RPII-Sleeper [Open]

[Marshall Quatrevaux]

Is this the end?
Oh my God
Is this the end?
Or just the beginning?

___

Where he would much rather be was Grand Isle, taking care of his brother, Wesley. He knew the rest of his family had that well in hand - Angela was taking him soup, and their parents were keeping him hydrated as per Marshall's instructions - but he would have liked to have been there for his brother. Failing that, he would have preferred to be at home. While neither Jessica nor Sammie seemed to be sick, he had been away from both of them more often these days, and this unexpected calamity had only made that worse.

It wasn't often that Marshall actually felt reluctant to do his job. Actually, he couldn't remember having felt this way since his residency, excepting a few brief moments during Adam Lynch's inpatient time at Jung. But he had been at a local hospital the day before, leading the counseling effort, helping families of cholera victims come to terms with their loved ones' conditions and, in too many cases, deaths. That had been one of the most difficult days of his life. It was overwhelming, having to talk so many people down, and often in groups; when they gathered themselves en masse, they tended to feed off each other's grief and helplessness, and it became far too much to handle even for Marshall. He had been able to calm most of the people he had spoken to, which he probably should have counted as a success, but he had still gone home with a heavy heart and an uneasy mind.

As such, he was dreading having to go on site again. This time, he was overseeing a different group, at a different hospital. Most of the volunteers in this group had not yet been in the field, although some of their more experienced members had. Marshall had taken up the task of introducing each new team to the work of comforting the cholera victims and their families. They were being careful about who went where, however, to keep everyone from getting sick. Marshall was not too worried about himself due to his abilities, but others were a bit more of a concern. Irma especially, as she was an old, close friend of his. Crystalynn boasted of being in excellent health, but Marshall would have said the same of Wesley.

The group made their way to the hospital in one of Jung's vans. Only a few of them were psychologists or psychology residents, and Marshall was the only psychiatrist; the rest were on their way to try to help treat the disease. Each of the hospitals - those that had not been quarantined, at least - needed more help than they had available to them, and some groups like the Red Cross were limited in where they could go and the help they could offer, based on being comprised mostly of civilians. Jung was in a much better position.

He looked out of the van's windows, but wasn't quite seeing anything. Irma sat up front with the driver, and Crystalynn was chattering with everyone else in the back. "…so the bouncers look at each other, and then look at me, and one tells me, 'Sure, uh, thanks for helping us out!'" She giggled. Somehow the woman managed to remain cheerful even in the face of sickness and death. Marshall knew she was only trying to raise the spirits of their team, and not to belittle the tragedies unfolding around them, and he couldn't help thinking that perhaps he should have asked her to lead the grief counseling efforts rather than fill her usual position as a physician. At least she would be able to use that good cheer to soothe and reassure the patients, he thought. Or give them somewhat more pleasant deaths.

Los Angeles had been lucky. Some cities and towns, especially along the Eastern Seaboard, had been completely quarantined; not officially, for that would have been a terrible look for the politicians there, but no aid group would venture there, leaving the citizens to fend for themselves. Marshall was planning to try helping one of those next. If he could just teach himself how to manage the seemingly endless wave of grief.

"This is it," Marshall said as the van pulled into the parking lot. The driver chose a space that was fairly far from any other vehicles to give them room to run out supplies. The only other automobiles nearby were a pair of plain black sedans. "Irma, Crystalynn, Nireva, and I will go in and assess the situation. Everyone else, stay here and prep the equipment while we're gone. We'll update you once we get back."

Everyone trundled out of the van, with those named persons gathering to head into the hospital, and the others heading to the back of the van, where the equipment was stored. Marshall glanced up at the hospital and sighed. Another day. "From what the hospital director told me, they've got the cholera patients situated in the east wing. That's where you'll take the medical team. I'll check with the hospital's grief counselors and then come back to get our psych team. Hopefully we'll be able to wrap things up well enough to leave in the hospital's hands between six and seven tonight. We'll get back in touch around that time."

But Irma wasn't quite looking at Marshall. Her gaze was on something behind him. As he was speaking, he didn't notice it, but her voice in his head revealed what was happening. Turn around, boss. We've got company, and they sure do look like trouble.

Marshall glanced over his shoulder and saw a few figures alighting from the black sedans. They were dressed somewhat casually, as the Jung team was, but most of them were wearing sunglasses. The sunglasses didn't completely conceal their identities, however. With a glance back to his coworkers that was meant to say 'stay here,' he strode over to the other group, stopping in front of their leader. He glared up at the man, making no attempt to hide his irritation and lack of patience. "What are you doing here?"

___

Words: 1013.
Outfit: Marshall, Irma, Crys.
Excerpt: 10 Years, "Fade Into (The Ocean)."
Comments: Don't post yet!

[Christian Moynahan]

So tell me why we wingless angels fall
We'll die if our wings don't grow at all
-10 Years, "Silhouette of a Life"

The sunglasses did little to hide the supercilious glare Christian gave the psychiatrist in response to his words. But just as soon as the glare had appeared, it passed. Christian remembered himself; he was here to help people and solidify a relationship with the Jung Facility, regardless of any preconceived notions this Dr. Quatrevaux may have of him.

He had come dressed in fairly unassuming fare, as had his coworkers. A dark blue suit, and a light blue dress shirt underneath, which he thought was dark enough to not seem overwrought but also not so dark as to inspire mourning. The families he would encounter in this hospital already had enough signs of health and death around them without having to see additional reminders around them. He had tried to be considerate in that manner, and here he was trying again now.

The other man did have a noticeable New Orleans accent, Christian noted. He had been curious about that after finding Quatrevaux's birthplace in his research. "We're here to help," Christian said cordially. "Just as I'm sure you are. I heard of your work yesterday, on the other side of town. The staff and patients there seemed very appreciative."

The doctor folded his arms. "How exactly do you plan to help? As far as I can tell, you'd only get in our way."

"We're trying to research this particular strain of cholera." Christian was being entirely truthful. He had gathered a group from the biomedical and special projects teams. "You treat the immediate symptoms, and the grieving. We'll develop a more stable cure. That sounds like teamwork to me."

"Interesting. That sounds like an excellent chance for good press to me."

Christian started, "There won't-"

"And we all know Ark could use some good press."

