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+--- Thread: Prep (/thread-793.html)
- Torri - 02-05-2014
Torri's hands ran over Michael's chest. He had two puncture wounds, one superficial, the other, disturbingly deep. She peeled back the outer layer of his jacket to get a sense of endangered anatomy. Thankfully, the wound to the shoulder was unlikely to have hit the brachial arteries, the main blood supply to the entire arm. If it had, he would have been a fountain of red. The other, the wound in his chest, was too lateral to hit the apex of the heart, but the sound of his voice was raspy, and his throat strained to pull in air. A lung had been pierced, no doubt. A lobe was collapsed.
The calm in his voice chilled her to the bones, but she'd seen incredible men wounded to an inch of their life behave as perfect gentlemen. Shock did that to a man, and the CCD made sure their elite were trained to not overreact.
She waved away his gratitude. She hadn't saved his life yet. Strings of information followed, spilled from lips likely worried that if they didn't speak now they would never get it out. Torri would hear nothing of it. She already retrieved her assigned Wallet, tossed it on the desk and powered up a face to face device. Her hands were too busy, and smeared in blood. She had to communicate by voice. Michael had to go unanswered for now. "I saw enough. Now don't speak."
She said, command cold. That would have to satisfy him for now. Torri couldn't think about what she saw anyway.
The device recognized her voice, "I have a life threatening situation."
She was already running Mobius across his chest. The Wallet-based ultrasound device transmitted live sonography data back to the hospital unit which they were already in route to their location. Her mind raced through the equipment needed. Any portable stabilization equipment would be on board the gurney. As soon as she had a can plug in hand, pro-coagulation foam was going to fill up the puncture wounds until they could get Michael in surgery. He was definitely going to need surgery to repair the damage.
She breathed a sigh of relief. "You're going to be okay, Michael, but its going to be hard to breathe and feel like you're underwater. Stay calm and take one breath at a time. Spit up blood and mucus if you feel it in your throat but try not to cough too hard and don't swallow it. You'll be vomiting soon if you do."
The expulsion of vomit was likely forceful enough to rip open those stab wounds all over again.
With all the smoke in the air, Torri coughed herself. She risked taking a hand off his chest long enough to lower his chair as far as it would go in order to get his face beneath it, but quickly returned to holding pressure. She clenched her teeth, but was otherwise calm and clinical. The evac unit should be here any moment.
- Michael Vellas - 02-06-2014
As much as he wanted answers, he was not foolish enough to ignore Dr. Weston's command. Whatever else she might be, she was a doctor, and one of the best, if Ascendancy had taken notice of her.
Michael suffered through her examination in silence, not wishing to succumb to oblivion just quite yet. It was stubborn, perhaps stupid even, he had no answers waiting in the back of his mind ready and any that may have been buried somewhere were further entombed by the mass of pain that drained his mental capacity.
Watching Dr. Weston's concerned but steady face as she spoke reassuring words was entirely strange. Most people - and even those not human apparently - tried as hard as they could to tear his throat out. To have someone striving to actually save his life was a welcome surprise, even if it was merely standard procedure.
Michael even managed a thin smile, his lips wet with blood as he forced the metallic liquid from his throat; carefully of course. He had no wish to test the limits of his endurance. He maintained a steady breath, although it was excruciating to do so, the power gave him the will to persevere. Still calm, albeit tense, he softened his voice to retain it's strength. Habit compelled him although it may not have been necessary. The Vegas and Knights took every opportunity to slight him as it was; weakness eroded his position and he would be damned if he failed now. "I may yet turn this to our advantage,"
he mused, more to himself than Dr. Weston who seemed content in...doing whatever it was doctors did at times like these.
The thought sparked a piece of him that had been carefree; before the gift and poison he had received. It seemed that doctors always suggested the patient should stay calm and wait for help. A good suggestion, no doubt, but he had always found it funny. It was hard, he found, to be content and wait while his life drained away. So he turned his mind to important matters, if only to keep himself from dwelling on the situation. Besides, she had not said anything about not talking.
