DAY 65: Breakfast

[envy_the_sinners]

Scar came to slowly, vision blurred and head throbbing. His memory of the previous night was vague and somewhat scattered. What he was most aware of was his renewed and increased hatred for the man called Lingormr. The Ishbalan didn't give a damn if he had been a special counseling patient. That bastard had enjoyed every second of tearing Scar to shreds. What he may or may not have realized was how much it had affected Scar emotionally. He had felt a renewed sense of drive at the start of the night; the disruption on the intercom and the news of the 'cure' had rekindled a fire that fueled Scar to drive forward. To have a little hope.

Lingormr had promptly crushed that.

He was in pain. So much pain. The cut on his hand was only fading scab at this point, but stitches now pulled at the deep gashes in his legs and back. Not only had the nausea not settled, but his stomach was beginning to cramp. The rash on his arm was impossible to hide without the old bandages covering it. It had nearly reached his elbow.

Scar's hazy eyes could make out the nurse, now pushing a wheelchair up to his bedside. This was humiliating. And he was too exhausted and hurting to lash out or become angry. He was just broken. He still tried to take some sort of grudging control, insisting that he didn't need to be pushed around, that he could at least turn the wheels of the damned chair himself. But he didn't make it down the hallway before the pulling and sharp pain in his back became so obvious on his face that the nurse took over.

He entered breakfast with a frustrated, tired, but overall defeated look to him. Scar felt too sick to eat. He sat at the table and brooded, wishing more than anything to simply be left alone.

[For Goku!]

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[scarefaux]

Though he was sure he had to have slept— that was assuming that was what happened to the human and human-turned patients when the night ended so abruptly, as it always had— the Scarecrow felt no better for it, despite the nurse's assurance that a good night's rest was just what he needed. He pulled his blanket around him as she knocked on the door and stepped inside, greeting him and insisting he looked a little better from how he'd been the day before; though she said one thing, even without a brain he could tell she thought something else, the look she gave him anything but comforting. His limbs shook as he got out of bed, head pounding with every step as though someone was hammering a nail into it. Skulduggery was already gone- hopefully not forever, like Depth Charge.

The Scarecrow shook his head, pushing that thought from him. His nurse suggested he get more rest in the Sun Room; he discarded that thought as well, knowing more rest wouldn't help him. He could spend the whole night in his room, but he was sure it wouldn't be the least bit productive, especially if he really was one of the infected. If he was going to find a way to get better, he'd have to do it himself. Sitting around on a pole had gotten him nowhere, after all- it was only once he did something about it that he found a way to get some brains and make something of himself. The same would be for his health and his missing friends.

Assuring the nurse he was just fine, he followed her along to the cafeteria for breakfast, his body fighting him the whole way. His head swam, stomach crawling as though it were filled with bugs; his legs continued to tremble from time to time as sweat built upon his brow, leaving his hair damp. He was unable to discern what was a sign of genuine human illness and what was something unusual caused by the infection as he had no basis for comparison, save for the sensations that had run through him following his sleep study; however, he knew enough about his human body to know it wasn't going to get better on its own this time. He still wasn't sure what was to be done about it, but he intended to find out.

Once handed his tray, he scanned the cafeteria and immediately spotted a familiar face- and boy, was he grateful to see someone he recognized after the long line of disappearances. "How do you do, Sangamon?" he asked as he approached, his voice hoarse from all the coughing fits he'd endured during the night.

[toxicspiderman]

The voice that was talking to Sangamon was so hoarse as to be unrecognizable, but the face wasn't. "Hey, Brains. Better than you, it sounds like." S.T. wasn't worried about catching it. Shit around here was less stochastic and more set-up. If there were any metaphorical dice involved in this D&D-meets-Andromeda Strain, they were loaded. For whatever reason, probably because watching him jump off cliffs and almost drown was funnier, he hadn't caught this one yet, so he wasn't going to.

"Drink something, even if you don't want to." It wouldn't stop the plague punch line from being delivered, but he'd feel better after a little O.J.

[scarefaux]

"Oh, I don't feel at all well," the Scarecrow said as he took his seat across from S.T., having a swallow of juice as ordered. It certainly didn't make him feel better at that moment— the opposite really, as the drink seemed to burn the inside of his throat the entire way down, a flame running through him and dying as it reached his stomach— but he trusted S.T. knew what he was talking about, assuming he been human his entire life.

He waited for that odd sensation to dissipate before continuing. He was almost afraid to ask the question at the top of his mind. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about infections, would you? I haven't been human very long, but I suspect whatever it is that's making me like this is more than what the nurse is telling me."

[toxicspiderman]

Human eyebrows weren't maneuverable enough to actually talk in semaphore, but they could say a lot. Right now Sangamon's were somewhere between insulted and incredulous. Did he know anything about infections? Was Landel obsessive, sadistic, and altogether evil?