"Yes, I know." Christian sighed and brushed his hair out of his face, only for it to fall back to where it was. "But there won't be any press. No one knows we're here but us. And the hospital director, but that was by necessity. I saw no point in contacting the media. These people are ill and grieving. We need good press, yes. But not at the cost of their privacy."

Quatrevaux looked openly skeptical.

"All right. Look at it this way: Abusing their privacy could well be viewed as bad press. Does that sound more reasonable to you?"

The doctor barely gave an inch. "Do your testing and gather your samples, but stay out of our way, and stay out of the waiting rooms. We don't need the added stress on the families."

With a sigh, Christian patted his jacket, indicating his manner of dress. "They won't even realize who we are, Doctor, unless they happen to recognize my face, which I grant you is certainly possible, but less so in the midst of the grieving and the ill. Today we're just scientists, not walking advertisements or magnets for press junkets. Most of us have relatives who have caught the bug. We are only trying to help in the best way we can."

But Quatrevaux's eyes had narrowed at the middle of Christian's statement. "Scientists? The rest of your little crew, maybe, but you're just a face. What exactly are you planning to do yourself? Boss around your staff, who know what they're doing better than you do?"

"I worked in the pharmaceutical industry. I'm no stranger to medicine." Christian sighed again. "We're splitting hairs now, Doctor Quatrevaux. Let's go inside and do what we came to do."

"He's right, you know. Let's just go."

A tiny, apparently young woman had appeared at the psychiatrist's side. Christian had not noticed her, as he had been looking at Quatrevaux, who stood nearly a whole foot taller than the woman. He recognized her from his research as well, however. Now Christian gave her a smile and a small bow. "I apologize for having kept you all from your work. I'd only hoped we might be able to help each other as we worked side by side."

The small woman smiled widely. She had an amiable air about her; she seemed much more tenable than Quatrevaux had been. It was a shame she had not been the one to approach them first. "Crystalynn Fosterman," she said, extending her hand up to the six-foot-two Christian. "I'm a physician at the Jung Facility."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doctor Fosterman." Christian mirrored her smile. "I'm Christian Moynahan."

"From Ark, right? I barely recognized you. The magazine covers don't do you justice." Crystalynn grinned. By now, the others had drifted over to their group, and a dark-skinned woman was exchanging looks with Dr. Quatrevaux, just as though they were talking, but no words could be heard. He spotted a familiar face among the group, and gave Nireva a glance and a slight nod, a fairly basic greeting, but nothing more in case she did not their acquaintance to be made known at this time.

As a response to Crystalynn's comment, Christian removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt. She chuckled and nodded. "Yep. Like I said."

The psychiatrist turned away to face the hospital. "Let's go inside."

Christian tucked his hands into his pockets and followed the Jung group, perfectly content to blend in with them and let the psychiatrist take the lead. He had never been one for the spotlight; and in any case, as he had already said, this visit was not about him, or Ark, or any other business concern. It was about bringing an end to this epidemic as quickly as possible.


[Post now!]

[Layton Ranta]

War is overdue! The time has come for you...
...to shoot your leaders down. Join forces underground!
Lose control at increasing pace! Warped and bewitched and time to erase!
Whatever they say, these people are torn! Wild and bereft, assassin is born!
______________________________Muse - "Assassin"

Cholera. What the fuck?

The harsh question had filled his mind when the doctor had given him the diagnosis a couple of days prior, heaping little more than confusion on top of how badly he felt. By living in America - the leading picture of developed society in just about everything bar social tolerance and the justice system - he thought that the sporadic outbreaks of the disease he'd heard rumours about were simply that; lies spread by someone with an ulterior motive. After all, a country with such a fine sanitation system wouldn't have allowed for something which was often contained within a contaminated water supply. Synchronous terrorist attacks just didn't seem likely and the whole country wasn't running under a unified water treatment solution.

What boggled his mind most of all was how he had somehow contracted the disease. Unless it was either necessary or more convenient to use a water-dispensing appliance, Layton often found himself satisfied with drinking the cheap bottles of flavoured water he usually bought from the grocery store at the end of the block. Having seemingly been issued a new apartment - and quite a large one, at that - after his run-in with Khalidah Rahal, he had been rather averse to making any large-scale expenditure, in case the apartment wasn't being paid for by a third party. A place this size, he realised, was well beyond his budget and, without a meaningful job, he had been dreading the mail for fears that it would inevitably contain an insurmountable bill he was somehow expected to pay.

In hindsight, Layton realised that his symptoms had presented rather quickly. At first, he thought that the diarrhea had been as simple as a resultant effect of his less-than-optimal diet or just something he'd eaten recently that had been badly prepared. But, when it had reached the point where he'd been feeling slightly dehydrated, he began to think that there might have been something amiss. Although it had probably been an inadvisable thing for him to do in the condition he was in, he'd made his way to the nearest hospital on foot. Sure, he'd never actually visited Finland in his life, but he was still a Finnish guy. Saunas and what people would call inclement weather were apparently a frequent thing over there. What was a gentle stroll compared to all of that?

By the time he'd reached the hospital's main entrance, he felt like shit. He hadn't been entirely sure of the source of his perseverance. Force of will? A desire to find out what was wrong with him? Some sort of heritage-borne otherworldly power? Maybe it was that last one, Layton thought. At least then, he could call it something cool - like Finnmancy - and attribute it to himself as a badge of honour. Of course, when he arrived, it gradually became apparent that he was far from the proverbial Patient Zero. Although LA wasn't gripped by a full-scale pandemic - at least, not yet - he wasn't the only one to make the trip with a complaint about the set of symptoms he possessed.

The tests hadn't been all that difficult; a general examination here and a blood test there. He didn't pretend to understand what the hell they were doing or why but, when the doctor returned and broke the news, adding that they would need to keep him in the hospital; both to treat his condition and to prevent him spreading the illness, he'd exhaustedly resigned himself to the fate. Of course, he didn't tell them that he'd walked to the hospital and likely passed dozens of people along the way. Not when there was the distinct possibility that a surgeon in the midst of a double shift could become infuriated at his recklessness and decide that he was suddenly in dire need of a tracheotomy.