This time he did address Dr. Watson, keeping potential contingencies to himself for the moment. He could not trust his judgement and caution in the state he was in. "It would be best to say nothing of the...attacker, either."
Before he could go into more detail, he heard the emergency team arriving and spoke quietly so it did not sound so much like a command. "Speak to no-one about this, when I regain consciousness, we shall discuss this privately."
He gave Dr. Weston a thin smile -although it likely looked anything but pleasant. He had been out of practice. "My life is in your hands,"
was all he said as the medical team arrived, bustling about. He then turned to the less pleasant task. Reluctantly he released the power and his shoulders slumped immediately like he had been hit by a grand piano. After that came more pain, and he allowed himself to be swept away by the haze of shock and blood loss.
Edited by Michael Vellas, Feb 6 2014, 07:06 AM.
- Torri - 02-06-2014
The first words out of his mouth and he was already politicking. Torri should have known he'd be the first to ignore doctor's orders. She didn't chastise him, though. There was no point. If it hurt too much to talk, he'd shut up.
She was tethered to him, as it were. She'd used a jacket to make an improvised bandage, and held it against him beneath both palms. So she was tethered to him, as it were, unwilling to drop it in lieu of some other pursuit. A blinking dot told EMS's estimated time of arrival, so there was nothing to do but sit tight.
They were so close, yet time slowed to a crawl despite the beat of her heart. She was inevitably drawn into his words.. and the cold, distant way he unfurled orders. A chill crept over her, that although he was the one with life-threatening injuries, she felt like she were the one in real danger.
"Alright, Michael. I won't say anything."
He pulled the promise out of her by the force of his gaze alone. She swallowed a shudder that outstripped almost every experience she'd ever known as a physician. A similar image of the Ascendancy's deathly gaze suddenly exploded in her mind, and she realized quite soberly how much Michael resembled the man. The eyes, she was transfixed upon them even now, a frozen blue that begged disobedience.
She'd barely noticed EMS' arrival behind her. Michael's grimacing broke into a chill-smile, and he suddenly slumped as though all his strength were gone. EMS surrounded them, and Torri snapped out of the near trance-like fog that'd broken her faculty. A second team appeared on their heels to investigate and clear the smoke.
EMS already knew his condition, but pro-coag foam was standard in any emergency kit. "He needs stabilized."
When she held out her hand, it was filled with a cold, pressurized can. It had a long nozzle on the end.
"Brace yourself, Michael."
It was the last words of warning she'd give him before they started ignoring him altogether. She stuffed the nozzle down into the first puncture wound. Tissue and blood squeezed out around it, but almost instantly, the wound filled with a blue-green foam that would seal off the internal trauma. Not only was it filled with super-catalytic clotting factors, but also with numbing agents. It wouldn't take away the pain, but it would lessen it a degree. They'd have to flush it off the lung sac in surgery, but at least plugging the hole should let the lung's remaining lobes fill all the easier.
She nodded, and EMS gave her a second can. This time with a thinner nozzle. She snaked it under his shoulder, and filled the second wound as she had the first. She checked to see if he was still awake briefly, then moved out of the way for the team to go through their casualty procedures in order to get him on a stretcher. "Let's get him out of here."
The men took great care to transfer him from the seat to the stretcher without causing further injury.
Torri smeared her hands on her coat and stomped away petty thoughts about finding a dry cleaners in the desert. EMS had placed a brain-wave monitor across his forehead - affectionately called the tiara for the sparkly lights criss-crossing the fiberoptics embedded in the wires - then gave Michael a pre-surg sedative and he was out before they even wheeled him from the room. Torri meanwhile kept a close eye on his vitals, all steady, but was otherwise busy transmitting the updated situation to Pre-Op, so the suite could be made ready for his arrival. Her fellow surgeon - the one that dumped Legion Premiere's paperwork in her lap - was already scrubbing in.
