[OPEN] Medicae Ward

[blinddeadmcjones]

as though waiting for the kriegerin to regain consciousness, the metasurgeon made her presence known "your gear is in the weapons locker" she said by way of introduction as she walked over in preparation of doing the usual checks "lie still please, and follow this light with your eyes. then tell me how many fingers i am holding up." holding up two fingers cheslock watched patiently as she waited for erika to comply "now. can you tell me your name? and what was the last thing you remember before losing consciousness?"

[Johannes Wyss von Krieg]

When assured of the sanctity of her issued kit, the woman relaxed. It is how to behave when under medical care and not in field conditions after all.

Her deep sapphire eyes traced the source of light, pupil reflexes functional.

"Two..."

"Unit number... nine-four-fife... three... eight... three-sixteen..."

she weakly replied, citing her current designation as far as paperwork were concerned, names are more of an addendum and formality with nonkriegers and thus non appliable in the current situation.

"Participated in... unarmedt melee kombat... failedt..." the last word stung deep into her core it might have shown emotion on the surface but as is she was just too exhausted to do so. "Prome...thhhe-ron Unit Levi..." she suddenly said "vere iz he?"

[blinddeadmcjones]

"who?" cheslock replied "you're the only recent admittance, i don't not know where this 'unit levi' is, would it be fair to assume that he was your opponent?" as she waited for a reply the metasurgeon did one quick scan with her medicae 'dendrite.

"no signs of any fractures, very minor bleeding a few bruises and a slight concussion. all in all nothing serious or out of the ordinary considering the circumstances, which brings me to the next matter. an organised fist fight? care to explain?" her tone shifted towards the tail end of her sentence, conveying that she was unimpressed with or did not approve of the idea

[Johannes Wyss von Krieg]

[blinddeadmcjones]

cheslock didn't say anything when the krieger replied, instead choosing to read the chart of the patient next to her "i guess i'll have to have a word with his superiors as well"

as if on cue the two cadian orderlies returned "got another one from the huffer tent, one of them pale skinned lizard riding freaks" the 1st one announced in his usual belligerent manner, the 2nd one shot him a look before adding in his two cents "had apparently been ordered to come here by his Sargeant but had barely made it out the door before he collapsed outside. vitals were steady just like the other one"

thankful for the confines of her helmet hiding her expressions, cheslock pointed to another free bed while mentally counting to ten and then heading over to do a scan like she had with erika, looking down at the ident tags in the process so she knew who she was dealing with

"corporal levi slone...well that makes finding him easier" have to wait until he regains consciousness before i can check the state of his concussion, jane thought as she looked at the diagnostic results "skull and lower jaw shows signs of fractures" unable to do anything else until slone came to the metasurgeon went back to attend to erika.
"so, the aim was to 'improve regimental relations' by having both death korps and non-death korps guardsmen beat each other senseless? who's idea was this? and moreover why wasn't i at the very least consulted before this idea was put into practice? we can't exactly afford to waste medical supplies, especially when it is on guardsmen smashing each others brains out with their fists as opposed to contact with the enemies of man"

[Johannes Wyss von Krieg]

[Vurrunna]

[[Hello there! Would it be alright to join in here, or are you guys in the middle of a thing?]]
[[EDIT: Checking the Discord sounds good for Lucas to slip in. Stand by.]]

[LaxKnight]

[They are in the middle of a thing but we got more than one medic. I could deal with this while Blind and Johan can keep going but up to them.]

[Vurrunna]

Lucas trudged along the familiar walkways in the base. All around him was the humdrum and chatter of his fellow Guardsmen, heading to their posts, stopping by the mess, just going about their daily business same as ever. Hardly any of them noticed the small, beaten Guardsman dragging himself toward the Medicae Ward. Of those who did, none of them recognized him.

Two years. He had been gone for two years.

His eyes seemed to be dazzled at every turn of the corner. Buildings he'd once known were gone, empty lots were now filled. And the people. He couldn't recognize a single person in base. They were all new recruits, members of other regiments he'd never seen--strangers. He couldn't see so much as one person from his own legion, let alone company.

Two years.

Eventually, his feet led him to the Medicae Ward. He remembered coming here sometimes in the past--treatment for his lungs when his respirator gave out--but like so much in the city, it felt... Different. Aged. Worn. Like a thousand men had come and died within those very walls, and their souls took a piece with them when they left.

Lucas! Smol.png (87.29 KiB) Viewed 9476 times

Lucas pushed his way through the tent flap. Emerging into the entryway, he was a strange sight: not much taller than a child, he wore a faded black uniform, ripped and torn and barely sewn back together. The only piece of armor he'd managed to hang onto was his wide-brimmed helmet, under which lay an expressionless rubber mask and respirator. His only weapon was a long stick with a dull combat knife tied firmly to the end of it--he leaned on it heavily, favoring his right leg. He was covered in a layer of dried sweat and mud, with occasional spots of blood--whether his own or otherwise was hard to tell.