And so, as per doctors' orders, he had been lying in bed for the best part of fifty hours. Occasionally, Layton had felt strong enough to get up and make his own way to the bathroom - where he discovered that, thankfully, his diarrhea had died down considerably - but, more often than not, he'd found himself wavering between heavy sleep and a lack of a desire to move. He wasn't sure whether it was the exhaustion brought about by his illness or the drugs the hospital had him on in order to treat him and, to be honest, he didn't really care. Sleeping was better than being fully cognizant of his symptoms.

"...Mr. Ranta..?"

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep - or when he'd actually passed out - but, when the nurse politely urged him awake, she might as well have strapped her voice to a jackhammer. "Olen väsynyt...", he groaned, his eyelids quivering. For a moment, he opened his eyes to look at whoever was trying to get his attention but, with the daylight streaming in through the window, it was a decision he quickly reversed. Having had his eyes closed for so long, the sun was stinging his vulnerable ocular organs. "Jätä minut rauhaan*."

Having never heard Finnish spoken aloud, the nurse was understandably confused by the man's reaction. "Uh, Mr. Ranta. I'm here to do a couple tests, just to see how your treatment's progressing." The more she spoke, the more Layton found himself jostled awake by the noise and, by burying his face into his pillow, he was able to gradually acclimate his eyes to the abundance of light in the room. "I promise, I'll be as quick as I can. Then you can go right back to sleep, if you want."

Of course. Unless his father had somehow followed him out to LA and had come out of retirement to work here, he was the only Finnish speaker in the building. With the wherewithal to realise the fact, he finally reverted to a more understandable tongue. "Sorry," he sighed, rubbing his eyes as he slowly sat himself up. He realised that he likely looked as bad as he felt by this point, but at least his trips to the bathroom weren't expending his body's water supply as much anymore. "I was... pretty out of it." Through the door's substantial frosted glass window, Layton could see a stream of people making their way along the hall outside his room. Some were dressed in suits, while the rest were in more casual clothes. Nevertheless, the group seemed to mean business as their footsteps carried them towards the rooms of various patients.

Were they representatives from the CDC, come to assess the outbreak? Were they going to descend on him as well? He wasn't sure. "Go ahead. Do, uh... whatever it is you're up to." While the nurse worked in near-silence, Layton kept his eyes on the door, wondering just who these newcomers could be.

* - "I'm tired. Leave me alone."

[Nireva Hale]

Do you believe in stormy weather, stormy weather?
Hurricanes play musical chairs with homes and chattel!
The whirling dervish tornadoes wreak all disaster!
See-saw tsunamis, give and take, what's the matter?
______________________________Serj Tankian - "Cornucopia"

To say that even her volunteer work at the Jung Facility was stressful was quite the understatement. Despite not having completed her degree or otherwise claimed the right to have a title prefacing her name, she was nevertheless being given practical training in various fields, including, it seemed, disaster response. While she had been able to cope to some extent with the automotive accidents the recent "solar storm" had caused, it was the disaster at Georgia State University which had truly opened her eyes to precisely what could potentially be required of her in the position she held. She might have been over four hundred years old, but even she was a victim of her own inexperience.

Regardless of this, however, Marshall Quatrevaux had requested that she join both him and a few more of their mutual colleagues as part of the team responding to one of Los Angeles' biggest hospitals. With their collective ear to the ground in just about all matters medical, it hadn't taken the Jung Facility very long - especially with the prevalence of national media - to hear about the sporadic outbreaks of cholera which had begun to assault the contiguous United States. In the modern age, cases of the disease were usually confined to developing nations; places in which infrastructre may have been lacking when it came to water treatment. Without adequate facilities to cleanse the water, illnesses such as cholera were allowed to thrive and, with this knowledge in mind, many medical professionals with expertise vastly in excess of her own had been baffled as to why this was happening in America.

Although she knew little about the disease from a medical standpoint, Nireva was far from unfamiliar with it from a personal one. Just hearing the word was enough to dredge up long-dormant memories; memories of a man from lifetimes ago who had succumbed to the illness. By then, of course, she had grown more than accustomed to playing the grieving widow and, after a spell of emotional convalescence, she found herself moving on with her life. She was immortal, after all. Moving on was simply what she did. Eventually, there would come a time when she would have to leave Los Angeles behind and, much to her chagrin, advances in technology meant that her migrations needed to be further and further from one another in order to avoid the government's penchant for electric eyes.

"...so the bouncers look at each other, and then look at me, and one tells me, 'Sure! Uh, thanks for helping us out!'" For most of the journey, Crystalynn had been regaling the group with a recent story from her life and, while she wasn't about to admit it, it was a story to which Nireva had paid almost no attention. She wasn't entirely sure how the woman could be so cheerful in the face of a disease so potentially destructive; one which had somehow managed to pick its way through the country's array of treatment facilities and start ravaging the population regardless. Letting out a small sigh, she prodded her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and turned her gaze towards the window.

The man on whom she found herself dwelling had been a husband - one of many she'd had over the years, she realised - and, as much as she'd wanted things to be otherwise, she had been unable to do anything to help him. Lorena Mosconi had been forced to sit at the man's bedside and watch as he slipped away, silently cursing both the nature of her ability and the medical technology of the age. Neither of them had been able to change what had happened and, while she and her son had lived through the minor outbreak in the late eighteenth century, it wasn't exactly the best of consolations. Today, however, there was far more than a glimmer of hope on the horizon.

To the people in Lorena's time, the medical advances of the twenty-first century would have been a godsend; laying waste to many of the common ailments of the time as well as devising vaccines for the more virulent afflictions. Nowadays, people unfortunate enough to be brought low by things such as cholera weren't necessarily given an instant death sentence. "This is it." Marshall's voice rose above the van's engine and the muffled sounds of passing traffic as it pulled into a hospital car park. For a place which was reported to be dealing with cholera patients, Nireva was quick to note the near absence of stationary vehicles; something she felt was a good sign.

A handful of patients was a lot better than a proverbial legion of the damned. With the team needing to run supplies and equipment from the van to and from the hospital, the driver was instructed - by Irma, who had been sitting beside him - to park in the emptiest and most open spot he could find; preferably as close to the entrance as possible. With Marshall's rousing call, the team - comprising of both experienced professionals and volunteers who were newer to the job than Nireva was - were given a new focus. "Irma, Crystalynn, Nireva and I will go in and assess the situation." She couldn't help but inwardly smirk whenever he said her name. He was one of the few people who had picked up on the unusual syllabic emphasis early on and was able to pronounce her name correctly. Many of his peers had either persevered out of propriety or given up and simply taken to calling her Niri instead. She didn't mind, either way. "Everyone else, stay here and prep the equipment while we're gone. We'll update you once we get back."