Pre-op asked for a cause of injury. Torri thought for a moment and cursed herself for making promises in a moment of weakness. Emotional shit like that got people killed. "Puncture wounds. Weapon unknown."
Her reply would have to do. She could always fill in more details later. Honestly, picturing the ghost.. monster.. mist-thing, she didn't know if she could provide a better answer if she wanted.
Michael was allowed to wake up hours later in post-op, well into his recovery. The Coag Foam had been flushed from his system. A freshly patched bore between the second and third ribs was the sign that the air between his lung and chest cavity had been removed. An additional tube dangled nearby, functioning to drain blood and other fluid from the pleural space. The progress was good so far, and Torri didn't expect there to be a need for additional surgical repair. Biodegradable stints treated with VEGF and other stem cell factors created a nice wire mesh along the trauma sites, thankfully embedded far beneath the incisions, but did a fair job at reconnecting ripped muscle, working nerves, and blood vessels.
She'd been up to her bloody neck in MP's. Even a phone call from the Colonel! (or his staff, at least). So she retreated at an off-site desk station in the corner of Post-op to hide. Hell, she would have taken another surgery if it thought a full scrub-in would delay the procrastination. For now, it'd been a good hour since anyone had bothered her with more questions, but she told them the same thing every time. "My first priority is to my patient." She'd taken the desk over from a nurse that glared when she mentioned how many puzzle games he'd uploaded. Well she could out-glare him any minute of the day, but right then it barely took a glance to get him to turn tail and scamper off. She'd changed into scrubs before stepping in to assist in the surgery. Her uniform and coat had been taken away to god knows where. A scrub hat was still tied around her forehead. It had kittens on it. Well, it was a gift from her mom. Everyone should have a lucky scrub-hat.
Eventually, a change in vitals signal roused her attention. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes dulled by the long night and adrenaline crash, just in time to witness a nurse and a tech disappear into Michael's room.
She shoved herself to her feet and followed.
- Michael Vellas - 02-09-2014
Awareness came slowly in short fragments that were filled with fleeting emotions and incongruent thought. Fear and anger, mist and blood. The void between sleep and waking, aware but unable to act was almost as unpleasant as the wounds that had flared in such pain.
There was a distinct shift, as if he were being pulled out of the ocean to breathe fresh air once again, and the world returned. The sound of monitors beeping in his ear was at first confusing, but it took surprisingly little time for his memory to return. He had never gone under before - the worst of his ailments were usually healed by Tony - and he had little inclination to do so again.
He did not open his eyes, breathing in the sterile air with satisfaction. The pain was dulled to a faint pinprick compared to the agony the power enhanced. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before dismissing the urge to seize the power once more. The unsettled wariness that stalked his waking hours was muted. For now, he was content to be alive.
He heard the someone entering the room - two people, by the sounds of the footsteps - but remained still, content to gather himself and think.
That thing had been after him. It had fled when Dr. Weston arrived. Why did it not simply kill her? Surely it could have, he was at full stretch just to keep it at bay with the power!
The thought led him to the one lead he knew of: the Atharim. Could they have sent it to hunt him? It seemed unlikely - they were supposed to kill monsters as well as murder him, and surely that was a monster. But...they also used people like Aria - although he did not think of her as a monster, they did - who knew what else they would leash? It was certainly the closest he had come to death since he had learned enough to defend himself.
The thought was cut short as the nurse - he assumed that's who it was - decided he was awake. Most likely they knew before he did, and it was sensible to check on a patient's health, but it irked him nonetheless. He just wanted to be left in peace a moment longer.
The storm would come soon enough.
"How do you feel?"
a gentle voice inquired as someone tinkered about with...some equipment. "Any nausea? Headaches? Pain?"
"I'm fine,"
Michael replied, cool and controlled once more as he opened his eyes to a young man checking a holo-screen filled with his vital signs and other information. He knew at least that much about hospitals, even though he had been forced into the trade of putting people in them. He had no desire to become a doctor, but the bitterness of being swept up by the AATC before he had a chance to decline was all the more apparent.
