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Entry tags:
- !location: contagion containment,
- !plot: melting clock,
- !status: open,
- anwei ayles,
- clark kent,
- daniel jackson,
- faiza hussain,
- fletcher tringham,
- hellion,
- howard bassem,
- jamie hemeros,
- jamie mccrimmon,
- kanoe zouichi,
- kon-el,
- marco,
- miranda lotto,
- rachel berenson,
- rory williams,
- russel tringham,
- sakura haruno,
- sensor,
- tana moon,
- tim drake/red robin
Melting Clock: Quarantine
After Sam Henderson's announcement, the Contagion Containment and Treatment lab was going to get busy. Anyone suspected of being affected by the mysterious affliction would be brought here, and put into one of the large bubbles that would keep any potential contagious diseases in - and the patients themselves. Once in inside, they wouldn't be able to get out again until the Medical staff had cleared them.
And before they could do that, they needed to find out what was causing this - and why.
They had a lot of hard work ahead of them.
[[ooc: Just start your own sub threads under the main threads, guys! And if you're happy to have anyone tag in, put "Open" in the subject line. If you've already got plans for who you're threading with, put "Closed" instead.]]
And before they could do that, they needed to find out what was causing this - and why.
They had a lot of hard work ahead of them.
[[ooc: Just start your own sub threads under the main threads, guys! And if you're happy to have anyone tag in, put "Open" in the subject line. If you've already got plans for who you're threading with, put "Closed" instead.]]
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He pauses over the files to send a quick message on the omnicomm to try and summon Dr. Hussain. Looking back up at the kid - who doesn't look all that much older than him, if at all - Howard figures he's probably doing a spectacularly bad job being comforting and sighs.
"Look, try not to worry. We don't know what's up yet, but no one's died or gotten seriously sick yet, and the more people like you who come in without trying to escape or punch out the med staff, the more we can compare cases and the faster we can figure this out. So," he says and grabs a pen and clipboard, "what's your deal and why'd you get sent here?"
He keeps tapping the pen against his surgical mask, torn between the urge to nibble on something while he listens and to keep his mouth covered.
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"You should have a file, I guess," he ventured. "Mandatory physicals and all. Jamie Hemeros."
He shrugged more guardedly, frowning down at his clasped hands. "I don't know why I was sent here," he said, and there was a hint of worried belligerence in his tone. "Got told to come down here because I was acting funny. I dunno what I was doing that was so weird. Or how I was supposed to be acting."
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He finds the file, clips it and some free pages onto the clipboard, and takes some notes, ending at least one sentence with an elaborate question mark. He barely takes his eyes off Jamie, noting the caution Jamie takes around the restraints and the lack of eye contact. He files those observations away in the calculating, discerning part of his mind, but doesn't mention it yet.
"Okay, different tack. How old are you?" He flits his eyes down to the age Jamie should be on his clipboard.
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Jamie glanced up at the doctor when she entered, noting her lack of protective gear and wondering what, if anything, this signified. Silently he watched her look over his chart, responding to Howard's inquiry when Dr. Hussain indicated he should. "I'm in Rogue Squadron. Have been for a couple months." He continued to watch the pair of them cautiously, on the off-chance they'd slip and reveal something.
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Howard reads over the section of the file on Jamie's occupation - that all seems in order. So possibly the memories being lost are going in some random order (although that doesn't explain that a whole two years would have gone by without a single memory of being eighteen or nineteen sticking), or memories about certain things are being protected from whatever's erasing all the others. Possibly memories procured on the ship, possibly memories having to do with specific actions. Or maybe everyone's just gotten an identity transplant with their younger selves.
Although, Jamie does look more seventeen than he does nineteen. What if this isn't all mental?
Howard makes a note on his clipboard but defers asking more questions to Faiza. Howard sits up on the edge of one of the other beds, now observing two people: Jamie because he's the subject, and Faiza so he can note what the doctor does and learn from it.
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"So," she started, tucking the pen-torch away in her pocket again, "what exactly sent you down here, Mr. Hemeros? Has something in particular happened that has you worried?"
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He took a breath and glanced between Howard and Faiza. "You think I'm infected, don't you? I've got whatever it is that's making people lose their memories." Apprehension colored his tone, and he couldn't quite restrain himself from making nervous fidgeting movements with his hands.
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