Voices screamed through his head. They were everywhere.
…lucky to be alive…
…happened to him?
…miracle…
Other voices penetrated his ears: barked orders for gauze or disinfectant here, Details of his condition there.
His vision blurred as he began to slip back into unconsciousness. The last thing he saw was the flashing of fluorescent lights as they streamed over his head. Then it all went dark, dark and quite.
--
"So what's the word?" the Dean of Medicine asked as he gazed at the still body in the intensive care unit.
"The bullet penetrated a major artery, but shattered against a metal plate that appears to have been installed in a previous medical procedure. From the looks of all those other bandages, I'd say it was done recently." The nurse looked up from the clipboard for a moment to gaze at the man. "Patient is an Asian male, probably of Chinese decent, in his late teens, early twenties. Height is 1m86cm, weight is 70.9 kilograms. Hair is silver; the eyes are a deep red. No name, no identification, no distinguishing tattoos. His body is covered with bullet scars, but they look to have been within the past few days and it's unlikely we'll get an ID off them."
"What is the extent of the damage?"
"While the bulk of the bullet exited out the base of the skill, a few fragments managed to find their way around the plate and pierce the skull, causing minor damage to the brain tissue. The shock of the blow most likely gave the brain quite a jostling as well. This, combined with the substantial blood loss, may have caused extensive brain damage. We will be able to tell the extent of it if and when he wakes up."
"Have the surgeons removed the bullet shards?"
"Yes."
"Very well, let me know when he comes back to his senses."
--
His eyes opened. He was laying in a bed in a stark white room. Several medical instruments lined his bed and an IV tube ran from his wrist. He tried to sit up and groaned as the movement sent a pulsating throb through his head and he fell back to the bed. There was the sound of a chair scrapping on the floor and for the first time he became aware of someone else in the room.
Oh thank God! He's awake!
A woman's face came into his vision. Shoulder length brown hair framed a smooth, beautiful face with a slightly pointed nose set between two sky blue eyes. Like an angel, he thought.
Another woman, this one taller with jet black hair done up in a bun and a hawk like nose strode forward and examined him briefly. "I'll need to report this to the Dean," she said simply and walked off.
Lucky bastard.
The thought sounded as though it belonged to that woman somehow.
"Welcome back," said the brown haired girl. "I'm Nurse Verisin, I'll be your attending nurse. What is your name?"
The man opened his mouth as though to tell her but stopped suddenly. Name? What is my name? Why can't I remember my name? Oh this is just terrible, isn't it? He opened his mouth again, this time to tell her that he could not recall having a name, nor anything else for that matter from before he woke in this hospital room. He stopped suddenly again, although it was no apparent fault of his. No matter how hard he worked his mouth, the words wouldn't come. Each time he began to form the necessary sounds; they would die on his lips with a sound very much like gagging. He closed his mouth again and shook his head in what he hopped was an apologetic way, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
"Can't speak?" Poor guy. "You experienced some brain trauma during the incident; something like this was bound to happen."
…can't be dead…
…such a rip off…
…grape or lemon…
….food is crap….
Incident? He could not recall being in any incident, but then his memory was taking a leave of absence at the moment so he supposed that didn't really matter.
"Do you suppose you could write it down?" asked Sara, offering him a pen and pencil. I got to have something to show for when the Dean gets here.
The man took the pen and tried to hold it upright, but it wouldn't remain in his grasp. The pen dropped to his lap as he tried to put it to the paper. He reached for it again and made the same movement, this time the pen clattered to the floor. He sighed in annoyance and made as if to get up from the bed, but the Nurse Verisin forced him gently back into the bed. He pouted at her.
…poor woman…
...stillborn…
Why, God?
"I'm afraid your still recovering and have to remain in bed. Loss of motor function is normal with this kind of injury, especially when combined with everything else your body seems to have gone through." What the hell happened to this guy? His body looks like somebody tried to make Swiss cheese out of him recently. And the head wound… Sara smiled as best she could. "As soon as you have recovered some of your strength we can begin rehabilitation. Don't worry, sir, you'll be back to normal in no time." He felt the lie as it left her lips. This was serious, and she was hiding things from him. Or trying at least, it seemed she was. She wasn't doing a very good job.
