

While he couldn't quite see it, the Angel couldn't be certain of this- or, at least, that's what he was banking on.

Still keeping both eyes on the statue, the Detective fumbled in his coat pocket for his sonic screwdriver. The room took on a green cast as the Detective activated it, pointing it at the flashlight. He could use the sonic waves to generate some flow of electricity, keeping the bulb glowing. He knew he had to keep the bulb dim in case it went out again- that way his night vision wouldn't be completely shot. While he still had the advantage of the reflection, the Detective backed away toward the door, keeping his screwdriver aimed at the torch.

Fumbling for the knob from behind, he wrenched the door open and flung himself through, slamming the door and hearing something BANG against the metal from the other side. He switched the settings of the screwdriver, and cold-welded the lock shut, turning to face Jack, gasping out, "I think we should go- that door won't hold it for long."

"Yeah, but what did you do?" Jack asked. He was standing, arms crossed, out in the hallway.

"I'll explain later!" the Detective unwittingly quoted, fear making his voice much deeper as they ran through the red-tinted halls.

They should've been headed toward the exit.

((No worries. that's a good one.))

"Mother," She said in rasped breaths. "Why?" She slumps over, dead.

There's a sharp pain in Aviator's stomach, the unmistakable psychic signature of her daughter returning.

The flames grow hotter, larger. The Rose Potters are quickly consumed by the flames, though a male figure stumbles out of it and into The Aviator's arms. Burned beyond recognition.

"Rina..." The man says, the voice revealing it to be Alex. He slumps over, dead.

In the flames, two silhouetted figures appear, an older male and a younger... female?

John and Mary.

Little Miss Mary.

"And I don't know what the hell is going on, if this is some sick Halloween prank or what, but the time for games is over." She could feel the heat of the flames on her face. She raised her staser pistol and aimed it at the Roses--then she hesitated. A split second before her finger squeezed the trigger, she swung around and shot the crucified child instead.

Then, a whistling sound could be heard, coming from deep within the corridor beyond the door. It grew louder and louder, the source seeming to grow closer and closer, until it was obvious that the sound was coming from the innumerable daggers flying straight at the agent.

"Apecian!" Michael cried, turning his attention to his partner.

"What?" the Homunculus asked, looking at the human.

"You can't be serious!" he protested. "You're seriously going to... to cut your head off and toss it to the spider?"

"Why not? I mean, I've been incinerated, drained by a vampire repeatedly, stabbed in various vital organs, crushed by falling object, been a falling object, and a couple other things I'm forgetting right now, and I've taken some of your wounds. What's a head more?" Apecian asked.

"I... you..."

"My head, your head, spider's head. You really want to get in a fight with the monster spider?" Neither of them were paying any attention to the monster while they were talking to each other.

The blue line continued underneath the door. The PA system came to life once more. "Thank you for following the instructions," the voice said. "For that, you have been awarded ten minutes time to prepare before entering the room. Once you are finished preparing, or time has run out, please proceed to the first phase of your punishment."

“WEEPING ANGEL!” they said, practically together.

“Jack, don’t take your eyes off that statue for a second,” said the Detective, feeling focused and alert for once in his life.

Jack very nearly rolled his eyes. “Thanks so much. I’ve totally never heard of a Weeping Angel before. Just shouted that because I felt like it.” Sighing, he continued, “Any ideas?”

The Detective bit his lip, thinking. Angels could move when you were looking at them. . . That which holds the image of an angel. . .

He did have an idea.

“Jack, I’ve got a plan.”

“Fantastic!”

“Walk out of this room and leave me here.”

“Less fantastic. You do realize these things don’t just grab one victim and leave, right? And since when are you the type for the big, heroic sacrifice?”

“I’ve got a plan, Jack, and very little time to explain it. Now, go ahead and blink. I need your eyes in the best possible condition for this. Ready?”

“Now,” said Jack. The Detective stared at the angel. The light was beginning to hurt his eyes, and he was feeling the sting of holding them open.

“Good. Now you?”

“I just nodded,” the Detective said. “Ready? I’m going to blink. . . Now!”

He screwed his eyes shut, and felt the moisture return to them.

"Alright," the Detective said. "Now, I'm going to walk over to you, and you're going to hand me that flashlight without moving the beam from the statue. Then, without looking away from the Angel at any point, you are then going to walk out of this room, and leave me here."

Jack scoffed. "You can forget that right now."

"Oh, come on, Jack- I've got a plan. Don't have time to explain it now, though. Rest assured, you hit the nail on the head when you said I'm not one for heroic sacrifices. One more blink before we start. You first. Ready?" They blinked, and the Detective edged toward the flashlight. As he reached out, the Detective prized the flashlight from his hands. Suddenly, the beam wavered, as the Detective chuckled. “We’re literally passing the torch!” he said. Jack just steadied the beam, sighing.

“Now leave,” he told Jack, “and don’t take your eyes off it for one moment.”

“I still don’t understand-”

“No, I didn’t expect you to. Trust me when I say that I have a plan- now get out!” the Detective snarled.

Jack edged his way back toward the door, sparing the Detective a final, concerned glance before shutting it.

“Now, angel- let’s get down to business, shall we? You can’t move when you’re being seen, can you? Well, since you can’t speak, let’s prove that, shall we?”

The Detective switched off the flashlight.

A half second later, he switched it back on again, and the angel stood before him. The Detective took a worried half-step back. Bit closer than he’d been expecting.