Undoing the seatbelt, Nireva clambered her way out of the van and made her way over to meet her aforementioned colleagues. In a stark contrast to her usual fare - one which only Marshall was truly cognizant, if he remembered the night in question - Nireva's choice of attire was restrained, professional and about as mundane and subtle as one could get. Wearing a plain blouse and some dark pants, she looked like she worked in an office or a library as opposed to volunteering at a medical facility; something which her glasses and bunned-up hair only served to convey. Marshall might have thought her choices to be the hallmarks of a paranoid individual but, when her other job involved dancing in a bikini in the middle of a popular Los Angeles club, Nireva was happy to incorporate something of a crowbar separation between one life and the other; both for her reputation and that of the Jung Facility as a whole.

"From what the hospital director told me," Marshall began. Once Irma, Crystalynn and Nireva had gathered at his flanks, he began to brief them on what he knew. "They've got the cholera patients situated in the east wing." Stem the spread of infection by keeping the patients away from the rest of the hospital. It was certainly the best way to contain the disease and at least slow down its spread. "That's where you'll take the medical team. I'll check with the hospital's grief counselors and then come back to get our psych team. Hopefully, we'll be able to wrap things up well enough to leave in the hospital's hands between six and seven tonight. We'll get back in touch around that time."

With her training revolving more around medicine as opposed to psychology, Nireva quickly surmised that she was going to be part of the former group. "Sounds like a plan." She wasn't sure what she could actually do to help the patients, given that many of people already in the hospital already had years more training than her. But, just like them, she was here to do a job. It was only when Marshall stopped to glance over his shoulder that she realised that something wasn't entirely right. As well as the hospital's car park being oddly empty for a place dealing with cholera patients, the only vehicles in the vicinity of the van in which they'd arrived looked as though they'd been stolen from a presidential motorcade. A pair of black, four-door cars with tinted windows. All that was missing was the flags denoting the country of origin.

"What are you doing here..?"

The figures who had approached them from behind were, while dressed casually like them, definitely not from the Jung Facility. The one feature the second group all shared was the sunglasses hiding the area around their eyes as though they were attending a strange masquerade ball. Nevertheless, Nireva recognised the short dark hair and slender features of the man she assumed to be the leader. She didn't even need to hear his voice to know that the physical mannerisms and general manner in which he carried himself belonged to none other than the new Ark Industries CEO; Christian Moynahan. "We're here to help. Just as I'm sure you are."

Nireva quickly went silent once more. Having met Christian on the UCLA campus twice; both at his company's town hall meeting and in a more informal manner at a restaurant, she wasn't entirely sure how her off-the-books meeting with a man her boss seemed to, at the very least, distrust would be construed. Almost as soon as Marshall had recognised Christian, his mood had soured. "I heard of your work yesterday on the other side of town. The staff and patients there seemed very appreciative."

"How exactly do you plan to help?" It was certainly a good question and, if Christian was as polite and candid as he'd been with her, it was one to which the psychologist would likely get an answer. "As far as I can tell, you'd only get in our way." The two company heads then began their series of conversational ripostes, dancing around their agendas while offering up information of mutual benefit. "We're trying to research this particular strain of cholera." So it was a new strain? It certainly explained a lot. Such as how it had been able to survive the trip through the country's water treatment facilities. What could modern technology do against a strain of a disease that possessed an immunity? "You treat the immediate symptoms and the grieving, we'll develop a more stable cure. That sounds like teamwork to me."

Christian may have been technically correct, but Marshall's cynicism posed a different theory. "Interesting," he began, his arms folded. "That sounds like an excellent chance for good press to me."

"There won--..."

Not this time. Not even Marshall could resist making a snide jab at Ark's relationship with the media. "And we all know Ark could use some good press." Between the grilling she had already given him and Marshall's comments, Nireva could scarcely blame Christian for feeling a little annoyed at having derision levelled against him for something he hadn't done. All he was guilty of was inheriting a mantle, nothing more. He'd taken on quite the undertaking by trying to steer Ark into a more positive light and, while she personally disapproved of a lot of what Ark had done before, Nireva had found herself being turned around somewhat. If anyone was capable to fulfilling the aims laid out by the press conferences and meetings, then Christian seemed like a man competent enough to do so.

Unlike the previous public outings, however, Christian swiftly made it clear that the media was to have nothing to do with his presence at the hospital. While he was certainly aware that the company he now ran was in dire need of some good word to spread around the public, he had enough of a moral compass to refrain from doing so at the expense of the privacy of the grieving and ill. As Christian again tried to explain to Marshall, they were only trying to help in the best way they could.

"Scientists?" That was a mite rich coming from him, wasn't it? Marshall's eyes narrowed, almost taking offence at the man misusing the title of a subfield of his greater profession. "The rest of your little crew, maybe. But you're just a face. What exactly are you planning to do yourself? Boss around your staff, who know what they're doing better than you do?"

Exhaling through her nose, Nireva sighed almost with despair. They hadn't even made it into the hospital and, already, their efforts were beset by issues. Were she not directly subordinate to one arguing party and somewhat respectful of the other, she would have pulled out her immortality/wisdom card then and there and sent them to opposite sides of the car park for a time out. "I worked in the pharmaceutical industry. I'm no stranger to medicine." Thankfully, Christian was just as averse to arguments today as he was to media attention. "We're splitting hairs now, Dr. Quatrevaux. Let's go inside and do what we came to do."

Seizing an opportunity to prevent things from boiling over, Crystalynn stepped forward and made with a friendly introduction; a way of throwing a temporary wedge between Christian and Marshall and distract them long enough to avoid coming to blows. "Let's go inside." With Marshall leading them all inside, Nireva trailed along behind, catching sight of Christian as he nodded a subtle greeting to her; one which she reciprocated with a friendly smile. It was innocuous and something which kept their meeting a secret. Being such a large group, it wasn't long before one of the hospital staff approached them from the corridor to their right. Being the one the nurse reached first, Nireva decided to field the question posed to them. "My name is Nireva Hale and these are Doctors Quatrevaux, Fosterman and Broussard, from the Jung Facility." She thought it prudent to avoid introducing Christian and his own companions for fears that knowledge of Ark's presence would make things difficult. So she stuck to the basics. "Could you point us in the direction of the east wing, please?"

