Prep

[Torri]

If Torri doubted Michael's word, she didn't flinch or cry over it. Maybe it was the cynicism of being but one small cog in a giant machine, but she took the news rather well. Lying in bed before her was a man that in the matter of minutes could destroy he entire camp like some crazy alien with a raygun built into his head. Sure. Why not? Never mind that it made no medical sense, but modern medicine didn't understand the majority of miracles going on in the body.

"I feel hatred all over the world, Michael. Every single soldier I've ever treated. Every Time of Death I call. As long as there's people on this planet, there will be wars. Its human nature."
She shrugged like she were accepting of the fact. "When I was on tour in South America, the body on the table wasn't them or us, it was another patient that needed my attention. Its not my job to avert war, but if anyone can do it, its the Ascendancy."
Her look softened as though entertaining an amusing idea. "Or maybe you."


"But yes, I'll do what I can."


An uncomfortable feeling rose. She shifted. Accusations of treason crossed her mind. She imagined herself facing the horrors of court marshal. But if it meant helping Michael save a city that - for now - was still a part of her homeland, the CCD, and avert an entire war, the repercussions, discharge, prison, execution... would be worth it.

I'm going to regret this.

Despite the flattening of her voice, her eyes betrayed intimidation that was not easy to press upon her otherwise stalwart demeanor, "The Ascendancy is another Survivor. Like you."
She closely monitored his expression for recognition, surprise, or anything in between.

"Did you know that? Is that why you're here, Michael?"
A civilian contracted by the CCD military entrusted with far more responsibility than should be expected.

[Michael Vellas]

It was refreshing to see that Dr. Weston shared some of his own views. He had always disliked the military dogma that promoted a remorseless group of professional killers who saw only themselves and the enemy. It was partially the reason he had used his abilities - to curb the senseless violence as much as he could.

War, like any other tool, could be misused in the wrong hands and few hands could master the arts of war without losing their humanity.

The fact that she believed anyone could save the city - let alone himself- was strangely comforting, even if it might be flattery. He doubted anyone could stop the tragedy that awaited. Why he should care, he did not know, but he found he couldn't simply walk away from someone so dangerous as al-Hasan. He would be damned before he saw a fanatical fool tear the world to pieces.

Something then changed in Dr. Weston's face and Michael's expression flattened. His enhanced senses caught the struggle that seemed so visible on her face.

"The Ascendancy is another Survivor. Like you.


His eyes widened in shock, the mask that hid his emotions shattered for a long moment before he recovered.

The recovery was only outward. Inside, his world rocked and his mind worked furiously.

"Did you know that? Is that why you're here, Michael?"


The question hit the mark, although he had once again assumed a cool expression. He had thought himself safe! Could he have been deceived the whole time? Did they know, all of them? How long before his use outlasted the dangers?

And the Ascendancy...

In a way, it made sense, and Michael found that it was truly no surprise if given some thought. Who else could conquer half of the world so easily?

Yes, it made perfect sense, and the possibilities ran through his mind. Interesting, very interesting.

"I have no idea,"
he said. The indecision he had seen made sense. The Ascendancy did not publicise his power, most likely with good reason. To tell him despite the danger. Well, it was worth his honesty as well as his trust. "Perhaps he knows. This knowledge confuses so many things..."


He needed to rest and think. He would not make any decisions until he had time to recover. It had been a long night indeed, and he was not sure what was more exhausting.

Still, one thing had given him an advantage. Dr. Weston was proving to be quite extraordinary, not only because she had saved him. Bold perhaps, but not reckless - and honourable, it seemed. She had proven her ability and knowledge beyond what he had expected.

"I think I should rest. Tomorrow, we can confront the problem of that...thing."
He surveyed her dishevelled face tight with exhaustion. "Perhaps you should get some rest too, it has been a long night for the both of us."

[Torri]

She waited for recognition, and there was no doubt when she received it.

On the wall above Michael's head was displayed his current vitals. The spikes and oscillations in his heart rate, breathing and temperature told her the truth she wished to glean. He didn't know, then. It was one part unsurprising and another part fascinating. Then Torri's mind was always splintered. Empathy for a patient, for instance, was a distant glow compared to the burning artistry of knitting them back together.

Rapt attention compared the display behind him to the mask presented on his face. When he grew cold there was no reading him. Soon, Torri stopped trying. Her shoulders slumped and she felt the fatigue of the last few days weary her bones.

Michael's cryptic answer didn't help to clear the muddied waters. Perhaps the Ascendancy knows what precisely? Michael was never a guest of the Facility. If he had known Michael's history, wouldn't the man be under lock and key rather than walking freely in the open? Was Michael another Alric? He remained under observation, but he was essentially released and in the Ascendancy's personal employ.

Much like Michael.

Torri rubbed her temple. She'd forgotten her scrub cap was still wrapped around her hair. It was a good reminder. She had her orders the same as anyone else.

"You should rest, you're right. What a great physician I am?"
Her sarcasm lacked the heat of a true wisecrack. She looked upon Michael's form then and the outline laid beneath the thin hospital blanket. He could get up and leave if he wanted. Figuratively anyway. With such derision of war, why was he here?

Perhaps for the same reason I am.

To make it better?

"I'll see you in the morning. Call the nurse if you need anything. I'll be a few doors down."


Although she turned off the lights when she left, the room was far from dark. Hospitals never were, after all. Meanwhile, she planned on crashing in the on-call suite. Literally.

[Michael Vellas]

Sleep came easily to Michael. Whatever drugs they fed him, they certainly did the job well. He felt as if he could sleep for a year and when he was awoken by the presence of a nurse checking his condition.

The poor man jumped as Michael spoke, already grasping the power. He felt like forgetting the whole situation and fading back into oblivious sleep. Unfortunately, he did not have that luxury. "What time is it?"


"11 a.m, Mr. Vellas. How are you feeling?"


Damn. No excuse. He had already slept far too late. "Hmm, past time I should be gone."


As he moved to rise, a slight twinge and the tightness of bandages around his chest was the only evidence left that he had nearly died. The nurse seemed exasperated and placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I am afraid I can't allow you to go just yet."


Michael fixed the man with a cold gaze he used on the soldiers. It was unfair to the poor bastard, but he didn't have time for pleasantries. Besides, he was eager to be gone. Hospitals had never been high on his list of favourite places. "And who can allow me?"


"Dr....Dr. Weston, Sir."


Bah. He had already had a reputation for his cold manner, what was one more person?

"Then go get her."
He thought for a moment. "Whenever she is available. Don't disturb her if she is otherwise occupied."


The innocent man rushed from the room and Michael sat back, rubbing his temples.

He hoped the medicine they gave him did not impair his judgement. He would need all he could if he planned to kill the mist monster.

[Torri]

Torri was in the middle of charting when a knock interrupted her thoughts. This morning she was rested, if not necessarily brighter eyed, and when she called the visitor in, she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to glance upward.

"What is it?"


"Dr. Weston, Mister Vellas is awake and asking about discharge," the voice of the day nurse answered her.

She didn't even turn in her chair, but instead raised her attention to another screen. Within moments she had the update on Michael's recovery before her. He was astonishingly adept at healing. Not so much as a hint of infection touched his body. It seemed he was nearly right as rain despite extensive surgery the night before. She chucked it up to youth and vitality and penned her name to the release forms.

"There. He's discharged."


The nurse received the paperwork and made to go, but before he did, Torri finally turned around real fast. "And tell him I'll be ready to talk when he is."


The nurse nodded and left without further requests for explanation.