Much like the birthday gathering all those hours ago, he chooses the most opportune moment to execute his plan. Again, the russet-haired ensign dips a hand into a trouser pocket, to exit a second's fraction later grasping yet another small vial. A vessel near identical to the very one which had been previously utilised. And again, there comes the shifting of sinister irises and the now all-too-familiar tiny clink of metal. This particular vial, however, differs from its predecessor in one small way: its unique design almost acts as a kind of hypospray in function, only much smaller in size. It injects its payload into the target via a near microscopic entry point. More difficult to detect, and suitable for stealth. A rather fitting item for this very task, indeed. Once more, it is done, and within a few short moments, the object is returned to its previous housing.
With vial in pocket, he takes a few moments to observe the substance's effect upon his target. As he feigns another monitor check, there is one fact that presently remains unknown to him. He is not the only crew member to utilise stealth during this short timeframe. Whilst travelling to this very ward, the Captain had secretly transmitted a communique to the medico in charge, with McCoy making his vocal response in the privacy of his office.
"Yeah, someone came in a few minutes ago, Jim."
"Damn...keep an eye out. We'll be there soon."
"Will do. Thanks for the heads up."
As the covers of both communicators close, near simultaneously, the minds and hearts of the devices' owners almost seem to fall into a shallow pit. A pit of unease. And, those same minds echo an identical thought...
Let's hope we're not too late.
Yet, fate has now decided otherwise as it swings its pendulum to the assailant. In a swift motion and a single moment, he takes a lone step away from his victim and swivels his form to once more face the ward's door. How he longs to hover over the patient and observe his handiwork further...but, like those pursuing him, and those tending to the Vulcan, time is against him. Time is not to be trifled with.
As he approaches the doorway, his ears detect an altering in the tone of that very equipment tracking the patient's vitals.
Much like the previous incidents, there is a change in the patient's heart rate; this very occasion, however, is different. Whereas before, the elevation of the organ's rhythm was gradual, it is now much more abrupt, and the patient's eyes are jolted open in response. And, once again, the Vulcan's ailed form is gasping for air.
There is an instantaneous rush of bodies, a scramble to the patient's aid, whilst the assailant closes in on his exit. Confusion and a great unease befall the medicos, as frightfully abrupt as the victim's altered condition. The attacker does not swivel his head, nor change his expression through the hurried mess. He merely utilises his ears to focus on all that is transpiring behind him. And, horribly sudden as the few moments prior, yet another change occurs within the patient. His heart's rhythm now seems to reverse, and not at a reasonable decline; the manner in which the organ's pace slows is far too drastic for the well-trained medicos to forgo their concern. Such extreme changes in heartbeat will undeniably cause a great deal of damage to the rather vital organ. With a heart rate dropping at a worrying speed, the patient once again begins to gradually slip into unconsciousness. All of these woeful scenes take place in only moments. It is all too fast for the almost defeated medicos.
Just shy of the Medbay door, it seems the attacker's freedom is guaranteed. And yet, with one uniform boot halfway into the corridor, his escape is halted. Heeding the instruction of his friend, the chief medico's hand grasps at the young ensign. A fury marks the face of McCoy, and his hand grips the young officer's arm likewise. The assailant is mildly taken aback, yet his own face does not alter; his facade must still be maintained until the physician's true intentions are revealed. However, the assailant suspects that the true nature of his task has been unveiled. Perhaps, fate's pendulum has once again moved; this time, it may have shifted out of his favour.
"Hey!"
"Ah, Doctor...how may I help you?" The ensign's tone is surprisingly calm, despite the physician's bark.
"What are you doing here?"
"Checking a few tricorders - "
"Bullshit. What's in your pocket?"
Without a response, the medico dips a hand into a pocket of the junior officer's regulation slacks. That very pocket currently housing the vial he had just used. And there it is, discovered by the doctor and brought into view, grasped by a furious hand.
"What the hell is this?"
"That's just my medication, I carry it with me - "
"Nice try, kid...", despite his usage of such wording, the doctor is still quite furious. As he should very well be. "I've got your damn medical file...you don't need medication."
The young officer then concedes to the fact that nothing he can proclaim, no story or facade his mind can conjure, will fool the man standing before him. A man who just happens to be the ship's Chief Medical Officer. His cover, it seems, is blown.
The ensign has been found out, and his accusers will soon be faced...as will the consequences of his deeds.
As the young officer is forcibly moved back into the depths of the ward - no resistance is made from him, as his defeat has been realised - the physician takes a moment to utter one final phrase to the ensign. Not only as a warning, but as a threat as well.
"You are not going anywhere...the Captain is on his way."
Indeed, it is within the following moments that the assailant's pursuers arrive, to at last confront the one who had attacked their First Officer.
With a rage marking each face of the newly-arrived trio, the Captain is the first to speak.
"Ensign Waterford, you are under arrest for - "
"Yes, I did it...", a proclamation is made by the younger man. "I attacked that...Vulcan. How pretentious they are in their 'superiority', with their precious logic. I spit on them. What a fool his mother was to share a bed with one...she is no human to me."
Throughout the attacker's bigoted tirade, the victim lay there still. Not yet within the grips of unconsciousness, the Vulcan had heard the brief performance, and within him there swells a rage. An endless fury for the one who would dare insult his mother. Yet, in mere moments a comatose state takes him, and his sluggish irises are veiled by falling lids, as his vitals continue to decline.
Whilst the assailant grapples with his captors - and unbeknownst to him - a plan is formulated by the Chief Medical Officer, as M'Benga prepares the patient for yet another round of surgery. With a swift thrust of a hypospray into the neck by the steady hand of McCoy, the attacker slumps into the arms of his pursuers. And, with a toss of the emptied spray, the chief medico utters one final phrase to his commanding friend.
"Get him out of my damn sickbay, Jim."
