How much longer will this take? Worried Ava Cunningham. In the waiting room of Norrisville General Hospital, practically biting her nails off, she ran a hand through her purple hair. Every detail about her body language screamed that she was upset.
Mere hours before, her sixteen year old son Randall was found lying in the streets, beaten and bloodied. In the chaos and insanity that had been the Sorcerer's siege upon the town of Norrisville, numerous innocent bystanders had been caught in the crossfire, whether it was through transformation of some creature or being hit by flying debris as the Ninja and the inhuman being battled it out.
The best reasoning which made sense Ava could come up with was that her boy was attacked by some monster. She honestly had no idea what had happened; her interactions with the hospital staff had been brief and hurried. They were busy, the halls full to the brim with patients, doctors, and nurses, going whichever way and that.
In a place like Norrisville, strange events were always occurring. But, the commotion which went down that day was beyond anything anyone in the area had ever experienced. The Sorcerer hadn't just been threatening Norrisville—he—it—claimed ownership of the whole world. It was far bigger than a simple attack on the defenseless.
It was evident from his style of attack that he'd been the one turning the Norrisville High students into beasts since the school was built. Outbreaks of the green gas he used to taint people happened throughout the city every few years, but apparently now they'd never happen again. That was all well and good, and the townspeople were right to rejoice in the fact that they were still alive and free, however Ava could not join in with them. The young man who was her entire life was being X-rayed at the moment and she couldn't care less about nothing else but him.
A stray consideration crossed her mind. Randall's father. She should call him, let him know that his son had almost died today. She should, but she didn't know his phone number, didn't know if he was even still alive. He'd disappeared out of nowhere when Randall was four years old. Was she truly so out of mind that she'd consider talking to someone whose memory she had come to hate?
Her nose was plugged up and every breath she took sounded noisy to her. She had been in shock ever since she realized her son was missing, and it only worsened when she found out he'd been injured grievously. In her peripheral, she thought she saw the sympathetic gazes of several other individuals awaiting their own loved ones' return. She ignored them.