It was then that he noticed a third visitor. He even managed a fond smile -for him, anyway, he had no idea how it actually looked - from his awkward position. "Dr. Weston,"
he said in a lighter tone than usual. A winter breeze instead of a snowstorm. "Good to see you, although it seems you have suffered on my account."
He glanced at the two nurses and addressed the man who had spoken. "How long have I been out? I don't suppose I can leave yet? No matter. When you are finished, I need to speak to Dr. Weston in private. Tell no-one of my condition if they inquire, not yet, and if you need to check on me, knock."
He hid his grimace at the looks on their face's behind a steel gaze. He hated to appear ungrateful after all they had done, but there were much more pressing matters at hand. He would seek them both out later and thank them properly.
His irritation was wry when they both looked towards Dr. Weston for confirmation. She was the expert, after all.
Edited by Michael Vellas, Feb 9 2014, 04:01 AM.
- Torri - 02-12-2014
Torri entered the patient's room and was greeted by a whirlwind of information. Instinct drew her eyes around every piece of data displayed around them. It was like stepping into a Fun House filled with warped mirrors only she could see. Vital signs, infection status and flora ratios told her how his body was handling the trauma and surgery. Surprisingly well. Then again, he was a strong and healthy young man. Michael could probably take a hell of a licking and keep on ticking. There were other, more specific monitors though. Pumping rates told her how efficient fluid was still being drained from around his ribcage. The first bore that went to the lung was cleared, but the second driven through his side still needed monitoring. The bore site could leak or bleed, and they're a pain in the ass to replace, not just because it required a physician's delicate hand to get it right. As much as was displayed here, more was transmitted to the nurse's station out in center of the post-op hub. So she wasn't particularly perturbed when the nurse whose desk she commandeered interrupted her thoughts.
"Dr. Weston, he's awake,"
the man said and looked at her like he expected her to thank him.
"I can see that,"
she answered more sharply than she intended. Her nerves were raw. Maybe she was more shaken up by the attack than she'd let herself believe. She sighed. "Thank you."
She crossed to Michael's bedside, displacing the nurse and tech as she did.
Michael smiled a strangely awkward smile like he wasn't sure whether the expression intended to sneak out from behind his stoney exterior or not. The mind-warping effects of the anesthesia should have counteracted by now, but maybe she should check his chart just to make sure.
"It's good to see you, too."
She pat his hand and decided to check his chart. She went on to answer his next question without looking up. His medical tablet bedside had all his current records. "Its the middle of the night, so only six or seven hours."
Yep. He was given the antagonist. Maybe it was the near-death experience that warmed him up.
In light of his additional request, and Torri's own desire to speak privately, she nodded that they be left in private. When once the door sealed out any chance for eavesdroppers, she replaced the tablet and leaned over him to check the port. He was in a gown. "Roll away a little, I need to check this."
Effectively a few inches under his armpit, she studied the bandages and seals for signs of pus, blood or pleural fluid, "They won't tell anyone of your condition unless ordered by MC Command, and they won't order release of patient records without higher orders than anyone on base can give. Except maybe the colonel, or the Ascendancy I suppose."
Satisfied, she let the gown fall back and she stood upright where she remained, arms crossed, and eyes sharp.
Edited by Torri, Feb 12 2014, 05:28 PM.
- Michael Vellas - 02-15-2014
Michael obeyed Dr. Weston readily enough. After last night, he had no wish for anything else to go wrong, and if that meant being rolled around like a doll, his pride could take it.
It was a relief to know he had only been incapacitated for a handful of hours. Not yet daybreak, he could avoid the bulk of suspicion and unrest. Of course, there would be rumours - he had been dragged through the camp dripping blood by an emergency team - but if he was visibly unharmed in the day, the rumours would likely fade into obscurity. It might even become a mystery talked about.