[Marshall Quatrevaux]

See now over this
you meddler
Feed off all the rest
you meddler

___

They filed into the hospital. Marshall frowned slightly. Moynahan and his cohorts had stuck to the Jung group as though they wanted to hang around. Or perhaps they wanted to create the impression that they were with Jung. If so, they were about to erase that illusion quickly. Marshall had no intention of being classified with Ark, whether the patients noticed or not. It was a personal preference, with regard to what Ark had been known to do. New staff and new management meant nothing to Marshall.

He stifled a chuckle as Nireva introduced them to the hospital staff. She had had the foresight to introduce only the doctors, and not their dark-suited leeches. He nodded as Nireva named him, as did the two women. Marshall always made a special effort to learn names, as his own - his last name - was so difficult to pronounce and spell, even for native New Orleanians. He noticed that most everyone else had given up on pronouncing "Nireva" correctly, which he understood in its basics, but to him at least, it really wasn't that hard to say.

The nurse quite gladly directed them to the east wing. All cholera-related matters were being handled there. "Thank you," Marshall said to the nurse, and then led the group the way the nurse had indicated. Again the suits followed them. Marshall sighed quietly but continued to walk. Crystalynn was saying something to Irma about the hospital being a spacious one, but beyond that, Marshall could hear Christian's low voice giving some kind of instructions to his group. He could not hear the instructions themselves, but he could hear the tone in which they were given. Hopefully the group would leave them once they reached the east wing.

Irma heard the same, and, despite being almost right next to Christian as she brought up the small Jung group's rear, she still could not hear what was being said. The man's voice was too low. She had seen some magazine describe it as sounding like "a panther inside a French horn," and she was starting to understand why that was. All her ears were picking up were low sounds like melodic growls.

It was not long before they found the east wing. Here they walked a while, passing frosted-glass windowed rooms on each side, and waiting rooms peppered in between. There was a woman standing in the middle of the hall. "Good morning," she said, and extended her hand to each of the Jung workers, and then to Christian, much to Marshall's annoyance. "I'm Doctor Lovelace, the hospital director. With me is Doctor…" She glanced to her left, frowned, and then leaned to her left, past a corner none of the group could see around, and yanked on a sleeve. A male doctor emerged from behind that corner and stood next to her. "With me is Doctor Schwartz. He is one of my two assistants. The other fell ill." She frowned again.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Crystalynn said softly.

"Thank you." Dr. Lovelace sighed. "This outbreak has put a strain on all of us. I have other duties to attend to, but I have assigned Doctor Schwartz to oversee the cholera wing specifically. Any questions you have may be directed to him. Mister Moynahan…." She glanced around Irma's shoulder, then took a step to her right so that she was eye to eye with Christian, or at least, as eye to eye as most people can get with a man who stands six feet two inches tall. "You will report all of your activities directly to Doctor Schwartz before you carry them out. He will approve them as he deems fit."

Marshall's lips twisted in a successful attempt to keep from laughing. At least he was not the only one in this mad world who still distrusted Ark Industries.

Christian bowed his head. "Understood, Director."

Dr. Lovelace regarded the group as a whole. "Very well, then. And thank you all for your assistance." She managed a very faint but still beautiful smile, then nodded to them and started back up the hallway.

Dr. Schwartz tucked his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "Okay. Doctor Q, your waiting rooms are on both sides of this hallway. There are two on each side, all reserved for the families of our cholera patients. The ones behind me tend to be the most occupied." He glanced down at Crystalynn. "Doctor Fosterman, I take it? The patients are in all of the rooms on this hallway, and in the rooms on the hallway going that way." He indicated a perpendicular hallway ahead of them, which formed a two-way with their current hallway. "And Doctor Broussard, the… patients who didn't make it are in a separate morgue, to the right and down the stairs."

Irma nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. Marshall, I'm going to get the others from the van."

Marshall nodded, then glanced back at Dr. Schwartz. "Thank you. Crystalynn, will you and Nireva start looking in on the patients? I'll start with the waiting rooms."

Christian had brought Dr. Schwartz into a conference with his group and was murmuring something to the man. At length, the doctor nodded, and, finally, the Ark group split up and went their own ways, independent of the Jung group.

"About time." Marshall muttered as he went to the first waiting room.

---

Crystalynn and Irma found their first patient in a room at the top of the hall. "Why don't you take point on this one, Niri?" she said, before opening the door and holding it for the young - to most, at least - woman to pass through. In the room laid a little girl, perhaps six years old, clutching a rag doll to her chest, over her covers. She was not alone; a woman, who bore enough resemblance to be the child's mother, was sitting in a chair very near the child. Cyrstalynn quickly glanced at the chart hanging from the foot of the bed: Jessica Sheely. She had no idea what the mom's name was, though. "Good morning," Crystalynn said cheerily, but then stayed back a bit, waiting to see how Niri would treat the little girl.

"Hi," little Jessica said, bravely fighting the exhaustion in her voice. Several IVs were hooked up to her, and every time she moved, she winced slightly. "Mommy said a lot of nice people would come to help me today."

---

Meanwhile, alone, Christian made his way back down the hall. His team had a mission very different from Jung's: to collect data. They were looking for prior test results and would also make tests of their own, from both the ill and the well. The one would provide a look at the history and nature of the disease; the other would suggest possibly relevant antibodies or otherwise indicate how they had managed to stay well. He had already cleared as much with Dr. Schwartz. Stepping into one of the rooms his colleagues had not yet chosen, he found a young man and a nurse, the latter going about her usual duties.

Christian nodded to the young man but hung back for a moment, allowing the nurse some room, but also to make an assessment of the entire environment. The blinds covering the window had been opened, to allow plenty of light into the room; the correct IVs were present but running low; there was no one else attending the patient (although he supposed there could be family in one of Quatrevaux's waiting rooms); there was a dining tray in the room, but no food was on it. The charts identified him as one Layton Ranta, and, as Christian had already deduced, he had been in this room for quite a long time. Sleeping, most likely, if no one had fed him in a while.

