I should probably stop reading anything written in blood.

[upshore]

Characters: Miles Upshur, Raine Sage, Heather Stone
Date: November 20
Location: Healers' Guild
Situation: Oh look, a new guy. Oh look, he's on the verge of death. WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?! Alex is mean that's why
Warnings/Rating: Blood, gore, swearing. #horrorgameprotagonistproblems

Oh, God, it hurts.

Whether I escape or die here, I am free.

All things considered, Miles would really, really prefer to escape. He’s not particularly optimistic, though. He’d felt better about it when he’d seen the dawn breaking outside the delivery entrance, but then the Walrider had shown up and the quarantine doors had bolted and it had all gone to hell. Again.

He stumbles and braces himself against a desk, and almost masochistically, he takes an inventory of his injuries. The most obvious ones are his fingers - thanks, Trager, you fucking cock - goodbye, right index and left ring. Sorry, Beyoncé, I guess nobody’s putting a ring on it now, he thinks, a little hysterically. Next up, some ribs that were cracked; no, definitely broken now. The Walrider dropping him twenty feet after impaling him just before it disappeared had definitely broken those ribs, and a leg. Also? The Walrider had impaled him. That wasn’t good.

Way, way, way down the list had to be the broken glass in his scalp, the splinters in his hands, and the stab in his shoulder where Trager had gotten him with his rusty shears. Yeah, I gotta re-up my tetanus shot, he thinks, trying to stay optimistic. He’ll need enough antibiotics to cure every potential bacterial infection he could possibly have gotten after crawling through mold and piss and shit and blood and water so stagnant he’d been surprised everyone in the place hadn’t been dying of malaria. Especially after crawling through all of that with open wounds.

Fuck, he’s dizzy. He could see it. He could see the light of day. Is he outside in the vehicle bay? He can’t tell. He must be. There’s not that cold stone under his hands, it’s something else now. Slightly chilly masonry. He’s breathing fresh air. It’s over. It’s over. He’s won.

He coughs, and dark blood spatters on the ground. He’s seen that before - guys in Afghanistan when they had shrapnel in their gut. Internal bleeding.

He’s going to die. He’s oddly at peace with the fact. At least he’s dying in the sunlight. At least he’s dying outside. Fuck Wernicke. Fuck Father Martin. Fuck Murkoff. Fuck all of them, fuck every single last person who’d tried to trap him and kill him. He’s won.

His vision is swimming; there are people nearby. People? A sign up ahead that he can’t quite read; he tries to focus on it. Healers’...

Doesn’t matter. Just hallucinating now. As long as he’s out and his notes and camcorder are out, there’s half a chance the information will get out to the public. The Last Testament of Miles Upshur. Hah.

He collapses to his knees, and to his side, and everything goes dark.

Comments

[celticromanstone]

"Have fun!" Heather calls over her shoulder to her fellow nurses. She'd just worked a double shift, and is quite ready for a shower and some downtime before she heads to her second, far more lucrative, job.

However, her life always takes a funny turn when she tries to plan.

She sees the blood first, then realizes all that blood belongs to the lump on the sidewalk. She curses under her breath. "I need a gurney and a trauma team stat!" She yells back into the guild and then races toward the lump, pulling gloves out of her pocket (she always keeps some stashed in there, just because sometimes there aren't any to be found... like now).

She skids to a halt next to him and kneels, ignoring the spatters of blood around. First, on his back, check his airway, and make sure he's still got a heartbeat. "Gods, what happened to you?" She asks, shaking her head. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me? My name's Heather. Sir? I need you to wake up."

[upshore]

Talking. Someone's talking. That's nice. The last person who talked to him was a crazy German scientist, and look how that turned out.

Like this. It turned out like this.

Everything hurts. His leg hurts, his hands hurt, his ribs hurt, his head hurts. Everything hurts. It's a lot easier to pass out from the pain. A lot easier.

But she's telling him to wake up, and he's nothing if not stubborn, so he tries to stay conscious. His eyelids flutter - his eyes are glassy, and he's staring at the sky, which means he's pretty much staring at nothing.

Had someone come to investigate what had happened? Maybe someone had been able to call for help. Which meant...oh, God.

Murkoff personnel.

He weakly tries to swat at her with his left hand, the one that isn't clutching the camcorder. He's not giving in without putting up what little of a fight he can.

[celticromanstone]

Heather catches his hand. "Easy, darling, easy." She whispers just as the trauma team arrives. "Alright, darling, we're going to move you and this is going to hurt." She can't tell what all is wrong with him, but she knows trauma when she sees it.

She's not even trying for that camcorder yet. "Broken leg, possible broken ribs." She tells the team as they are working on him. "Darling, time to wake up. I need you to tell me your name."

[upshore]

Everything about the past several hours of his life has been the embodiment of the phrase 'this is going to hurt'. She'd have to run over him with a herd of elephants for any pain to surprise him.

He's remaining tight-lipped, though. Murkoff will get his name sooner or later, but it's not gonna be from him.

[celticromanstone]

Alright, so he's not going to talk. That's fine with her. "Alright, let's move him." She says to the team. "On my count." She says, as they finish splinting his leg. Getting nods around, she shifts her grip. "One, two, three." They swiftly move him to the gurney.

"Alright, let's get him into the guild. And someone ask Raine to join us." She says, sending one of the others running. "I have a feeling he's going to need her." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, darling. We'll get you patched up."