His breathing was heavy, rasping unpleasantly and bloodily from behind the mangled remains of his respirator. He'd managed to get used to the jungle; coming back into the city was hard. He hadn't had a truly bad reaction since he was only little, but he wished to the Emperor he didn't have another. Two years without treatment couldn't be good.

He looked sheepishly about the room. It was still surreal to even be back here. Back in the base. Back with the Guard. He almost wondered if it was right, coming for a check up. What if he were marked KIA? What if they thought he'd deserted? Certainly they had more important business--just over there was a woman covering her face in pain, and down the way two Cadians were taking in another man that looked in bad shape.

Live by the Guard. Die by the Guard. It's what the Captain had always told him. He said it to everyone, of course, but he'd said it to him in particular, that once. It doesn't matter the consequences. You take your post, and you stand by it.

Lucas turned away from the other patients, looking for the nearest available medic. He never should have been gone in the first place. This was just a return to form.

His voice came out first as an inaudible rasp, ending in a deep, silent cough racking his entire body. Composing himself and taking a shaky breath, he tries again: Ensign... L-Lucas Nongensius... Seeking... Medical attention...

[blinddeadmcjones]

concerned with the kriegerins response and the new arrival presenting himself, the metasurgeon took immediate action "could you please see if Hospitaller Valentine is available?" she curtly asked the 1st ordery before turning her attention to the 2nd as a servoskull starting printing out a form "take this authorisation paper with you and go to the Death Korps HQ, find 9453rd Captain Wyss and bring him here, advise him as to the utmost importance of him being present. now please."

as the pair left, cheslock went over to see to the new arrival, taking considerable interest at the makeshift spear along with the garb that made up his attire. Lucas Nongensius...name does not sound familiar. the raspiness of his breathing quickly alerted her to the seriousness of the situation

"of course, come this way please" she stated quickly, offering a hand while another servoskull with manipulator digits floated over to the medicaes sole cogitator "also, your weapon will need to be relinquished at some point, there was a incident some time ago, unauthorised weapons discharge at medical staff."

[Vurrunna]

Lucas gave a blank look at the medic. The surgeon's many augments were visibly apparent, and Lucas had always had a slight fear of getting his body replaced with a machine.

Well. Nothing for it.

"Yes... Ma'am."

He hesitated a moment, gingerly propping his spear against a shelf before reaching a shaky hand toward her.

[LaxKnight]

The Hospitaller in question was taking time to sterilize her gloves after dealing with a mechanic who suffered a bloody accident with some machinery. He was lucky that they were able to reattach the lost finger. While it wasn’t a belief Mari personally held but it wasn’t uncommon that Orders Militant Sisters viewed the Hospitallers as soft. This transition has taught her that, while the Orders Hospitaller may be more gentle compared to others, they were far from soft. They may not be slaying heretics but Mari learned long ago learned they faced hardship in many more ways: comforting dying men, the near never-ending sea of the wounded begging for aid, and the plague of stupidity that haunts humanity as they get themselves into easily preventable accidents. The finger she reattached was certainly under the last in that list. The struggles the two Orders face may be different but the battering against one’s soul was no less brutal. Both had to be strong. She sighed as she tossed the wipe into the garbage.

It was at this time the orderly found her to report that Cheslock requested her presence. Mari gave a tired smile, nodded, and followed them to the Metasurgeon. Once there she said, “I was informed my presence was requested?”

[Johannes Wyss von Krieg]

554th Compound. Security Post.

To say the Kriegers were Paranoid is an understatement: Knowing that the Xenos uses infiltrating agents and planted saboteurs within the ranks, the Death Worlders have set their contempt towards other members of the Guard despite their own attempts at familiarizing with them. Such behavior they now Understandable, the Gate Incident was just a result of poor internal security, internal security the post was and is upholding diligently.

Despite the claimed importance of the message, it did not bear Military Intelligence Stamps and thus handing it out in person was considered unnecessary and even time wasting, this compound is built to confuse outsiders after all. The Orderly had to wait here.

554th Compound. 9453rd Section.

An Aide was traversing through the niche spot the 9453rd have carved for themselves but for the life of him couldn't find his commander. When #1-101 is absent, the next recipient is #7-102, and so on down the command chain.

It... might take some time...

[Vurrunna]

The arrival of the Hospitaller should not have been surprising; under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have even been notable. All Lucas saw was yet another unfamiliar face, her uniform still speckled with the spots of blood of a recent operation, coming straight. For. Him.