"Good morning, Mister Ranta," Christian said, his tone warm but soft. The nurse finished up her tests and began to leave, but Christian stopped her and asked her a series of questions in quick succession, all too low to be heard beyond the two of them. Then the nurse did leave, and Christian moved toward the window to close the blinds a bit. The patient might have found discomfort in the light. Or, of course, his eyes might have been too blurred to notice much of a difference.

"My name is Christian. I'm a scientist working with the Cholera Outbreak Response Project. We're looking into the cause of the outbreak and collecting data in hopes of stopping it." He settled into a chair not too far from Layton, but not set as close as a relative might have sat. "You've been here a while, I suspect. Would you like something to eat? I could ask the attendants to bring you some breakfast."

___

Words: 1467.
Outfit: Marshall, Irma, Crys.
Excerpt: Chevelle, "The Meddler."
Comments:Don't mind the in-jokes.

[Layton Ranta]

Yö kun ylle hämärtyy, käy ankka toimintaan!
Yllättäen ilmestyy ja salaa katoaa! Näin konnat kiipeliin taas Varjoankka saa!
Varjoistaan! Hurja Varjoankka öissä pulmahtaa!
Taas ollaan vaarallisia! Varjoistaan! Varjo on ankka!
______________________________Theme Tune - "Varjoankka"

"Are you feeling any better today?" With his condition already diagnosed, there was little for the nurse to actually do when it came time to check up on Layton. The first port of call for her was the chart which had been hung over the metal beam at the foot of his bed. Regardless of whether they were nurses such as herself or any of the other qualified physicians, they were required to document both their presence and any changes to the patient's condition. By doing this, they were able to keep track of the medication Layton was on, including when the various dosages had been administered in order to prevent accidental overdose. "Still managing to get to the bathroom?"

Layton's eyes slowly narrowed. Normally, he didn't enjoy fielding personal questions - especially those he felt weren't worth answering - but, with his life potentially in danger, he was more than happy to make an exception. "Yeah, I'm... managing," he sighed, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as he listened to the nurse working around him. Despite her being mere feet away from where he lay, the friendly woman wasn't where his mind was focused. He - just as he assumed most of the people in LA - had no idea of how widespread the cases of cholera already were and, with only the knowledge of the people in this one hospital, he was somewhat wary as to the intentions of the people who had begun to pass him by. "Those people outside." The nurse flashed a brief glance over her shoulder, just in time to see another pair of people stroll by. "Do you know who they are?"

His guess was, unfortunately, as good as her own. If the new arrivals weren't patients, as was evident by their clothing, then she wasn't sure who they could be. "I, uh... I don't. Sorry." Even though there weren't many groups based in - or with easy access to - Los Angeles who would descend upon the hospital in such an event, it was impossible for her to determine who they were without leaving the room to talk to them. "Though I'm sure they're here to help, somehow." She'd heard stories of how potential outbreaks had been quelled by the swift reactions and expertise of organisations like the Jung Facility. While still doctors specialising in a range of fields, they weren't as burdened as she was by their premises and, through whatever means had been afforded them, were able to exercise a great deal of autonomy.

The cholera outbreak was one such situation. With more than a few cities quietly being placed under quarantine, regular medical assistance couldn't come in from the outside but, for whatever reason, the Jung Facility and their slightly shady ilk could. If her assumptions were correct, then it could only be a good thing. "Whoever they are, they're likely here to keep an eye on you and the other cholera patients." Making a mental note of the state of Layton's IV drips, she quickly made plans to swing by the nearest qualified physician and inform them of the situation. While she could quite easily change out IV bags on a whim, she thought it best to relay the news to someone more experienced. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally make someone's condition worse.

"Good morning, Mister Ranta." Layton may have known full well that his name was written down on a chart for all to see, but the unfamiliar voice uttering his name caused him to sit himself up regardless. The voice belonged to a relatively tall individual, whose features were slender barely shy of the point of looking strange. He seemed far from a physically powerful individual but, even in his face, there was a subtle toning present. With a warm smile on his face, the man greeted him before subtly stopping the nurse in her tracks to quietly converse with her. Even lying a few feet away, Layton couldn't tell what the two were going on about. It irked him slightly as he entertained the possibility that they might have been discussing him and his present condition.

But, after a few moments, the nurse was on her way out the door, leaving him with the strange newcomer. "My name is Christian," He wasn't sure why this man was being so friendly and forthcoming and, even as he revealed who he was - or wanted Layton to think he was - the reasoning wasn't becoming any clearer. "I'm a scientist working with the Cholera Outbreak Response Project. We're looking into the cause of the outbreak and collecting data in the hopes of stopping it."

"And, by data, you mean blood samples, right?" Layton was far from stupid. He might not have continued his career in the sciences past college, but he knew that a vaccine for an illness couldn't be fabricated through interviews alone. He also knew that, whoever Christian and his companions were, they wouldn't just be looking to the living for assistance. "As long as you don't bleed me dry, I'm okay with helping out. I'm not dead yet, y'know..?"

As Layton spoke, Christian made his way further into the room and, out of a need to get himself more comfortable, he sat himself down in a chair and let out a small sigh as his body relaxed into the seat. "You've been here for a while, I suspect," he mused. He'd seen enough of the chart to know that Layton had been a patient of the hospital for the past couple of days and the desolate nature of the dinner tray informed him that Layton might not have eaten anything for at least a few hours. "Would you like something to eat? I could ask the attendants to bring you some breakfast."

"Last I checked, cardboard wasn't too edible," he remarked with a smirk. The hospital food may have been bearable - but only just - but it was certainly a far cry from food located in the outside world. "I'm okay for now. So... how can I help?"

[Nireva Hale]

Silloin ikävä kävelee sisälle vaikkei kukaan pyytänyt sitä peremmälle
Se istuu alas, se istuu vielä syliänikin syvemmälle.
...ja syvemmälle.
Iankaikkinen kulkee isäntänä pelloillaan.
Ihmisen sielu taskussaan, ihmisen sydän rinnassaan.
______________________________Kotiteollisuus - "Iankaikkinen" (/ "Eternal")

"Why don't you take point on this one, Niri?"

It may have been a question she had been expecting for a while, but hearing the request for her - just about the only member of the Jung Facility's party without a medical degree - to take the lead on their first of presumably numerous patient interviews filled her mind with a vague sense of unease. Although she had seen and lived beyond the deaths of many spouses and family members over the past four centuries, it was something to which she simply hadn't become accustomed. She doubted it was even possible, in all honesty and, as far as she was aware, nobody at the Facility knew of either her ability or the immortality which came with it; something which made Crystalynn's suggestion all the more unusual.