[upshore]

He feels his leg being splinted, and it's honestly just another instrument in the symphony of pain that is his body right now. Being moved hurts, too, and, well...he's glad he's already thrown up tonight and there's nothing left in his stomach.

She touches his shoulder and he can't even jerk back. He's not good with unsolicited touching right now, so he just looks at her like she's zapped him with a very low-grade cattle prod. 'Darling' is a little too close to 'buddy' for his liking right now, especially when he's like this - half-dead and practically restrained.

"Don't call me that," he murmurs.

[celticromanstone]

So, he's conscious enough to speak. That's good. She'd been afraid that all their fussing meant that he passed out again.

"Well, darling, unless you give me something else to call you, we have what we have." She says, walking next to the gurney. "I want xrays taken, immediately and get bloods along with a full assessment."

[upshore]

He weighs the continued anxiety of being called anything that reminds him of Trager's little pet name - the pet name he'd used while relieving Miles of two of his digits - against giving his name.

Fuck it. They're gonna get it sooner or later.

"Miles," he mumbles.

[celticromanstone]

"Miles," she actually purrs the name. Heather is incapable of not flirting with people. "Welcome to the Turtle. We're going to get you fixed up, alright?" She pats his shoulder gently again.

"Now, they're going to take you for xray and tests and then the boss will come down and heal you up." At least, she assumes so.

[upshore]

Miles is so incapable of comprehending flirtation right now that it completely slips by him. He should be really happy he's not Waylon. Hoooo boy, that's a whole 'nother kind of fucked-up trauma.

The words she's saying make sense on their own, but all strung together, there's one that sticks out. "Turtle?" His voice is quiet and hoarse, still - the voice of a man who's suppressed his own screams all night to save his life.

[celticromanstone]

Heather hums. "Don't worry about that, right now." She tells him, taking his less injured hand careful of the finger stump. "Right now, worry about getting better. Once you're on your feet, I'll take you to dinner and explain everything." She assures him.

She looks up when the tech clears his throat. "Alright. Xrays, bloods, and a thorough exam, alright?"

[upshore]

Hope you like getting blood on ya, Heather. 'Cause he is still bleeding.

He blinks a little; his eyes are dry. "Okay." He's not really able to think of much else to say right now. Everything is still blurry and confusing.

[celticromanstone]

It's about to get moreso, as more people arrive to take care of the trauma case. And Heather doesn't mind the blood. She's got gloves on. So, be good and let the nice people take care of you.

"They're going to take you now. I'll check on you tomorrow." She says as they begin wheeling him away.

[upshore]

Miles blinks again. Nope. Nooooope, nope. This is bad. This is Bad, he's going to get something else chopped off, this is bad! The words on the wall, painted in blood, flash before him. Fingers first. Then balls. Then tongue. Trager had been insane, true, but who was to say these people wouldn't think he had some good ideas?

"No," he rasps, then starts to try and fight his way off the gurney. "No!" He clutches the camcorder even more fiercely.

[celticromanstone]

He starts fighting and Heather is immediately back at his side. She waves off the others. "Alright, we have to get xrays. And bloods. Look at me." She orders, turning his face to look at hers. "No one is going to hurt you." She promises.

She isn't sure what to do. "If I go with you, will you go?"

[upshore]

He hesitates. It could be a trap. In fact, it probably is a trap. But she's the first person he's seen in a while who is not obviously trying to manipulate or kill him.

He nods, watching her like a cornered animal.

[celticromanstone]

Heather isn't always a kind woman. She's seen too much, been through too much, and done too much to be kind. But she can be gentle. And practical. Practicality always wins. And if going with him gets the Xrays done, then so be it.

"Alright, let's move." She orders, waving at the orderly to move the stretcher.

"But you can't -"

"I can, and I will." She snaps, walking alongside, her hand on Miles' shoulder. "His comfort before anything else." She says. She's not going to argue about this. "You stay conscious and with me, alright?" She says to Miles.

[upshore]

Miles nods again, still watching her warily. "Don't take it," he says, clutching his camcorder closer. His camcorder and his notebook are all that matter. Bloodied and disgusting though they are, they're the only things that'll tell the story of Mount Massive if he dies.

...when he dies.

[celticromanstone]

She sighs. "If you don't want it ruined, then you'll have to give it up for the Xrays." She explains as they roll into the suite. "But I can hold it under my lead shield." That's as much as she's willing to compromise.

She understands needing to keep something, but she doesn't want it ruined, while they're trying to help him.

[upshore]

His stare doesn't get any less wary, and he considers his options. Unfortunately, the SD card wouldn't be safe in the x-ray. He'd be without the camera for long enough that the footage could be removed and permanently destroyed.

The truth was more important than his health. "Then no x-rays." His voice is hoarse and quiet, but firm.

[celticromanstone]

"Not an option, darling." Heather shakes her head. "That leg needs an xray at the least and you're still bleeding more than I'd like." She slips on the lead vest they give her. She thinks it hilarious.

"Now, you can put it under my vest if you wish, and I'm not leaving your side, but you are getting xrays."

[upshore]

Miles makes what he thinks might be an angry face and swats at her. "Then no x-rays. I'm not letting you take this camera. Not unless...not unless my footage stays safe."

[celticromanstone]

She frowns. "I will not leave your side, and will put the camera under the lead vest." She promises. "I won't allow anything to happen to it." She doesn't make promises very often, but her voice is sincere and serious.