It could have just been a trick of perspective; she was probably only coming in his direction, travelling casually from one end of the room to the other. All Lucas saw was a strange and powerful looking woman coming marching towards him, her hair waving in the air like a trail of lost souls, her eyes unnatural spotlights scouring the Medicae Ward, looking for him, searching for him, him, Lucas, coming to get him--

It sent him over the edge. Immediately his fight of flight response kicked in, his legs springing for action. His eyes darted to the metasurgeon--before, he had been merely dazed enough to overlook her augments, to have only felt the slightest apprehension. Something about the Hospitaller, about that perceived threat that he began to question almost immediately as it arose, seemed to wake him up.

Now, all he felt was terror.

The wires and metal beams and servos of the cybernetics seemed to whirl and hiss and shriek, like eels and serpents and worms slowly bursting forth from their joints and writhing across metallic carcasses. Every inch of the woman's, of the creature's body seemed to be looking at him, speaking to him, quietly calling him forward into a steely embrace, the embrace of death.

Lucas gasped for breath, rattling horridly as the chemical stench of medical supplies forced their way through what little protection his broken mask yet retained. Lucas could feel the reaction already beginning in his throat, his vocal cords throbbing and convulsing and folding over themselves. He compulsively stumbled backwards, arms reaching blindly for purchase as he tried to steady himself. They found a makeshift counter covered in spent supplies and bottles and jars, sending them all crashing to the ground in a loud cacophony of banging metal and smashing glass.

Lucas nearly collapsed backwards onto the counter, his knees giving out, his elbow and ribs barely giving enough purchase to hold him up. His hand snatched to his throat, clutching vainly at the horrible burning sensation, then began clawing at his mask and the long-spent oxygen cartridge at his side. His breath caught, then gagged, then began hacking and coughing and all but wretching behind his mask, his eyes filling over with tears in exertion. He managed only the slimmest of words between the convulsions:

"Md-cl... sst-nce..."

[[Roleplaying Note: As it's rather relevent to his present condition (and a doctor-type would be prone to recognize this), Lucas suffers from something akin to Mass Cell Disorder, where essentially the body reacts horribly to excessive chemicals, dust, bad auras, etc.; skin breaks into a rash, vocal cords literally fold over themselves, and one's entire week is ruined. Combined with a horrible case of asthma, Lucas essentially shuts down into a wreck of constant bloody coughing whenever he gets a reaction. His records--if they remained--would note he utilizes an intensified oxygen respirator to essentially give him a constant inhaler, which he hasn't used in two years.]]

[LaxKnight]

Mari saw the small soldier approaching. She couldn’t see the emotions hidden behind his gasmask but something was clearly wrong as he started to collapse, grasping at his mask like he was suffocating. She was instantly at his side and close enough to hear his choking words.

“Orderly! Get oxygen!” the Hospitaller commanded as she scooped up the child-sized being in her arms. He was surprisingly light, like picking up a bundle of sticks. She held him almost like an overgrown baby, careful not to crush what little air he had against her armored body.

“I got him,” she told the Metasurgeon in passing as she carried her patient to a gurney. She saw the orderly return with a tank of oxygen as she gently set him down in his bed. She looked for what he could be choking on as he struggled to get air like it was just out of reach. Nothing around his neck; must be the mask. It could be broken and suffocating them.

“We have oxygen for you but we need to take off the mask,” she wasn’t quite sure if he heard her but she tried to reach behind his head to try and take it off anyway. They didn’t look like a Krieg soldier so, hopefully, they shouldn't react badly. Hopefully. They may have taken away guns but knives were harder to find and she didn't feel like feeling the steel of a blade again.

[Vurrunna]

Lucas's vision began to blur, turning nearly red as his body wracked itself in a vain attempt to prevent his coughing from tearing his throat apart. He didn't feel the arms sliding under him and lifting him away; he hardly even realized he was now laying down, staring at the ward's tarp ceiling. All the while, the only noise he made was a combination of low, guttural, horrible coughs and a strange gurgling, almost choking noise.

"We all die someday, Lucas. No point getting sentimental about it." Captain Geran had said that. Lucas had never agreed; not really. He'd always cared when his fellow soldiers died. He wondered if anyone would care about him. He wondered if there was anyone left to remember. Probably not.

Lucas had barely begun to get a faint, shallow, painful hyperventilation begun before he suddenly felt fingers clasping at the back of his skull. He felt almost frozen, his arms practically made of lead, as the mask was slowly pulled away.

Beneath the mask, Lucas was a sorry sight. His black hair was grown long, covered in dried mud and reeking of years confinement beneath his helmet. His eyes were silver grey, shot red with pain and tears. His skin was pale; incredibly pale, nearly grey from years hidden from the sun. But notable above the rest were the scars; a myriad of cuts, gouges, burns, punctures, all practically shining white from scar tissue. He had the appearance of a child, but the subtle, grim-set determination of a veteran of over a decade of war.