Normally, inexperienced volunteers like her were relegated to the sidelines, left to observe and learn that way. But today, it seemed, was the day Nireva was finally allowed to hold the reins in such a situation; in much the same way that a trainee surgeon would be allowed to take a scalpel to a living patient under highly controlled circumstances. She may have been intent on protesting but, before even the first syllable could leave her mouth, Crystalynn's hand was stretching outward towards the door, sliding it open to reveal the people within. Having lived through more than one pandemic in her time, Nireva knew first-hand how indiscriminately viruses and infections went about their business, striking down anyone unfortunate enough to be susceptible.

But even she was given pause by the patient they had randomly chosen to visit first. Having not seen any signs relating to the paediatrics department on their short stroll, Nireva had naïvely expected everyone they would meet - and inevitably interview - to be fully-grown adults. It was only when she noticed that Jessica Sheely was clearly a young child that her thoughts ran onto the subject of disease control. With her diagnosis confirmed, it no longer mattered that Jessica was only six years of age. She was a cholera patient, just like the men and women in the rooms adjacent to her own. Just like the men and women who were lying dead in the morgue Irma had no doubt located.

"Good morning." The cheer with which Crystalynn issued her greeting was, while slightly inappropriate, was more intended to make both Jessica and her mother - who was sitting beside the bed - feel slightly more at ease and willing to answer the questions they were about to pose. However, just as she had suggested, the greeting was as far as Crystalynn took her role for the moment. She wanted to see how her companion would handle the situation. "Hi," came the somewhat weak response. Although the doses of the drugs were adjusted according to the age of the patient, Jessica was nevertheless fighting both her illness and the medication being pumped directly into her veins. "Mommy said a lot of nice people would come to help me today."

Stepping closer, Nireva hid her slightly despondent sigh with a friendly smile. She didn't particularly enjoy seeing Jessica suffer in such a fashion. "She's right," she explained. She was playing against the child's understandable fears and, if her mother had planted the seeds of the arrival of a group of saviours, then that was precisely what she and the rest of Dr. Quatrevaux's team would be to them. "We heard all about what happened to you and came to help." Disregarding the act she often played when working at the Jung Facility, she took off her glasses and slid them into a pocket. She didn't want to end up scaring the girl by staring at her from behind a pair of glasses she didn't even need. "My name's Niri... and my friend over there is Crystalynn. What's yours?"

As expected, it took Jessica a moment to answer. As well as her illness, she - like every other wholesome child - had been taught not to talk to strangers. It was only after an inquisitive glance in her mother's direction that she found the go-ahead to proceed and, out of propriety, she mustered a warm smile to match Nireva's own. "Jessica."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jessica." The saccharine act was bothering her. She couldn't help but feel as though she was offering Jessica a sense of false hope; a promise that she was capable of saving someone who could very well be dead by tomorrow. But, on the other hand, giving a six year old child the unvarnished and frankly rather bleak truth would have been nothing short of torture for them both. So she forced herself to soldier on. "Do you think you'd be up to answering a couple of questions for me? I promise I'll be as quick as I can."

"Why..?"

"Well, right now, the rest of our team are talking to all of the doctors and nurses and are trying to figure out how you all got sick." Jessica didn't need to know that Irma Broussard was examining corpses and that Marshall was starting out with the patients' relatives. So she simplified the parts she did need to know. "Once we know all that, we'll be able to work on making you better. Crystalynn and I are going to be talking to all of the patients today and, because your mom sent for us, we thought we'd come and see you first." Jessica's mother, obviously, had nothing to do with her arrival but, with what Jessica had already said, some more familial reinforcement wasn't going to do any harm.

"Okay." And so, the questions began. Remodelled to suit both the patient and her level of understanding, Nireva ran through the checklist their briefing had prompted her to make. She asked Jessica about her symptoms, how long she'd been suffering from them and her thoughts on what might have been responsible for her illness. Although she'd been unsure on a couple of points, many of the signs she'd discussed pointed to the hallmarks of cholera, just as she'd expected; diarrhea to the point of dehydration, among other undesirable things. What she hadn't been expecting was for Jessica's inquisitive mind to shine through and lighten the mood. "Can I, uh... can I ask you something?", she inquired timidly, still clutching her doll.

"Sure you can," Nireva replied with a warm smile.

"Niri is a weird name." The blunt comment prompted an apologetic expression on her mother's face but, with Nireva being more than used to it, it was one which soon passed. "It is, isn't it?" Even now, she couldn't quite remember where or how she'd come up with the name of her latest identity but, after existing under more mundane names like Lucy and Beverly, she'd fancied a more exotic-sounding change of pace. "What does it mean..?"

"It's short for Nireva," she explained. Predictably, Jessica's face screwed up slightly at the odd pronounciation. However, the child's inquiry was one which had Nireva stumped. If her name even had any historical etymology, she had no idea what it was. "I, uh.. I won't lie to you. I have no idea what my name means." She grinned as Jessica - despite her state - mustered a small giggle at her predicament. "How about we make a deal? If you find out what my name means, could you tell me?"

"Sure thing, Niri."

"Thank you, Jessica." Making her way back towards the door, she nodded to Crystalynn, subtly informing her that she was ready to leave. "We're going to talk to the other patients now, okay? We'll come back and see you if we need your help!" Giving the child a little wave, she led her colleague out of the room, allowing the mother and child to reclaim their privacy as she shut the door. The unease was understandable for her first time interacting with patients, she told herself. It didn't stop her feeling slightly bad, however, for using evasive language and almost flat-out lying to a six year old girl. "How was that..?", she asked as she began to stroll down the corridor towards the next room.

[Frank Rook]

In room 327, a woman laid in a bed, fighting for her life. Her family wasn’t there for her at the moment. They were all out trying their best to help in every way they could. Her husband provided relief effort and peacekeeping in Los Angeles, a city that was just a step away from becoming a warzone when the plate dropped. Her daughter was a nurse, doing all she could to help other people who had caught the disease in this very hospital. As she laid in bed, feeling her strength ebb away bit by bit, she knew she didn’t have much time left. She had called a nurse, tried to get them to find her daughter so the two could say goodbye. She’d tried to call her husband, but he never answered. She didn’t blame either of them. They were good people. The best people. No one could do anything for her, but her loved ones could help others. That’s where they belonged. Still. It saddened her to know that she wouldn’t get to see them one more time.

