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Post by Lunapocalypse on Mar 11, 2010 12:19:18 GMT -5
Obviously you won't find a lot of Tricell products in here. The Infirmary is set to patch up relatively rash wounds, if there are any severely fatal injuries the operative is sent out to the main Jacksonville hospital for open surgery treatment.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Apr 15, 2010 0:37:03 GMT -5
Everything was white, it made matters for Pandora's vision debacle even more... debacled. She sat on the metal infirmary bench in one of the offshoot rooms, "Please doctor, could you find out what is wrong with me," she said a little slurred; she had started to get a major head and stomachache, finding it a little hard to remain conscious most of the time; it felt akin to having a head cold. Most of the time she just kept her eyes closed so not to deal with any of the flashing colours, but being unable to see anything made her open her eyes to relax herself, inevitably making her more sick. Thin fingers pulled open her right eye and a bright light was shone directly in; this was comfortable, although when it came to the left eye Pandora felt her stomach retch and almost brought up fluids from yesterday. She fought it back as the bright light blinded her making sure not to throw up on the doctor immediately in front of her. Her eye lids dropped, the light disappeared, and she could relax again.
"Well..." a light and pleasant female voice called across the room, "Your left pupil isn't dilating properly, which is quite rare as a matter of fact," she explained, "You haven't caught the flu, if that's what you're wondering, it's simply the radical change in vision which is effecting your brain. You probably can't stand blurry vision, much like everyone else. It's sort of like wearing glasses that you shouldn't have on, it messes with your vision and makes you feel sick," shallow clatters could be heard here and there, "And to clarify... no, you aren't going blind or losing your vision; it's just pupil dilation which is easily fixed," the doctor rolled over in her chair, "But first I want to run a test..." she swung a huge object around and tapped where Pandora had to rest her chin, "I'm just going to check the pressure of your eyes," she leveled it over Pandora's right eye and a puff of air was blown into her eye, same deal with her left only she blinked more furiously to deal with it.
A moment passed as the doctor checked over results, Pandora felt a sinking feeling in her heart. She'd put one and two together, I felt more weird after the second blast... something is wrong with my left eye. She started to feel sad.
One hell of a deep breath was heard at the other side of the room, "You have increased pressure in your left eye, above normal to be accurate," a flitter of paper, "No point showing you the results, but I have to inform you that there is a chance of glaucoma in your left eye... I mean it's nothing solid but it doesn't mean there isn't a possibility," footsteps over to where Pandora sat, "I'm going to give you these eye drops, it'll fix the dilation problem but it isn't as if the problem won't arise again. It could be a one off and something just flew into your eye, but come back and see me anyway..." a cold hand pushed up against Pan's forehead and tilted it back, two icy drops landed in her left eye, "It'll take about an hour for it to work, but after that your vision will have returned to normal... so, I dunno, maybe you could go do something while you wait,"
Waves of fresh relief riddled her head, although still keeping the left eye closed, "It's okay. I have an assignment I'm on in an hour, so it'll be just on time," she answered meekly.
What," the doctor had moved over to wash her hands, "You can't hang out with Hanna or something in the mean time?" typical small talk, it was a part of the job but not as if she didn't enjoy it.
"She's on her own assignment at the moment, she is back in August so I won't see her for a while," Pandora answered and took an eye patch the doctor handed her, slinging it over her left eye ; it stopped the annoying colours and blurring but let her keep her eye open and not tire out the lids by holding them closed, "Thankyou Petra," she hopped off of the metal bench.
Petra beckoned her attention one last time, "So you know, the drops have an active time of around a week; after that you might lose the vision in your left eye again, if so just come back and I'll give you some more. Laser surgery is free if you're really worried about it affecting your performance,"
Doubt clouded Pandora's mind, one hand against the door frame; something everyone seemed to do when they were about to leave the room yet still in mid conversation, "This assignment may take a week, what happens if it stops working while I am on my mission?" it was a serious question; Pan didn't want it to affect the rest of her team mates.
"You might have to sit out on it then... Sorry Pandora," Petra stated as a matter of factly. Without much more words Pandora waved and left the room, the Velvet Justicar held in a bubble of gloom.