As the mask came off, Lucas felt air flush over his face for the first time in years. The coolness compared to the suffocation behind his mask was shocking, slapping him out of his painful daze. His eyes refocused, settling on the face of a woman--the same Hospitaller from before, now leaned over and staring into his eyes. The light parted around her disheveled hair, forming a halo.

"There ain't no such thing as angels, boy; but the Sisters get blasted close." Chaplain Nihilus had said that before his incident with a flail and a boltgun. In that moment, Lucas felt certain the man must've been a bald-faced liar.

Then the chemicals hit.

Lucas's skin began to flush red, violently red, and violently quick. His eyes widened in sudden fear. He gave a sudden, halting gasp, each sip of air like a hot iron being shoved down his throat. With a heave, the last of his strength gave out, and he gave over completely to coughing, hacking, wheezing, specks of blood spattering over his mouth and chest and the Hospitaller.

In the back of his mind, he felt vaguely embarrassed.

[LaxKnight]

It was only a slight struggle to get the mask off since her charge was making it a bit difficult but it was free. She tossed the broken thing on a nearby table with a metallic clatter. She saw the face of a boy marred by war; gouges, scars, and burns telling of the horrors he has seen, all of the times death overlooked him, each instance the God-Emperor said he couldn’t sit beside Him yet for He had more plans for this him. It wasn’t the first time Mari has seen someone so young fighting for the Imperium and she doubted it would be the last. She couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pity. This boy likely had a family who loved him and took care of him at some point. It was likely war that took them and why he fights now. Mari, like almost all Sororitas, is an orphan. No parents that tucked her in bed but Abbots who drilled her to make it, no friends to play with on the playground but the gun ranges where she learned how to shoot a bolter. She was trained so boys like him didn't have to fight. He may have grew up with a loving family but there was someone who loved Mari: the God-Emperor. Hopefully, this boy knew that He loved him too.

The boy’s face widened with shock from being released from his mask but then quickly devolved into a red mess, begging for air as he coughed and wheezed blood. His prayer was answered when Mari pressed the oxygen mask snuggly over his mouth and nose as she pulled the strap behind his head. Cool, pure air would flow and Mari would turn him onto his side so he didn’t choke on his own blood.

“Breathe! Just breathe,” Mari commanded as she held him to his side. Looking at the symptoms, it was almost like he was having... anaphylaxis? Was he allergic to air or something? She looked to the stunned orderly and ordered, “Get me an antihistamine, alternate formula, now!”

The orderly snapped back into reality and dashed away. The alternate formula should be lacking any unnecessary additive in case he allergic to any of those as well. Mari would look around hastily for any sort of form of identification to figure out who exactly she was dealing with. If he really was having an allergic reaction she had to find the cause.

[Vurrunna]

The oxygen mask had an immediate and powerful effect on Lucas. He gave yet another loud and choppy gasp, the sweet air flooding past his twisted vocal cords and filling his struggling lungs. He coughed still, spitting up more flecks of blood against the plastic of the rebreather, but it wracked his body less than before; a deeper breath, a lighter cough. To Lucas, everything was silent; his coughs he heard more from their vibrations through his body than actual sound. He was vaguely aware that his hearing aid had been in his mask; without it, he no longer heard the bustle of the Medicae Music.

Instead, he heard music.

As the oxygen continued to fill his battered lungs, and the coughing fits continued to die down, Lucas began to feel the first waves of exhaustion. His limbs became limp, unable to move, but his eyes remained wide open, his heart still beating frantically as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His body became inert even as his mind became more awake than it had been in a long, long time.

He was vaguely aware of the Hospitaller checking over his person. Maybe she was checking for other wounds; it occurred to him he'd taken a bad hit to the leg a few months back. Hesitating, he made a silent and halfhearted prayer that they wouldn't have to amputate. He'd often had a hard time listening to the Chaplain, not only because the drinking slurred the man's speech quite terribly, but also because he'd always had trouble believing someone supposedly so powerful could ever care to notice someone as minuscule as him.

Unfortunately for the Hospitaller, Lucas's uniform was little more than an assortment of resewn rags; all markings had been completely worn or faded away from the cloth. No name, rank, legion, anything. The only identifying symbol left was the skull and wings blazoned across his battered helmet, the gilding long since stripped away leaving only the dented form of a skull and wings--reminiscent of the traditional design, with a highly angular and aggressive design.

Lucas shifted his head by the slimmest of margins, looking again at the Hospitaller. His voice came out softly, a mere rasp with no real voice behind it, and easily mistakable for little more than a caught breath.

"nn... gl?"