She wasn’t afraid to die. She knew that had been coming all her life, in one form or another. No, she only regretted that she couldn’t see her daughter one more time. To tell her how proud she was of her, that she had dedicated her life to helping people, healing people. She regretted that she didn’t get to see her husband, to tell him that he was the love of her life. That through good and bad she had never considered anyone else for even a moment. She wanted to tell them that she loved them, just one last time. If she could, it would be the perfect end to her life.

-------------------------

But it didn’t happen. Nichole Rook passed away at 4:28 PM that day. Heroic measures were taken to try and save her life, but they were in vain. A cardiac surgeon that had been pulled down to this floor to try and help with the overload of patients took time to track down Chloe Rook, an RN on the next floor down and give her the news. He took her place to give her time to see her mother one last time before they took her down to the morgue. Her husband, Frank Rook, wasn’t alerted of the death until three hours later, when he called to check on his wife when things slowed down. He didn’t react to the news, only said he would make it when he could, and went back to the relief effort. He made it through the rest of the day, made it to the hospital to make arrangements for his wife, made it home, and considered drinking himself to sleep. When he willed himself not to, he finally broke down in sobs.

[Marshall Quatrevaux]

Once I built a railroad, made it run
Made it race against time
Once I built a railroad, now it’s done
Brother, can you spare a dime?

___

As far as Crystalynn cared, Niri was doing a wonderful job. She simply nodded anytime Niri made a good point, talking about what kinds of work they would be doing, and things like that. In the back of the room, she quietly scribbled down some notes in her own form of shorthand, being wary of making the child or the mother uneasy with her note-taking. She was not sure she would remember it all, and Marshall liked hard copies of everything anyway. She would do the same for all of the patients, in fact.

She chuckled as the young girl asked about Niri’s name. Then, on a very pleasant note, Crystalynn thought, they left the room, and Niri asked where they should go next. “Well, I think….” Cryatalynn riffled through some of the pages of her notepad, but looked up as she sensed Marshall moving closer into their space.

“I just spoke with the Williamson family,” he said quietly. “They’re connected to Reynold Williamson, there.” He stopped a page she was turning. “I’ll give you my notes and you can speak with him next. He’s on the edge - he may succumb, he may not. Once you speak with him, could you fill me in so I have something to share with his family?” he asked, and Crystalynn nodded. “Excellent. I’m heading back to the waiting rooms. You’ll find me over there.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Crystalynn said brightly. Marshall gave them a small smile and went on his way.

Crystalyyn turned on her toes and pointed toward a door down the hall. “That’d be Reynold. Let’s head on down there, shall we?”

___

Words: meh.
Outfit: Marshall, Irma, Crys.
Excerpt: Abbey Lincoln, “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?”
Comments: Fin Marshall and Crystalynn.

[Christian Moynahan]

Once I built a tower to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime
Once I built a tower, now it’s done
Brother, can you spare a dime?
-Abbey Lincoln, “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?”

It was probably very fortunate that Mr. Ranta caught on so easily. No, Christian was not simply present to interview him the way his almost-friends at Jung were. He was looking for physical data. “Blood tests, yes. DNA swatches - just a Q-tip to the cheek, to put it simply. Urine sample, to confirm dehydration. Those sorts of tests. Nothing invasive.” He was not sure how reassuring that would be, but he was not necessarily there to reassure him, either. Again, that fell under Jung’s purview. He was sure Dr. Quatrevaux and his volunteers were doing well at that.

“You may have others stop in to interview you as well, but they will be interested on a more psychological level, and they will likely not ask for any tests. We will share our data with them, if they wish.” They would probably not wish, but they likely would not need what Christian was gathering anyway.

He, Lex, and Lucius were spearheading the effort. Christian was the least of them; he could hardly be called a scientist, as his degrees were in engineering and business; but his experiences in related fields did make him an asset. Also - although he did not know it yet - as he contained antibodies that continued to fight off the infection despite its mutations, he would wind up playing a significant role in the cure effort anyway. But for now, he was running errands.

He chuckled as Layton spoke of cardboard for food. “As you wish,” he said with a smile. “One of my team could always get you something to eat, of course. Once our testing is concluded, that is, but it won’t take long.” He stood up and moved toward the sink to clean his hands, taking every precaution in terms of hospital safety. The instruments he needed were in a small case that was positioned near his chair. This one had a small label that read “L. Ranta” across it.

“Do you have any allergies?” he asked, and the usual questions that went along with it, as he opened the case and pulled on a pair of gloves. Layton was his first patient of the day; hopefully the others would go as relatively smoothly as this one seemed to be.

(Fin Christian.)

[Marshall Quatrevaux]

Once in khaki suits, gee, we looked swell
Full of that yankee doodle dee dum
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell
I was the kid with the drum
-Abbey Lincoln, “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?”

She waited outside the morgue, a blank expression on her face. Marshall and the others were tending to and assisting the living, the Ark men were testing the ill, and she… she was tending to the dead. The woman arrived shortly; Irma followed the attendants inside, then oversaw the autopsy, taking notes and acquiring copies of all the test results as they became available.

The woman had a peaceful look about her, even in death; a touch sad, perhaps, or maybe Irma was just imagining it. It made Irma pause for a moment, to wonder about these families and these patients. “Was anyone with her?” she asked suddenly.

The autopsy technician looked over her shoulder at Irma. “No, according to the attendants, she was alone. Her daughter was not far, however, and met them at the room.”

Irma frowned. She glanced at the chart. Nichole Rook. Marshall.

Yes? The answer came quickly, perhaps too quickly.

What do we know about Nichole Rook?

Some time passed; Irma figured Marshall was looking through his notes. Only that she was among the severely ill. A husband and a daughter are listed for her, but I haven’t seen either of them, and neither has our team. Moynahan might know more about it. And then, after a pause, Share the results with them. The data you gain in the morgue.

Will do, boss. She turned back to the body and sighed.

“You may help save the lives of countless others, Mrs. Rook,” she said quietly. “May that knowledge bring you peace.”

[Fin Irma; fin thread.]