03-30-2014, 02:48 PM
It took only a few scant hours for Drayson to be relocated to the hospital, for his dislocated shoulder to be set and bandaged, his body checked for further injuries, and for him to get a stamp of good health. They'd hold him a day for follow up of course, and the nurses insisted a good night's rest was in order.
Of course, a good night's rest would have to wait. Well past midnight, Drayson stood at the small table in his private room, various holographic displays floating around his Wallet which he cycled through or selected for further perusal. Records on the attacker mostly; school, juvie, financial, criminal, and medical. All were an open book to him. He'd gotten deathly ill some years back, but had recovered, the family doctor even tagged it as miraculous. The man's younger sister hadn't been so lucky two years later. The Sickness, apparently, although it predated the WHO's declaration by a few years.
A few minor incidents as a teenager; a psych analysis indicated the man had an anger issue, but had received treatment and a clean bill of health before finishing high school. He was tagged as a person of interest in a case of criminal vandalism; a few cars that were flipped over and trashed in an above-grown parking lot complex. He'd been dismissed due to lack of evidence. No gang affiliation, no indication of bruising or chaffing of the hands. They'd even tested how strong the man was at that age, which struck him as odd. The case had been dismissed and forgotten.
Drayson's left arm was done up in a snug sling, but the hand was free and held a cup of water, which he would routinely take with his other arm and sip before freeing his good hand once more to work through the information.
The hospital was quiet save for the occasional nurse doing her rounds, and many of the room lights were off, save his, much to the chagrin of the night shift staff, who had insisted on more then one occasion that he get some rest. He'd assured them he would do exactly that at the first opportunity. So probably tomorrow some time.
Contrary to hospital security's efforts, Drayson's sidearm sat holstered on his table, although his clothes were still absent. They were being dry-cleaned, so he stood in an extra-long hospital gown and robe, neither of which quite fit properly, feet housed in paper slippers that didn't quite fit properly, and holding a paper cup that was far too small for his hands.
There was a knock at his door, and he half turned to face it as a not unexpected visitor let them-self in. The exact individual whom would surely be stopping by to talk to him was unknown, but he would have been more surprised had their not been one at all. The big question was whether 'they' were going to try and intimidate him into silence, or if they would have something more useful to say.
Of course, a good night's rest would have to wait. Well past midnight, Drayson stood at the small table in his private room, various holographic displays floating around his Wallet which he cycled through or selected for further perusal. Records on the attacker mostly; school, juvie, financial, criminal, and medical. All were an open book to him. He'd gotten deathly ill some years back, but had recovered, the family doctor even tagged it as miraculous. The man's younger sister hadn't been so lucky two years later. The Sickness, apparently, although it predated the WHO's declaration by a few years.
A few minor incidents as a teenager; a psych analysis indicated the man had an anger issue, but had received treatment and a clean bill of health before finishing high school. He was tagged as a person of interest in a case of criminal vandalism; a few cars that were flipped over and trashed in an above-grown parking lot complex. He'd been dismissed due to lack of evidence. No gang affiliation, no indication of bruising or chaffing of the hands. They'd even tested how strong the man was at that age, which struck him as odd. The case had been dismissed and forgotten.
Drayson's left arm was done up in a snug sling, but the hand was free and held a cup of water, which he would routinely take with his other arm and sip before freeing his good hand once more to work through the information.
The hospital was quiet save for the occasional nurse doing her rounds, and many of the room lights were off, save his, much to the chagrin of the night shift staff, who had insisted on more then one occasion that he get some rest. He'd assured them he would do exactly that at the first opportunity. So probably tomorrow some time.
Contrary to hospital security's efforts, Drayson's sidearm sat holstered on his table, although his clothes were still absent. They were being dry-cleaned, so he stood in an extra-long hospital gown and robe, neither of which quite fit properly, feet housed in paper slippers that didn't quite fit properly, and holding a paper cup that was far too small for his hands.
There was a knock at his door, and he half turned to face it as a not unexpected visitor let them-self in. The exact individual whom would surely be stopping by to talk to him was unknown, but he would have been more surprised had their not been one at all. The big question was whether 'they' were going to try and intimidate him into silence, or if they would have something more useful to say.