[From here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/757073.html?thread=62074193#t62074193)]

The corridor was silent.

Hanna's footsteps sounded horribly loud in her ears. Horribly… Horribly wrong, actually; almost as though she shouldn't be hearing them at all. She kept one hand braced against the wall as she walked, practically on tip-toe. If she kept on going north, she'd eventually hit the Rec Field, right? A bit of fresh air would be nice, and the moonlight. Oh, oh, and the stars! It'd be a hella lot nicer than the darkness and the dank, and all those other depressing d-words floating around in her head.

It wasn't that Hanna was a coward, per se; she wasn't. She had guts and courage, and a good challenge was even better than a slab of triple chocolate cheesecake for supper. It was just — she sort of. Didn't like her faulty, insanity-laden memories being her only frame of reference. Yeah. The creepiness and the B-rated horrorness (was that even a word? Well, it was now!) was nowhere near as bad as that feeling. The feeling that old delusions (Yuffie) had crept up, and it (she) was smacking her around the head and yelling to be let back in, this morning, thanks very much.

She didn't wanna be Yuffie anymore. She was happy being Hanna, happy with reality (and boy did that lie feel like a kick in the teeth), and all she really wanted was to be back home. Home, where she could noogie Madison and Daniel. Home, where she could puke in Stan's car. Home, where Conner and Tiff and everybody would be waiting.

People always said that the darkness made your sensory experience a ton more awesome.

Hanna now knew that they were horrible liars.

All it did was keep her off balance. Now she could hear better than she could see, everything sounded loud to her ears. M-Maybe it really had been a mistake to be so hasty in running off? It wasn't as though she was lost, oh, no, but having a flashlight—even if it was Yuffie's—would have been a co- ahem, it would have been helpful. Nobody stuck around in a corridor like this; it was a little backwater place, nowhere special. And if nobody stuck around, there was no way for her to leech off their lights.

Or steal them.

Hanna shook her head, hard, arms wrapped tight around her middle. It was alright; she was fine. She was fine — "H-Hey!" she yelped, spinning around clumsily at a noise in the gloom. "Don't sneak up on me like that … Blake?" Incredulity lent a soft height to her tone, and dark eyes went wide. She could barely make him out, but sure enough, it was Blake! Calling her Hanna! "What're you doing here?" Hanna demanded.

Hanna stepped closer at the same time Blake did, consciously forcing herself to relax. It really wouldn't do to act at all nervous around him… and she wasn't! Nervous, that was. At all. So, he wouldn't have any need to say anything teasing.

… Not that the scenario really set itself up for too much teasing. "Probably," she muttered. "It probably is. This is Landel's. You know, that place you were totally fine with packing me off to, against my will?" Jerk. They'd all been fine with it! Good thing she knew they missed her, or she'd have never been able to forgive them. "I don't know what's up with the security, though. This, um, it happens, like, every night." A little quieter, she added, "Or something."

Great, now she was babbling. That was a sure-fire way of letting him know that she was edgy. Hopefully he'd keep his big trap shut about it. Nerves were still lancing her, but a little smile was threatening on her lips, and Hanna took another step until they were less than a foot apart. "Did'ya go crazy-heartsick from missing me, huh? Or, or! You're here to help me bust out, right?"

"I am better," said Hanna sulkily, casting a look at her friend. Boyfriend. Whatever the hell he was now. "And I'll be out of here soon, no thanks to you." She paused, hips cocked, barely able to see through the gloom. "Still, it's not all your bad, I guess. Real culprit begins with G, ends with 'ordon'. What kind of guy goes locking up his own daughter, anyways?" A flash of self-righteous irritation sent the nervousness dashing away. Hanna stood straighter, more confidently. Not that her father's ploy had actually worked; she'd busted out quick as a snap, taking a few prizes along with her as compensation.

It was just… It just so weird, being in the dark like this. The air was all musty, and it was so quiet in this hallway, and seeing Blake again sent a soft pang of relief right into the pit of her stomach. It'd only been a couple of weeks since they'd last seen each other, and he did have that unfortunate habit of being a bit of a dick… But he was cute, and he cared. Even if he was a coward.

Amongst other things. Hanna had a really, really long list of derogatory adjectives for this guy, even though most of them weren't really all that heartfelt. She snickered, reaching out to take his hand. "Hey, Blake, your pants are on fire. Want me to smack it out for you?"

Bash him? Pfft! As if she'd settle with that!

"Don't even try to defend him," Hanna said unsympathetically. "I know what he was tryin' to do, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a total douche." Just because Blake had memories he could moon over didn't mean that everybody else did. Hanna knew damn well what it was like to lose a parent, but that didn't mean that she had to be eternally grateful for the one she had left.

Hanna's grip was slightly off – ever so slightly, just enough that even she didn't recognize she was doing it. With her index finger extended as it was, she didn't even feel his grip tightening. "Trouble in paradise," she retorted, with a one-shouldered shrug. "Today was even lamer than one of your dates." It was always cute of him when he tried to do nice things, but really, his idea of going out for a meal was an excursion to their local coffee shop. And… Ha. As usual, his idea of manliness was seeking out comfort and reassurance from little ol' her. Hanna smirked, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. "Hey, don't go wetting yourself. We're just gonna go outside for a few seconds, then we're gonna go find that phone. We'll be out before you know it."

Her opposite shoulder brushing the wall, Hanna tugged once on their joined hands before starting to walk.

"The coffee shop was cool the first time," Hanna dismissed, waving her free hand lightly. "Kinda lost its charm after the twentieth—"

A hand slammed into the wall in front of her. Fingers tightened so much that she suddenly could feel them, really feel them, and even though Hanna had plenty of strength in her own right, there were certain disadvantages to being five-three tops and built like a willow-wand to boot. It hurt! And even Blake should know better than to play games like this, especially with such lousy timing! "Blake, what the hell are you doing?! This is so not cute, and if you don't let me go, I swear I'll… kick…."