As it was, it was still a mystery to him.
As the doctor continued, assuring him that his condition had been kept secret, he relaxed further. He doubted that any of the higher up's would bother to check in if it did not disrupt operations; they were not ones for sentimentality.
So, his main concerns were laid to rest; for now. Unfortunately, another stood before him, eyes keen and arms folded.
Dr. Weston looked as if she expected an explanation. Michael lifted himself up with his arms into a suitable sitting position, face as cool as the doctor's was expectant. "A curious creature,"
he began, sure that Dr. Weston did not need clarification as to what 'creature' he meant. "It did not kill, or even attack anyone else,"
he did not bother to explain how he knew, but he had not felt the lives of any soldier's snuffed out among his web of Wardings. "It could have killed you easily, yet it ran."
It was not meant as a slight; he doubted any ordinary person could survive an attack from that thing. As it was, he barely survived himself, and only because of the doctor's timely arrival. He doubt he could have held on for much longer.
His musing was cut short with abrupt insight. He focused on Dr. Weston again with an increased awareness, instinctively seizing the power which gave a chill intensity that he had used to his advantage so often. "What did you see?"
He did not extrapolate. If she suspected nothing, it would seem as if he couldn't believe what he had seen - which was truth enough, in any case - but if she had seen anything else...
Edited by Michael Vellas, Feb 15 2014, 11:36 PM.
- Torri - 02-18-2014
Torri knew what she was, but she did not assume she came off as weak or unable. He probably didn't mean to call her defenseless, but coming from Michael - being who he was - the judgement stung.
As though he read her thoughts, his expression deepened, darkened by a senseless cloud blackening out the sky. She'd seen it before: a cold fury barely held back. The distance between them suddenly didn't seem enough, but if Michael were trying to intimidate her, well, he did a good job of it, but Torri would not back down.
Jaw clenched and eyes narrow, she poured through an all-too clear memory. There were things she'd preferred not to have seen.
"Fire,"
she finally said, but like it were the most normal thing in the world. A normal fire. Not a flat sheet of flame positioned between two men. or.. whatever. "The assailant screamed,"
again, not the best word. "Then both it and the fire were gone. And you collapsed."
If he were going to try and intimidate her, she should remind him that he was flesh and blood and as vulnerable as any other man.
She let out a heavy exhale. If she'd saved him, as he attested, why distrust her? That must be why he asked for the entirety of what she'd seen. Michael was clearly a tactician, which was the soldier version for a politician. He was covering his ass. For doing what, Torri could only guess, but suspicion began to connect dots she could no longer ignore. One thing about her, reality was not something that could come or go when it suited her.
She wheeled a stool over and sat near his bed. "I know, Michael"
she told him, searching his gaze for recognition or an attempted denial. "That you're one of the Survivors..."
, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say it out loud.
... of The Sickness.
- Michael Vellas - 02-18-2014
Michael held the power, ready to spin the web of death. It would take only a second to stop a beating heart. It would be put down to an abnormal heart attack. Strange, but not suspicious.
He held the power and listened with a distant expression. Rage held no sway on his heart, nor fear or hatred. He had faced an enemy that could match him, probably exceed his capabilities with the ease of natural instinct, as if it learned to kill before it learned to walk.
He held the power as she sat down and wheeled herself closer, searching him for any expression.
He held it; and did nothing.
He could not bring himself to kill her. She had saved his life twice over. He would not stoop so low as to destroy her for secrecy. He would not become the monster the Atharim saw in him.
Although he retained the power, his expression relaxed and he nodded. There was no point in evasion. If she did not die now, she might as well know the rest. "Do you know what that means?"
he asked, the subject not lost on him. "the 'Sickness' is the prelude,"
he continued, answering his own question.
"That creature...it wanted me. This is not the first time I have been hunted."
he said, venom and scorn dripping from his voice at the last word. "That fire was the only thing keeping it at bay, and it took all I had to maintain it."