"Yeah, you live more than a few weeks as a human, you get familiar. This one isn't normal." His voice was flat. No prettying it up, even for the kids-movie crowd. Scarecrow didn't need lies, he needed answers. Not that S.T. had any. "I don't need to have it to know that. Landel cooked this stuff up." It might be related to what they'd shot him up with. Same vector, different payload. Or not, since that had worked faster.

"Lemme guess. Sick to your stomach, head hurts, dizzy, tired, achy, too warm, too cold, pick three or four." He waved one of the nurses over, and sent her off for some aspirin. When it came back, he sniffed it. Acetylsalicylic acid tended to divorce into salicylic acid and acetic acid. Just add water. He glanced at the Scarecrow. Explaining hydrolysis to a sick guy who just wanted to feel better was more asshole than helpful. Basically, acetic acid was a fancy word for vinegar, and as soon as you opened a bottle of aspirin, it's half-life started ticking down. Salicylic acid did the whole pain-and-fever killing routine, too, so it wasn't bad. And, when being given drugs by shady possibly-zombie drone workers in service to a psychopath, it helped to be able to ID the stuff.

"This should help a little." He held out the pills. "Your body is fighting off the infection. Like a little army of bugs too tiny for the eye to see, going head to head with your immune system. That's your natural defenses. Makes everything hurt."

[scarefaux]

The Scarecrow took the pills gratefully, positive that with the way Sangamon managed to describe his situation exactly that he knew what he was talking about. He'd also been there to help after the sleep study, after all.

"So my body will fix itself?" he asked as he touched his scalp, still able to feel the ridge from where he'd been stitched back together. Hope tinged him a moment, a small sliver amongst his growing doubts. He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Oh, that's such good news. I'd been really worried last night that I might..."

He lowered his voice, thinking one of the nurses was looking at him. "You know, change like the nurses did on the bus. That'd be just awful!"

[toxicspiderman]

"Normally, yeah." Nope, he still didn't have the heart to lie to the guy. "If Landel wanted to change us, he could just do it." Needles might be involved, but it'd be quick. "Beats me. If I knew what he was up to, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you."

Standing, maybe, or leading some sort of ridiculous offensive, but not eating French toast and explaining infectious disease 101. Or cheerleading for the most upbeat person he knew.

"Drink more. If you pass out you'll be a sitting duck," he said, and then paused. One of the nurses was hovering a little too close. "If anyone else does run into any trouble, later today."

[scarefaux]

Down went the rest of his juice, along with the pills- the Scarecrow didn't feel better immediately as he'd hoped, but he assumed he would in short time. He had a lot of thinking to do, and with his head pounding like it was, he had no chance of doing it.

"That won't be any good at all if that happens," he said as he rubbed at his eyes. He saw the nurse take note of his empty glass and head back to the line to get more for him, leaving them alone. That was an opportunity he had hoped for, given the grim topic he had on his mind.

He leaned forward, bringing himself closer to Sangamon. "I need to get better as soon as possible. Depth Charge has gone missing."

[toxicspiderman]

Missing wasn't the right word. Disappeared. Not in the swimming-with-the-fishes way. More witness-protection with a side of brainwashing. Meant he wasn't ignoring the bulletin messages.

"What about his stuff?" That was the gold standard for disappearances versus long-term artificially-induced narcolepsy. That or a new roommate, but the population had been dropping. "It's not spying if it's important."

[scarefaux]

"It seems it went to me," he answered somberly, brow knitting together as he recalled the realization and all that had run through him at its birth. "I have a new roommate. And Depth Charge had these radios- like the ones everyone has? But you could use them to talk to one another. He told me to use it to call him if I ever needed anything."

His eyes hit the table, sadness and frustration uncharacteristic of him worn into his features. "I tried it last night, but the other radio was in my things."

[toxicspiderman]

"Damn." He needed to do that to a set of radios. Would have come in handy last night. Except for not being waterproof. That might have made things worse. Radio silence, and corroded contacts.

"Guess that's why he never answered on the bulletin." They'd lost half the team, in just a few days. Coincidence. People left all the time.

"Do you need someone to take it?" He wouldn't be able to do much to help from the Pentathlon of Death in the basement, but it couldn't hurt.

[scarefaux]

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt," the Scarecrow said, putting on a hopeful smile; the worry knotting itself into his brow betrayed his cheerful front. "That way, we could at least keep in touch, should you need anything from me."

Not that he could think of a situation where Sangamon would need something from a man who hadn't a useful skill to his name and who could hardly think without his diploma, but his human brain was better than nothing at all. His lack of abilities with which to help his friends was far more troubling- after all, if someone as strong as Depth Charge, intelligent as Abe, or magically inclined as Mele could be brainwashed and disappear, what could a former strawman do to help either them or himself?