Here's the next chappie! A shout out goes to Kyohaku-akuma for the fan art! :D Thank you much! I'm honored! Take care of your health people! See you next week with another chapter!

Lauren

I came to in a place that was cool, comfortable, and smelled of rubbing alcohol. A heart monitor sounded off above my head. I wiggled a finger, feeling the cool metal of maelstrom. Yes, I was alive but not in the same place that Vergil had left me for dead. That hard thudding feeling in my head was probably my heart beat. Yeah, heartbeat, not a five ton headache. My throat was sore and my lips were cracked. There was barely enough spit in my mouth to wet the tip of my tongue let alone the entirety of my lips. My skin felt flakey, as if I were shedding it. I laid on something firm and soft, but it felt like a heated iron against my sun-branded skin. Blearily, I took in my room.

It was a hospital room, of sorts. Or the cheapest hotel room I'd ever seen. The walls were a stark cement grey color and furnishings were non-existent. I have seen my share of ugly ass hospital rooms but this bugger took the cake. Nothing, save for the gurney I laid on and the beeping medical equipment, adorned the room. Not exactly where I wanted to wake up but it was better than frying like an egg.

Slowly, I raised the leg with the glass shard wound, sliding it out from under the feather light, off white sheet. Sucker was stiffer than a board and hurt like a mother to boot. Black stitches stood out against the red, blistered skin of my leg. Hell it could have been infected for all I knew, but the stitches looked professional. I wiggled my toes and bent my knee, drawing my leg up. Meh, everything worked.
I took a breath and slowly sat up. It was more work than it was worth and I got light headed from that simple effort. Shit this must be what road-kill feels like. I was wearing a full-blown smock with sleeves that dragged down to my elbows. Under the hem of my right sleeve, my friend mister IV was dripping some clear fluid into the instep of my arm.

On my left wrist a hard metal umbilical cord wrapped tightly around my flesh, connecting me to the gurney. Man why do I always wake up with the wrong kind of jewelry? I jiggled it, the metal handcuff clanked hard against the gurney's guardrail. Sweet. Cuffed and on lock down. Does it get any better than this? Somebody seriously wanted me staying put. Even the door to the room was firmly closed.
I tore off the heart monitor electrodes running uncomfortably under my hospital gown. The heart monitor went nuts as I tossed them aside. For the time being I'm going to ignore the fact that someone was undressing my person to get this idiotic hospital gown on. Damn you Vergil. Damn you, damn you. I kicked off the sheet. I was still a bit muzzy from the desert, but not so muzzy as to know I had to get out of there. Where ever 'here' might have been…there were things I had to do and people I had to murder…one of them being a self-centered tyrant ego-manic half-breed. I clenched my teeth and pulled out the IV drip, letting the bag spill its guts onto a very clean white tiled floor. Fuckin' needles.
 I took in the gray concrete walls one more time. This time I noted the wall mirror in the corner of the room. If it was lockdown I was dealing with, that mirror was probably a two-way deal. There was also tell-tale black bulb in the corner of the room, lurking on the ceiling. It was centered to focus on the bed and the only door to the place, off to my left. That was a lot of security for an unconscious person, but then again normal people don't wake up hand cuffed to a gurney.

I eyed the camera one last time before, turning my attention to the cuffs. I took the chain in my free hand. Gently I massaged my umbilical cord with soft fingertips before gritting my teeth and tightening my grip. I twisted my wrist, feeling the metal chains buck under newfound pressure. The metal snapped like a tooth pick, cutting my hand in the process. The handcuff chain fell into the palm of my hand in several pieces. I had my freedom and a new bracelet.

With a sigh, I flexed my now bruised wrist. Time to get cracking. Casually, I flung the metal cuff towards the camera, arching my wrist just so. I scored a direct hit and the little machine hissed sparks for a second before it went dead. With that final kill blow, I knew I would be working on a timetable.

It would only a matter of time before the door opened and someone came in to say hi. I slid out of bed, feeling the cool ground with the soles of my bare feet. The first step was a lou, the second was a doozie, and the third needed therapy. Apparently stitches didn't mean the wound was healing as fast as it should have been. This ought to be an interesting day.

I neared the door. Testing the handle, the metal thing didn't jiggle. The door itself was one of the metal variety. It was big, tall, hard, and not so easy to break down-especially in my current condition. Maybe before Hope, but now… Nuts to that. Turning I took in the sparse room. Well now what?

Hunnigan

Her shoes clicked hard on the ground. The cell phone was going off in her pocket. With a brisk reach of her hand, a voice crackled over the ear bud.

"Hunnigan here, report."

"Ma'am, reporting from observation."

"And the status of the subject?"

"Unknown ma'am." Hunnigan paused, hand reaching out of her white lab jacket to summon an elevator.

"Explain," her voice was sharp as a cracking whip.

"Ma'am the subject is MIA."

"MIA?" Hunngian demanded. "Please explain how a bed ridden patient being treated for dehydration has some how left their locked room." The elevator arrived. Entering the small room, she reached out and pressed one of the many buttons. With her other hand she pulled out a security key. After sliding the key card through the access slot the elevator doors closed. The elevator began to move downwards.

"We have no idea ma'am. The security camera is experiencing technical difficulties and there is no visual contact with the subject. Seeking permission to access patient's room."

"Permission granted. Continue observation and assessment of the situation. Hold positions until support arrives. I will be there in 5 minutes." Reaching for the cell phone in her lab pocket, she dialed a new number. Absent-mindedly Hunnigan fixed her glasses, pushing them up. Irritated she brushed aside a soft brown hair that had somehow managed to free itself from the confining bun at the base of her neck. The receiver rang in her hand bud before picking up.

"This is Hunngian," She commented without greeting. She could her the field agent's breathing on the other side of the line. "We have a situation at the observation bay regarding the subject recovered in the Hope incident. As usual your expertise is required." She hung up the phone without waiting for a response then dialed another number.

"Sir, Hunnigan reporting. There is a situation in the observation bay. A more thorough report will follow an assessment of the situation. I've called in a field agent as well."

"Very well Hunngian, proceed with caution."

"Understood, Mr. President."

Lauren

The door to the room crashed open. Big, scary men in dark bullet-proof armor slowly entered, their guns at the ready. The point man must have been the more experienced one; his movements were liquid and calm. The second gaurd, he was the twitchy one. There were only two of them but they confirmed what I had already suspected: someone, somewhere, knew something they shouldn't. They were telling me a lot with the way they were acting. They were thorough and cautious as they approached my abandoned gurney. What a crying shame. Trained professionals, seasoned pros even, they just didn't have the common sense to look up.

Carefully the point man made his way to the bed, his buddy following closely behind him. They were so armored and ready to take on the world. Who would I have been to disappoint them? I waited until they stood next to the gurney, staring at the IV puddle like morons before acting. I dropped down like a black widow spider, landing silently from my hiding place-the cramped corner where the wall met the ceiling, just above the door. My glass shard leg threatened to convert to liquid jell-o upon impact, refusing to bend out of its initial couch. The stitches jerked, promising to pull free if I got cute.

It took nearly 50 seconds of mental begging and a solid desperate scrabbling at the wall for purchase, before I could straiten into a full stand. I held my breath. Luck was on my side, the armored thugs never looked in my direction. Morons. Quietly, I backed out the room and swung the door shut. An automatic deadbolt clicked as the door shut while the card swipe light switched from green to red. So much for that. Limping, I turned around.

"Going somewhere?" Leon held the barrel of a gun to the center of my forehead. There was a dead, calculating look in his eyes. I raised an eyebrow. Wow, sooooo not the person I was expecting…