He shook his head, tired of the constant secrecy that was forced upon him. "I can do many things, but I don't think I could survive a second encounter, not without revealing myself to the entire city. Both could spark the likely war."
He held the doctor's eyes with his own like the Gorgon's head itself. "I need someone I can trust, someone who knows. You saved my life, will you help me save a city?"
Of course, he did not add that war was likely already inevitable, but that was out of his control. He would deal with that when it occurred.
It would have to do.
Edited by Michael Vellas, Feb 19 2014, 10:03 PM.
- Torri - 02-21-2014
If Torri were inches from cardiac arrest, she was ignorant of the danger. While she recognized a Survivor, she had little inclination of the implications. She had to assume by his very position with the army, that Michael was dangerous. Anyone could see that. Anyone with eyes. But Torri believed she was no target on his radar. God help anyone that was.
His was the first explanation of the Sickness from the point of view of a Survivor as she had ever heard. Alric was one such as he, clearly, but the Ascendancy kept the man under strict orders about sharing his story. Furthermore, anything that Torri witnessed between the two was no insight into, as Michael put it, ’what it meant.’
Adrenaline and caffeine kept her going all night, but her emotions were tired, and she grimaced despite her usual ability to keep a straight face. Michael spoke of extraordinary things like they were far more commonplace than they really were. What did it mean to reveal oneself to entire city? What’s scarier, why would it spark war? Torri swallowed, disliking the vulnerability inherent in their conversation.
“You say that ‘I know,’ but I really know very little. I know you’re a Survivor, and that means,”
she waved her hands, unsure of the correct word to use, “that you can ‘do things.’ I also know you’re not the only Survivor I’ve seen that was changed by the Sickness.”
Certainly not the only one in the Kremlin on a daily basis.
Her brows furrowed painfully thoughtful. “Short of that thing coming back, as you said, what does it.. or any of this.. have to do with saving Mecca? Or stopping a bloody war?”
- Michael Vellas - 02-22-2014
Michael found the situation all too uncomfortable. His assumptions had been incorrect it seemed, but how did Dr. Weston know he was a 'Survivor', yet not understand what that meant?
Her confusion over the situation only served to agitate his troubled mind. He was almost too drained both mentally and physically to care, but the knowledge of a potential disaster sustained his singular will to get as many of his subordinates the fuck out of this damn hell hole alive as he could.
The coolness of his voice was at odds with the turmoil in his heart, but he needed the aid of the power now more than ever. "I would explain these 'things' I can do if I could but I hardly understand it myself."
He grasped at one of the more benevolent examples to serve as an explanation. "I might be able to heal a bruise..."
His lack of skill with healing was grating, and the example did not exactly describe the extent of this miraculous power.
Why deny what was already plain?
When he continued, his expression was fixed like a mask. "I think I could destroy most of the camp in minutes if I needed to."
Yes, he thought he could do it. If he spun Fire, Air and Spirit just so he could create enough...
Michael cursed himself silently. The mist creature had shaken him far more than he would like to admit. "Suffice to say, there are many things that I can do,"
he contented himself with saying. He could explain later if he had the chance. For now, he had a boiling volcano of a city to think of. "Can't you feel it? This city is burning with hatred. One wrong step and it will explode. The Ascendancy will need to work more than a miracle to avert a war."
"That thing wanted my blood. It is not a matter of if, but when it comes back."
Michael was sure of it, that face, those eyes...
"If I happened to die under suspicious circumstances. In a situation that looked like a perfect assassination, the military would be forced to act, even if they would probably be glad to be rid of me. We are supposed to be the authority, calming the temper of a wayward child, and children are experts at exploiting weakness."
He was not sure if she understood, but he could see it clearly as if had already happened. "But unlike a child, these fanatics don't know when their parents have reached the limits of their tether. If the military tried to assert it's authority, Hasan would push back, and that is not a situation 200 CCD soldiers want to be in surrounded by hundreds of thousands of angry fanatics."