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Reyn

Reyn

Sleepyhead
Staff member
New York City, 2027.

Recent case. Mass poisoning at a high school- about two hundred taken ill, no casualties, perpetrator confirmed and in custody. Existing PMPD diagnosis: ethanol secretion from glands under the skin. Medical notes say an increase in concentration was likely as she aged, but this fact seems to have been ignored until it was too late. Lab results suggest current concentration to be approximately 80%- I'm sure I could get a more accurate result myself, but I'd rather not.

This is the final step in the process for her- I'm here to debrief, explain what's going to happen, and discourage her from pulling any stunts like this again.

No PPE required. Shockingly, I've been exposed to ethanol before.


Christ. Six weeks in intensive care, and he was back to work the next Tuesday. Though he understood why his involvement was requested, it went without saying that he would've appreciated the time off. Another week would've been perfect- or at least enough time for the feeling to return to his right hand. Still, at least they didn't call him in when they first caught her. Having to conduct an interview from a hospital bed with a teenager suspected of poisoning her classmates- well, it would've been a bit dramatic, he thought. A bit unnecessary. Quite why precautions hadn't been taken before this incident was unknown to him, but he supposed there wasn't much they could do about it anyway, if the chemical came from her sweat.

Her case files were tucked under his left arm- a fairly expansive document, now that the relevant tests and interviews had been carried out. Gaz carried it uncomfortably down the hall, trying his best to hold both it and a mug of tea without spilling either. He could make this quick, at least. There was no more waiting for results, no more research to be done- all he had to do was close the case, really.

He opened the door to the room she was in, and raised the mug of tea as a substitute wave.
 
Ayla really wanted to sleep. It had been a long week, or maybe it hadn’t really been an entire week but how many days it had been since the school sports festival were really starting to muddle together into a fine slurry in her head. This was not helped out by the fact that she was pretty sure every person who had stepped into the room had asked her what seemed to be the same four questions, seemingly because they didn’t like her answers and wanted her to give them different ones. And, Ayla really didn’t know what to give when asked ‘why she did this’ and it’s lesser cousin ‘so how did this happen’ when she didn’t really get it beyond “sweat evaporates” which didn’t seem like the sort of answer that would make them happy.

So, Alya was very tired.

Today she had been told that she only needed to talk to one person, which made her hopeful that she might be able to go home at a reasonable time. It wasn’t really that much hope, because last time she had a light day for interviews she had her blood drawn twice and had to run on a treadmill for what felt like two hours so they could run tests. So, she was tired, and also more sore than she had ever really been before, excluding that one week of volleyball practice with the assistant coach from up state who really liked making people do laps.

At least she didn’t have to think about what school was going to be like once this was all over. She was really dreading that.

The door opened, and Ayla snapped up in her chair, a red mark on her forehead and forearm the only real proof of all the rest she didn’t get because her brain wouldn’t stop kicking itself. The man who stepped in was… normal? Like, looked like he should be making spreadsheets at a supply company or whatever office people did. He also looked about as bad as Ayla currently felt, which she didn’t really know what to do about.

“Uh… hi? Ayla said, gingerly, in response to the raised mug.
 
Her greeting sounded nervous, and her face seemed exhausted- the latter was like looking into a mirror, given his own circumstances.

"Good morning, Miss Cross."

He smiled, as if she could see it behind the respirator. PPE should be a common sight for her by now, given how seriously MIRA had been taking chemical hazards recently. Gaz assumed his own incident had brought that on, and he assumed it would last about as long as his hospital stay. They'd be back to 'just safe enough' in no time. It was a shame this one had been caught in the middle of it.

The door clicked shut behind him, prompting the vents above to whir into action. The room was cold, maybe. Colder than usual- though, given his condition, he might just be feeling it more. Same could probably be said for Ayla. Having sweat that evaporated like fucking hand sanitiser would probably feel pretty uncomfortable.

There was a lot about her situation he could empathise with, really. Maybe too much.

"Ah- Doctor Oleander. I'm from Substance Analysis. They've assigned me to debrief you on your case."

Gaz set the mug and folder down on the table, using his now free hand to pull the chair out from underneath it. His right arm was still paralysed, and had been tucked awkwardly over his hip to keep it from getting in the way. It looked odd. Painful. The only signs that thing was even still alive came as the occasional twitch in his hand, but it was hard to tell if they were intentional.

He sat down, letting out a short sigh.

"Are you doing alright?" He asked, "I know the trials they perform for chemical secretions can be quite... gruelling."

By the looks of things, she had it damn near worse than I did- and I was a wanted terrorist.
 
“Good day Mr Oleander.” Alya said, with a light wince that might have been from her shivering when the fan kicked back on, or might have been from realizing she had just said hello twice. Maybe it was both. The fan turning on certainly didn’t help either way.

“I’m… it’s been uh, fine.” Alya said, with all the confidence of someone who just marked down ‘C’ for the fifth time in a row on a test. She also touched her arm where she had been poked, which only really managed to remind her that needles did indeed still hurt when they poked you with them.

“Just… don’t get why they needed to take blood when the hospital already did.” The girl added, as more of a mumble than an actual question.
 
"Just Doctor will be fine, thank you." He said with a tight smile.

Best not dwell on it. She was probably tired- short-term memory is a fickle thing, as is auditory processing. Maybe she forgot he had told her his title. Maybe she hadn't heard him properly. It was fine, really. Barely a blip on the radar when it came to what a fucking week it had been.

He opened the folder, turning as she spoke to the copies of her blood tests.

"Well, we do like to be thorough." He said, "I believe we've done quite a few repeats of your external tests, 's that right?"

Gaz flicked through the folder, confirming his own statement without Ayla needing to respond. He nodded, frowning a little.

"I know it seems redundant, but there is reason for it. Misdiagnosis, whilst it's not what I'd call common, can be pretty bloody dangerous."
 
“Oh. Doctor, right.” Ayla winced, which this time was probably because she had gotten corrected and not the ache in her side. She rested her hands in her lap, lacing her fingers together as she pressed her back to the back of the chair, plucking at her skirt with the edge of her thumbnail while she listened to Doctor Oleander talk.

“Right, just being through.” Ayla said with a quick bob of her head. It seemed like they had been through enough already before they went to be doubly through, but that seemed like a complaint best kept to herself at this juncture. “So, uh, what do we need to check today Doctor?”
 
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