“Right, no worries there, then. Now, second fact is, that which holds the image of an angel becomes itself an angel. But everyone knows that,” he said, devilish grin breaking onto his face. He practically lived for these moments. “So the really clever bit is that angels count as someone looking at you. And you may not be an Angel, given that you just showed up at random. Maybe you’re a hallucination, maybe something I don’t even know about yet, but I reckon,” he said, straining not to blink but loving every second of his moment in the spotlight, “You still have to play by the rules.”

The Detective bent, placing the flashlight on the floor, and illuminating the angel, light bouncing off the cabinet behind the Time Lord.

“Oh, and, guess what?” he said, stepping out of the way of the cabinet and clapping a hand on the statue, staring over its shoulder at the face of the angel’s reflection in the medicine cabinet.

“‘That which holds the image,’ remember? So reflections still count.”

which was located at the end of the hall.

In fact, it didn't seem to be alive. It looked like some medieval statue, and was in fact covering its eyes. The odd shapes looked like parts of wings, as far it was possible to tell.

He quickly stepped backwards towards the door, not losing sight of the creature.

"Who are you talking to?" asked Jack, brow furrowing in concern. "And why couldn't this have happened in the cafeteria?" he added in a mutter, looking around the room for the smelling salts.

"Fella over here in the corner," said the Detective, still staring at the figure, not blinking. "Time Lords have slightly better night vision- not surprised you can't see him. Looking for something?" he asked, catching Jack's searching gaze in his periphery.

"Salt, iron- anything that'll sting the occult," he said.

The Detective nodded, considering. "Not a bad idea, considering where we are. Might add flashlight to that list, so we can get a good look at our mute friend. I can see him as is, though, so I'll be the one keep an eye on him and stay near the door. You have a look around. I suggest you start with the cabinets over there, since they're accessed pretty regularly."

As Jack went to search in the room, the Detective addressed the figure once more. He stood straight, looking as intimidating as it was possible to look in a hospital gown and a trench coat.

"Who are you, then?"

Maz stopped in her tracks.

'Dude, you, uh, hear that?'

Yocherry's walking had slowed down to a gentle padding. In the darkness, his glowing head-fungus was like a distant, fog-choked lamppost.

'Yeah, boss.'

'Um. Yeah.' Maz glanced left to right. 'So, uh.'

'It was a crack, boss,' Yocherry said, grinning at her. 'Gonna stop for every random noise, are we?'

'Well-'

'Whoa!' Yocherry exclaimed, freezing in his tracks. He turned around, further grinning at Maz. 'A footstep!'

'Shut up, dude.' She muttered bitterly, sending Yocherry into a giggling fit. 'But, um, dude. What cracked?'

Yocherry shrugged, stopping to let Maz catch up. 'Something broke, I expect.'

'Thanks, dude,' Maz said in a voice dry enough to host tumbleweeds and cacti.

The room was too dark for details, but it seemed like an humanoid shape, with two odd forms behind it, each one which seemed starting from where the shoulders of the shape should be.

"We should leave," said Jack darkly. "I've seen this movie before, and it never ends well."

He walked over toward the door of Medical, pausing and looking back for his partner.

"Yep, good idea. . ." said the Detective absently, shrugging into his coat and shoving aside the curtains to examine the row of hospital beds, strangely silent in the dark.

It seemed like the silence had devored everything beyond the two Agents' eyes. The room itself appeared to be shrinking in the darkness, as the shadows slowly advanced towards them.

Jack Riggs and the Detective turned slowly to face one another.

The silence was almost a sound of its own for a moment. One could've heard a pin drop. Both of them turned into the darkness of Medical, curtains drawn on one side of the bed, pale against the sudden shadows of the room.

"Nice place you have here," said the Detective drily.

Jack shushed him.

"Okay, guessing this doesn't happen often. . ." the Detective murmured to himself, raising his hands defensively when Jack shot a look at him.

Both were listening keenly. After another moment of the utter silence, the Detective's irritated squint became a thousand yard stare, and his face grew pale.

"Do you hear anything?" he said softly, still staring vacantly into the dark.

"Not a thing," Jack said, shifting back to a more comfortable position in his chair by the Detective's bedside. "Power outages happen on occasion, even in HQ. Someone's probably on their way to fix it."

The Detective rolled his eyes.

"Jack, what happens in a power outage? People freak, or at least get irritated. Often, people get scared. After all, most species have some fear of the dark," he said, plucking the IV from his arm, sitting up on his hospital bed and grabbing his coat from its edge.

"They're not wrong," said the hunter ruefully, raising an eyebrow before looking at the Detective. "So?"

"So. . . The irritated and the fearful aren't known for their vows of silence," he said, looking Jack dead in the eye.

"So why can you practically cut this one with a knife?"

"Well, what if we don't—"

"Emiran, shut up for once in your life and just focus," hissed Naya, racking the slide on her Carnifex and taking up a position against the far wall.

"Fine," grumbled the Time Lord, checking the power indicator on his pistol and sidling up to his side of the corridor. "Let's just walk into the blindingly obvious trap set by a crappy Saturday morning cartoon Suvian villain. Gods, sometimes I wish I could decide to retire already and do something normal with my life."

"But then you'd miss Terabyte and me," said Naya. "Seriously. Retiring sets you back quite a bit."

"Point taken," said the Guardsman, grinning as he slowly moved up the corridor. Naya kept up with his advance, pistol at the ready, carefully watching the corridor for movement.