There was a distinct humming in Manfred's head. A steady sound similar to a mosquito stuck on a piece of flypaper. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see where he was. He saw where the hum was coming from. He was staring right at a poorly shaded florescent light bulb that was affixed to the ceiling. Manfred raised his right hand and rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing with pain, and the bright light didn't help at all. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a quick glance around told him where he was. He was inside a dingy, slightly dirty looking medical room. He was in the prison's infirmary, and Damon Gant was to his left side, sitting on a stool, looking intently into a book, and scribbling something into the pages. Manfred let out a slight groan. The last thing we wanted to see when he first woke up was Gant. Damon heard his groan, and looked up from his book. He readjusted his purple glasses, and looked at Manfred. "Oh, good! You're finally up. Had me worried sick, you did."
Karma started to sit up. He started to struggle, and at the first sign, Gant got up from his chair. "Let me help you, Manny. You shouldn't strain yourself." Manfred lied back down; allowing Damon to readjust his bed, rather then complain about doing things on his own. "You really need to save your strength. You've been out cold for the last three days!" Karma, shaken by this bit of news, allowed Gant to finish adjusting his bed while he tried to find the words to say. Manfred cleared his throat, and asked, "Three days?" still dumbfounded by the news. Gant stepped back and answered, "Oh yes, three days. I say, that was quite a spectacular fall." Gant smiled and clapped his hands together. "Well at any rate, I must inform the doctor that you've finally waken up." The doorknob, at that moment, turned over, and a tall, scruffy haired man with an unshaven face in a white coat entered. He was holding a medical chart and what appeared to be a few x-rays. "Well, speak of the devil! Here he is now."
The scruffy doctor put down the x-rays, and looked at Gant. "Thank you for looking after him, Damon. We are a bit short-staffed, so we appreciate your time." Damon smiled and replied, "It was no trouble at all, doctor. Certainly gave me time to work on my crossword puzzles!" The doctor chuckled. "Anyway, Gant…" The doctor glanced at Manfred, who was sitting patiently. "I thank you for your help. But I need to speak with Manfred privately." Damon understood. "Alright." He grabbed his crossword book, and promptly left the room.
The doctor closed the door, and looked at his chart. "Alright, Mr…" he scanned the chart for a name. "Von Karma. I'm Dr. Gregory Forman. How do you do?" Dr. Forman extended his right hand. Karma did not shake it. Manfred never really liked doctors anyway. He crossed his arms and replied, "My head is throbbing, and I would like to return to my cell." Dr. Forman responded, "Well, I can't let you go yet. I have a few questions to ask." Manfred became annoyed. "What is there to ask? I hit my head on the water, and it knocked me out!" He snapped his fingers. "Now, give me two aspirin and I'll be on my way!" Forman then became annoyed. "It is not that simple, Manfred. While you were knocked out, we did a few tests, and we found-" Karma was outraged. He roared "TESTS!?! I never gave anyone permissions to run tests on me! How DARE you…"
Forman threw down his medical chart, and shot daggers with his eyes. "MR. VON KARMA! You no longer have the right to make those types of decisions!" Forman was now over Karma like an eagle over his prey. "You are part of the California Penal system! You are merely a number, a scumbag, and a useless unit! You are no longer a Chief Prosecutor! The only reason I'm even taking care of your well being right now is because I don't want to deal with the hassle of filling out autopsy papers!" He extended his right finger at Karma. "You are owned by the state of California! They will do with you as they please! Do I make my self absolutely clear!?!"
Karma was taken back. He had nothing to say.
Forman backed down, and picked up his medical chart. "Now, Mr. Von Karma. I need you to answer me completely and honestly." Manfred was still silent. Forman scanned his medical chart, ad asked, "Are you prone to seizures, Mr. Von Karma?" Manfred jolted his head to look at Dr. Forman. Forman said, "Mr. Von Karma. Are you or are you not?" Karma, reluctantly, answered, "Yes. For years, I've had occasional seizures. I just learned how to deal with them, and cover them up." Forman took out a pen from his pocket, and looked as his chart, really not caring for Manfred's longer then necessary answer. Without looking at Karma, Forman asked plainly, "How long have you had them?" Karma crossed his hands and closed his eyes, concentrating. "Sixteen, maybe seventeen years now." Forman scribbled something on his chart, and moved onto the next question. "Did something happen?" Manfred massaged his right shoulder. "Yes. I was shot in my shoulder. I never got the bullet removed."
Forman took a deep breath. "Mr. Von Karma. You did not get knocked out because of the trauma of hitting the water." Karma was silent, and listened intently. "When you dived, you lapsed into a coma. When you were admitted into the ward, we ran a few x-rays on your shoulder." Forman put the images up on the illuminated backboard across from Manfred. "Look what we found." Karma muttered, "Oh… my God."
Half of the bullet was gone. The image of the deteriorated bullet burned into his retinas like a red-hot brand. For nearly seventeen years, he lived with a ticking bomb in his shoulder, and a deteriorated bullet was merely the start of its destruction.
"Mr. Von Karma, that bullet was lodged in between your muscle and bone. For years, your movement has rubbed the bullet down, little by little. The reason you were getting seizures and why you lapsed into a coma was because the lead was poisoning you." Karma, flabbergasted by this news, sharply asked "But there are people who live with bullets in their system for years, and they have very few problems!" Forman was expecting that question, so he replied quickly, "Your case is different. Your bullet is deteriorating, and the lead is steadily getting into your bloodstream." Manfred concentrated by placing his forehead between his thumb and index finger. "What else, doctor?" Forman put down his chart. "The lead is attacking your internal organs. In our tests, we found that your kidneys and liver…" Forman sighed deeply. "Have failed." Karma placed his hand over his mouth in utter disbelief. Forman continued. "We considered your options. Kidney and liver transplant are impossible at this point. Even if we found donors in time, your blood is so filled with lead that a total transfusion would be required. Even then the process would take days to complete." Karma let the news sink in. Weakly, he asked Forman, "What does this all mean?" Forman looked straight into his eyes.
"Manfred von Karma, you have less than a week to live."
Manfred was once again without words.