Her breath left her in a whoosh when she noticed the change, eyes raking it all in, taking split seconds. "…Blake?" What was wrong with him? Bad meds? Has he had to take something, and it's gone wrong? All thought cut off when he screamed, and all of a sudden Hanna realized that against the wall was a bad, bad place to be. Every instinct that she had screamed right back, but it was Yuffie's—those sharp, ingrained reflexes that she found so irresistible, just like back at lunch—that made her move. Move without thinking. Move with all the considerable speed she had, consciously, and just a little bit extra that by all rights shouldn't exist.

Hanna pivoted, Blake's lunge for her throat missing by just enough that she had time to snap one leg up, aiming for his gut. Her free hand whipped up to jab at his throat, a desperate attempt to make him stumble, to down him, to do anything so that she could escape. Unlike Yuffie, she'd never fought in tight-spaces before; sporting martial arts were all she knew, and though she was brilliant at them, the 'real' world played by different rules. There was only so far that barely-understood reflexes could take you, when anger, confusion, and fear were the dominant forces. "Get away from me!!"

For a few golden seconds, it seemed like she'd be able to escape.

Hanna gasped her relief, a short, painful hitch in her throat, and took the opportunity to snatch the caught hand back. It worked, thank god, Blake's—this isn't Blake!!—grip having loosened after the kick. She twisted and ducked, sliding out from between the rock and the hard place, and she was almost there —

— and then he lunged. Hanna gave a strangled yelp as strong hands closed around her arms, as sharp nails dug in and held. Caught mid-movement, her position was awkward; some of her balance was gone, and she stumbled. Maybe she would've fallen, even, but held as she was, there was no chance of that. He was too strong. "Y-You crazy sonnova—! Let go!" Panic made her voice climb.

Don't want to die don't want to die don't want to die.

It was a funny little mantra to go to with her heart beating in her ears, pounding like a teen rocker's drum set. Hanna shook and struggled and swore, and when nails raked harshly across her left cheek, tearing and drawing blood, her cry was a mixture of anger and pain. Tears stung in her eyes. This couldn't — it can't happen! For the first time that day, she wished that she was still Yuffie. Yuffie would be strong enough, fast enough, and sly enough to escape. She'd kill the monster. She could've done this.

But wishing wasn't going to get her anywhere. Only action. Reaction. Escape.

As short and layered as it was, getting a grip on her hair wasn't going to be the easiest of tasks. Hanna squirmed like an eel in the thing's grip, striking out whenever she could, desperation and adrenalin fuelling every movement. Fight came before flight, when you were stuck like a… like prey. If the thing wearing her boyfriend's face struck now, it'd get her collar or her shoulder, and maybe — maybe she could headbutt it. Blake was bigger than her, stronger than her, and this thing was stronger than Blake. Brute strength wasn't going to work for her, here.

The nails had scratched deep enough to send blood pouring in sticky rivulets down her cheek, staining the corner of her lips. Part of her, some distant part of her that seemed clear despite the storm noted, That's probably going to scar.

Nothing would ever scar again, if she didn't get out of this in one piece! No, not just one piece — she needed to get out of this alive, or… or…! Hanna shrieked in pain as those horrible nails pierced her again, digging in through the thin shirt. She cried out again when it screamed, like a wild animal, hurting her ears and her already spinning head. But she kept fighting. She couldn't stop, not even if she wanted to, but then the thing wearing Blake's body yanked her and she stumbled just a little too much, and when he punched her there was nothing she could do.

Hanna took the full weight and force of the blow, gasping in soundless, winded pain. For long, precious seconds, it was all she could do to try to recover.

Hanna's struggles renewed with thoughtless, panicked vigour. Weaker than before, she squirmed and wriggled, hands coming up to pry at the tight, strangling fingers that just would not let go. She dug her nails in, she yanked, she scrabbled and scratched, all the while gasping futilely for oxygen beyond her reach.

Light as the girl was, it wasn't difficult for the monster to lift her. Death by strangulation was a horrid way to go; death by hanging was, too, and for a moment, all of the ways that she could die in the next few minutes flashed through her mind. Would he hold on and let her hang? Would he snap her neck, or drop her and kill her some other way?

Leviathan, is this really the end?

Closing her eyes, Hanna tried to use the wall at her back as leverage to kick out again. Weaker, more sluggish than before, but if she could just land one good blow, maybe—just maybe— it'd be enough.

Cloud was already moving. Used to orders like 'cover me' actually translating to 'take point,' and not willing to wait an instant longer to get his friend out of the grip of something quite obviously not fully human, the blond moved to grab the not-boy thing in a choke hold. Two could play at that game, and if it had to worry about its own oxygen supply it might lose its grip on the girl.

"Dammit, Yuffie! You couldn't just stay in your room?" Of course not. That required common sense of a sort that his friend had always been lacking in, brainwashed or not. He would have been more grateful for any sign of the old Yuffie showing through if it didn't mean she got attacked before even leaving the patient blocks.

Hanna's kick collided with the mimic's stomach and it let out a nasty growl mixed with pain that would have been much worse if the girl had been any stronger. As it was, the creature jerked back slightly, its left hand falling away, but its right remaining firm around her neck.

But then others came and the mimic began to panic. These odds were not so good, and--

Something clamped over its own throat and the mimic released Hanna, scratching away at the flesh, twisting its head this way and that in an attempt to bite at whoever dared try to pull it from its prey. Screeching, the creature thrashed and stamped its feet, trying to hit whoever was behind it.