Authors note: ....
Just... wow. This has been stored on my hard drive for two years, and although I'll probably need to restart this thread again for this update, I think it's about time I posted this next part. There will be one other part to be added to this, to complete this three-part arc, but whether I continue this further than that, we will have to see. x'D
It's been a long time, Serebii.
Part two: Defective
Of tenuous existences, a world destroyed and a mans attempt to salvage what he holds dear.
Clack, clack, clack, CLANG.
He managed to catch her seconds before she hit the floor, the momentum of his hurried leap across the narrow room forcing him to twist harshly as he managed to snatch her from the ground, narrowly avoiding colliding with the opposing wall. He landed awkwardly, hissing as he arched his body to avoid crushing her waif like form, before he was focused once more, examining the effect of her changed state on her condition. He felt a slight tinge of relief as the pattern of her breathing seemed to smooth, but it was short lived as he realised the shallowness of her breath. At least the effects of the realisation had been slowed; they might be able to make it in time, so long as she didn’t regain consciousness.
Gritting his teeth, he slid one arm up her back, gripping the back of her neck firmly as he made an attempt to clear her air way. There was no change in the ragged pattern of breaths, and he leant his forehead against the cold surface of the store closet as he tried to organise his next moves. The Agency had red books of protocol created specifically for situations like this, and he could only be grateful that she had had the foresight to drag him to the store room of all places. This was probably the sole place in this whole damned paranoid building that wasn’t staked out with government monitored CCTV.
The situation surrounding the situation of Angels was touchy, to say the least. When they had first arrived seventy-five years ago, nobody had had even the time to think through the reasons for such a change. It wasn’t until the first wave that killed fifty-percent of the population that the correlation between information received and death was finally analysed and concluded. To avoid mass hysteria, the Agency had been set up, that created the Protocols vital to their kind, as well as mankind’s, survival.
Protocol that demanded that once an angel went ‘defective’, the individual in question was to be isolated. 48 hours later, the remains were to be burned.
He forced his thoughts away from that. Obviously, he wasn’t going to follow the protocol. And if he could ignore that, then he could also ignore the implications of the decision. He reached down to her mouth, fingers hovering as he attempted to gauge the depth of each breath, before leaning forward to replace his hands with his cheek. Despite the small movements of air, the rhythm was still steady. There would be around two hours before she needed to be put on respirators, and another three after that before her heart failed. From what he knew about the differences between the species, the effect of the few changed chromosomes in their genetic code were more prominent in the muscles and bones. This, whilst making their kind impossible to recreate as such a form could never be sustained by human means, left the main vital sections of the body normal. Their organs were human.
He shifted her more fully into his grip before gritting his teeth, ignoring the throb of his jaw as he forced his dead legs to support his weight, getting to his feet. He ignored the cold touch of her skin as he slipped off his coat and wrapped it around her.
He couldn’t call the ambulance to bring her there. Not only would that journey have been impossible in the first place, what with the supposed ‘poisoning’ of the area by nuclear waste, but it would make what he had decided to do obvious, giving cause for people to stop him. He’d have to take her to it. He took a short pause at the sill of the window to adjust his bundle more securely in his arms before he took a breath of the night air, looking out at the darkened sky.
The moonlight cast the sand a pallid color that lived up to the supposed status of the area, but the waning crescent was settled firmly into the sands, barely visible in its waning cycle. He followed the shadows to the building, where they settled in deep, beckoning crevasses that begged short-lived safety. This was it. He took the step off, feet thudding in the sand.
A tall, dark haired man with sharp eyes occupied the otherwise empty waiting room of the government owned facility, the intelligent depths of a light chestnut gleaming, as the set idly followed the progress of the smallest hand on the clock. The light ticking reverberated sweetly, almost cheerfully through the silence, matching the small smile that quirked the easy-going features of the inhabitant, providing some warmth to the sterility.
It had been silent for quite some time, but with the turning of the hour to the final forty-eighth, Jonas could guess what was keeping him.
It was over.