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Post by #+h3 M!$+3r P@r@d0x on May 6, 2012 1:10:32 GMT -5
Save for the lack of a actual Interrogations Room, BSAA had installed a makeshift one in the empty wing of the infirmary until a suitable one could be established. A sound booth with a Two-Way Mirror was also installed in one of the larger sections that would allow people in the both to watch and overhear any form of Interrogation. A single steel chair sits in the center with a belt loop that runs behind it to secure either cuffs or zip-ties accordingly. The floor is made up of shower-like tiles with a drain just below the chair in case things got messy. “Nothing seems to matter much anymore to be honest. The sky is still about as black and unbalanced as it has been for so long now even though it might be a clear sunny day. The rigidness of the people around, imposing and dissolving their own agendas with soulless behavior makes vomit form in my mouth. Nothing seems to matter more than the cold steel that hangs from one’s waist from time to time, you feel me? There is no happy ending at the end of any chapter written in ANY of these people’s lives. There is nothing, absolutely nothing to look forward to when you live through what we all have… well… what MOST of us have. You survive long enough to watch others die from your own hometown or elsewhere. You live to tell the tale that no one would ever believe had they not witnessed it with there own eyes and fought it with their own hands or gripped pistols. Nothing seems to matter much at all. No one speaks heavily about lesser politics or the publicity of pop culture as a matter of fact, now that I think about it. People seem to keep to their own cliques for ‘survival’ while others go out in search for the bastards that made it all happen overnight. Nothing can fix this by head hunting any of them, ya know? They would be replaced as quickly as they were put down without pausing the chaos of this situation for a second. A bandage only hides the wound you know, but without proper medical attention and what have you… the wound continues to fester, puss and rot beneath the failed piece of cloth and gauze that some idiot doctor applied. Even if the wound had healed in the way intended, it will always leave one hell of a scar that can’t ever be hidden or forgotten. Guess that is how everyone feels these days, scarred or rotting. There was no prize at the end of this game. There were no rules to be followed or crazy announcer letting you know you survived another day. No. To those that fought the good fight and died and died for what they believed in… they mattered. But in the end, they were just names to etch into the history of those that knew of them. In the end, they didn’t really matter anymore when those generations would eventually die."
"Good men and women have died due to this War and no one has even stopped to really dwell on the severity of it all. A war that most of us never even knew was happening, let alone wanted. You could only wish that the war was still only fought with who had the most intelligence and the best weaponry or the biggest army with the best men. Well, one could stand corrected with that sort of talk. The T-Virus is one hell of a wake-up call in the whole “ Society Destabilization Project.’ You just wake up one morning and realize that your neighbor of five years is now eating his wife right in front of you… and not in the good way. We’re talking the, gouging her eyes out with his fingers while repeatedly gnashing away at her cheek sort of thing. Great stuff, eh? That was just the beginning though. Those that survived the initial period… Not just in the US of A but WORLD FREAKING WIDE were introduced to the MUTATIONS that were deemed as mere ‘Side-Effects‘ . Zombies, Zeds, Shufflers, Stiffs, Groaners, Moaners, or Daisies… whatever the hell your choice would be to call em’. They were no longer the biggest threat ever to emerge from the species cesspools that Umbrella so gladly brought to us. No. No. No. Big Freaking Spiders. Snakes the size of Tram Cars. Roaches the size of dogs. Dogs that don’t lie down without a bullet to the brain and worst of all… freaking things that can crawl through ducts and strike out with tongues that would make Gene Simmons from Kiss go bankrupt. So yeah, the problem with the world today is that all of these things exist… and no matter how many of them you put down, Ten thousand more seem to take their place in that instant.”
“My name is Harold Waltz, and if you have any more questions to ask me Mister, you might as well talk to a wall or send in someone with a little more rank than what that there badge says. Oh wait, those walls these days have a habit of exploding into chips with massive beasts that will pop your head off your shoulders without so much as a hug. Though, from that expression on your face I guess you could use one,” Harold spoke with both of his hands cuffed behind his back and a blatant use of sarcasm seeping from his vocal chords. The cuffs were not that of standard procedure, but more like zip-ties for immediate tie downs to the steel chairs. A steel chair that seemed to have been welded to the ground. Even in a perdicament such as this, Mr. Waltz did not give half of a rats ass who or what he was addressing by these means.
Harold Waltz was somewhat battered and bruised from his tussle with the original two B.S.A.A. lackeys that were sent for his retrieval. Even though he eventually WANTED to get caught for his own personal reasons, he could not help roughing one of the two up before becoming overwhelmed by the whole NIGHTSTICK to the face treatment.
His overall demeanor was pretty content all things considered. He just wanted to speak with someone that he knew that he could trust with what he had to say. Someone with some style and class.
“ Did I stutter or are you just stupid, boy?” Harold readdressed the moron that was taking down everything he said on a piece of paper and a clipboard. A sort of coyote like grin suddenly came over his face as his eyes made full contact with the desk jockey, “ A piece of pencil pushing trash like you could never understand the REASON why I do what I have to do. You wanna know why people die? People die so that people like you have a job. Funny how the cycle works isn’t it? A little toxin takes out a portion of a Settlement and your precious B.S.A.A. Agents get a bit of action from a little friendly fire set up by some half-wit terrorists with the Agenda of the highest bidder to boot. Some of us don’t need reasons to do what we do, friend. We kill to kill. We kill cause we are good at it. I’d almost wager a pack of bacon that says you’ve never even killed a man. Zombies don’t count, Humans now… Humans are the most dangerous prey of all… Don't you think?”
The desired result happened from his bit of antagonizing from that point.
The B.S.A.A. Agent seemed to ignore what Harold was preaching as he exited the room without a word spoken. Harold was almost positive that the glass window across from him was a two-way mirror and made a effort to nudge his shoulders and head in a means to call whomsoever was watching to make their way in. Harold had every intention of being a handful unless the person that decided to step forward had what he was looking for to spill the beans on what he knew. [/size]
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