Just then, a new face entered the room, a man this time. He wore square rimmed glasses high on his bulb like nose, brown hair kept short and parted down the middle and had a very professional manor in the way he walked. The injured man found his appearance to be rather comical in nature, and he smiled as who could only be the Dean walked through the door.
"Has he got a name?" the man asked, clearly talking over the patient. …meat loaf for dinner tonight…
"Haven't gotten one yet, sir. The trauma has left him mute and stripped him of fine motor skills so he isn't able to write it down."
It's too late to be dealing with this. "Very well. Designate him as Patient twenty-four, site six, ward zero-one." I should be home, having dinner with my wife. The Dean continued, "This is what the records will state until such a time as you can procure his name."
"Yes sir." The nurse bowed. Prick. The Dean left the room and Nurse Verisin was left alone with 24-6-01 once again. She turned and smiled. Put on a happy face, Sara, can't let the patients feel down. "So, 24…" she paused. "Do you mind if I call you that?"
24 shook his head. He needed something he could go by to avoid confusion.
..damn machine…
…am I dying?
…ate my money…
Nurse Verisin smiled again, this time it was genuine. "Thanks! I can't very well go calling you 'man' or 'patient' all the time, now can I?" She forced a laugh. If it weren't for all the scars, he would have been kinda cute. "Nice to meet you, 24. Don't worry about a thing; Britannian doctors are the best in the world! They'll make sure to get you back on track! For now you should get some rest." God knows he'll need it.
24 shook his head. He gestured wildly at his surroundings, the look of confusion clear on his face.
...wanted was a cola…
…can't be pregnant…
…I screwed up…
"Oh, somebody found you abandoned in an alleyway near the Ashford Academy, do you know where that is?" She didn't even wait for an answer as she continued. "You were bleeding pretty badly and paramedics were called. You're lucky to be alive, did you know that?" Again, there was no pause for an answer. "Somebody had shot you in the neck, the bullet slammed against a metal plate and shattered, tearing up your circulatory system something awful. We removed most of the bullet, but your metal plate is dented and needs to be replaced. We don't even know why it was there to begin with, but we're betting you'll be able to tell us soon enough. I have a bet running that it has something to do with all those other bullet scars you have."
The woman began to rattle on in a pleasant matter, and it gave 24 something to focus on to the point where he could ignore all those other voices he felt swirling around in his head. The words that came from her mouth were incredibly logical, when compared with the information that was streaming through 24's head. He knew exactly how and what connections she made between two seemingly opposite topics.
Abruptly, she cut off. Oh God, I was rambling! "Err, sorry. My friends tell me I have a tendency to ramble on about the oddest things. I hope I didn't bother you too much."
24 smiled and shook his head, putting on a pair of classic puppy dog eyes and sticking his lower lip out as far as it would go, begging with his entire expression for her to go on. It really was a pleasant conversation. Sure it had started out oddly enough, but so many tangents had popped up seemingly nowhere and it had evolved into something quite wonderful.
"That's good," Sara returned the smile. "My friends always tell me I talk far too much for my own good, so I get embarrassed easily when I start to ramble. It's kind of a bad…" she cut off suddenly and her gaze intensified, a quizzical look on her face. What in the name of… She grabbed 24's head and held it in front of her. "Look into my eyes."
And there it was.
His eyes are… glowing. And indeed they were. His eyes let off a dim, barely noticeable red light that had escaped the earlier examination of the patient. In the center of the eye, wrapping neatly around the iris, was a symbol similar to that of a bird in flight. "I've never seen anything like this." She muttered to herself. Her voice and thoughts registered a mix of fear and confusion.
24 himself was becoming quite agitated, he had little idea what must be wrong with his eyes. He lost his focus and the voices came crashing back in.
…it's my fault…
…want my money back…
…I killed him…
…so much pain…
…he can't be dead…
…another eleven?
...nice legs on…
…GIVE ME BACK MY HUSBAND…
…I can't do this anymore…
…so much death…
He cried out with the shock of it and, in his weakened mental condition, passed out.