Finally. He tried to ignore the slight sense of relief that followed with the acknowledgement that it had happened – as it was expected, of course, the situation entirely ordinary and thus requiring no more thought. The angel had died, at the appointed time as set by The Agency. No more, no less. He hadn’t been forced to deal with another of the other cases- and those cases had so been few and short lived anyway, it didn’t matter. He needed to concentrate on other things; like the fact his colleague, his friend, had just lost the women he loved.
He suppressed a snort at himself, shaking his head distractedly to get the few strands of hair out of his eyes, before he tilted it back to rest against the sterile, impassive wall, feeling a small amount of jealousy for its impartiality to the world. This was ridiculous. Forcing every other thought out of his head besides, he sought the local vicinity quickly for a distraction, trying not to concentrate on the frustration at the near empty environment; before he finally settled his attention on the few infrequent passes of the hospital attendants left on the late night shift.
Catching his gaze, a nurse hesitated for a second, expression moving from distracted to disapproving as she mistook him for an escapee patient, but he managed to stop the ensuing tirade with a quick show of his badge, taking only slight pleasure from the way her eyes widened as she read the department he was from, before apologising quickly and hurrying away.
Damn, it definitely had to be his mood. It had been a while since he had not downright laughed at the reaction that the Agency’s very name still managed to incur. The idea of a government armed with Angels would have been terrifying to him if he hadn’t managed to secure his position within, protecting them himself.
Angels. The thought brought him back to his earlier internal war, and his expression relaxed back to neutral as he let out a sigh. Still, he could not completely override his worries. The cases, growing from one in five years to six in two, were not only growing in number, but getting stronger. Not only were they not dying, but the last couple had even managed to come back to nearly full health before they had been forced to pull the plug. If this trend continued, then maybe all of the remaining angels left could survive the process to, and with the free will breaking the Agency’s already tenacious hold on the remnants of this particular hybrid species, who knows what could happen, what horrific actions the once saviours of humanity could do with their super human strength and ability to live forever once they were fully freed from their bonds-
There was a small clatter as the handle on the door of the private suite turned, the harsh glare of the safety standard issue fluorescents above throwing the his face into sharp relief as the shadows under his eyes painted him as a murderer. He heard a brief spate of a monotonous tone before Charles stepped fully into the hall, the weighted door cutting off the sound as it swung quietly shut behind him.
“I’m sorry, Charles.”
Then that was that.
The sound of soft beeping was insistent as it woke her, easing her from the warm depths she had plundered in sleep, bringing her back to the frigid reality of consciousness. The world beyond her lids was bright, nearly painfully so as it pierced through the heady haze of her dreams, and she was unprepared for it, yet. At the this moment, with the pains and stark brutality reality promised, Clarissa wasn't ready yet. Her decision was tinged with irony. As if she ever would be.
Her mind firm with the decision to leave reality where it was for the time being, she turned eagerly inward, stealing back into her dreams, for she had dreamt last time, for the first time since... she could remember. Her head felt strangely empty, the daze between sleep and waking removed from all the fears and worries she had been suffering under, and she welcomed the sense of freedom it allowed her.
The light beep of the EKG machine slowed, evening to a steady rhythm that echoed the even of her breathing, a small smile sloping the soft planes of her mouth.
There was a quiet clacking sound as a pen clattered to the floor, the shock of the white-jacketed man standing watch at the end of the bed stark as his fingers tightened around the empty clipboard in his clutched hands, eyes fast on the face of the patient. His jaw was slackened, and he struggled to right himself as he quickly scrabbled to the floor to regain his papers, moving himself closer to the bedside.
"Did she just..."
Shaking his head as his voice failed him, he sent a quick glance to the straining face of the orderly, amusement at his complete lack of composure plain across the other mans features. The young doctor's face ultimately flushed, eyes narrowing in an embarrassed frown, before he looked pointedly back towards the bed. "Josh. Seriously. Did she..."
A smirk still threatened to break through his forced expression expression of composure, and deciding to save the Doctor from increased embarrassment, the man nodded sharply with a small smile. "The Jane is showing signs of consciousness, doctor."