Angela Cares For the Runner

GM: Hiller
Players: Angela, Hiller
Date: May, 2071

Synopsis: Angela is asked to take care of a wounded courier. Hiller transfers the wounded man to a hideout in the CAS sector where Angela makes a brief inspection. As it turns out, the man got healed by magical means but still suffers from shock and appears to be trapped in apathy. A routine job for Angela. Her medical diagnosis decides the immediate future for this man. But that's not her concern anymore.

Prequel/Follow-Up: This plot is part of Three Quarters. The direct prequel is Man in the Alley.

It starts with a call

(Directed into the phone) Hiller says, ""Hello?" A female voice sounds from the other side. Quiet sharp and distinct, maybe a bit stressed.

<Phone> Angela says, "Hello, dear. Ah, who is this?"

(Directed into the phone) Hiller says, "This is Orange. We don't know each other, butI've a priority direction to call you for medical assistance. Codeword is Lionell."

<Phone> Angela says, "I see. Yes, yes, I can help. Is this an immediate emergency? Where do you need me to be?"

(Directed into the phone) Hiller says, "((Orange's voice continues in a cool tone that could remind Angela of military protocol)) I have a human male with gunshot wounds in his back. He received…ah…magical treatment 25 minutes ago. But he's still in bad shape. My position is Heather Gardens - Cherry Creek. North west of the Warrens. - Tell me where you want the subject, I'll deliver it."

<Phone> Angela says, "Much as I'm wary of the warrens, dear, I can come to you instead. Would rather you not move him too much more. Give me a few minutes, please."

(Directed into the phone) Hiller says, "Ah, negative. I've no save meeting point here. The situation is hot. We had a pursuit with a firefight. The man is in my car already. He got rocked badly."

(Directed into the phone) Hiller says, "I have to leave the Warrens quickly for now. Tell me a neutral spot that suits your needs, ma'am."

<Phone> Angela says, "I've got a place. CAS sector. There's an old chop shop near the Cool Cat Club. Keep it discreet, dear."

(Directed into the phone) Hiller says, "You've got MGRS coordinates or an adress?"

<Phone> Angela says, "Just south of Monaco Parkway and Mississippi Avenue, dear. Just off of Highway 83. Can't miss it, there's a bike shop…"

(Directed into the phone) Hiller says, "Alright, I'll be there in…14 minutes. An ivory white Honda sports car."

The phonecall is ended and Hiller starts the engine again. The highly modified Honda sports car looks like a shabby individual of its kind. Worn and torn. Back window is broken, front window has a crack. One door has light damage and there is a lot of stain and dirt. The car looks like it just came out of the Warrens. What it actually did! 14 minutes is a long time for a wounded man. And Hiller drives carefully. He's stable, she was told. But in that special case, 'stable' is not enough. So she turns into Monaco and heads south toward the bike shop. It is midnight by now. With low light vision and lowered car lights, she drives with 40 mph past the darkened buildings, looking for the designated spot.

CAS Sector, bike shop

Near the bike shop's parking lot, where a half-block of squat, run down buildings sits, a white pickup truck hides under the shadows. The woman looks the car in question over as it comes down the road, and flickers her own headlights as a signal. She's outside of her truck, arm reaching through the window to handle the lights, and awaits her patient.

The sports car slows down immediately and turns a 140 circle to the left. Straight onto the driveway and in front of the pickup. Hiller runs a brief sensor check of the vicinity, including video shots of the bike shop, the truck, the neighborhood and Angela. That would only take a few seconds. As long as there are no significant signatures around, like aircraft, running engines behind the next corner or a large grouping of people, she jumps out of the car. On her right upper leg, there is a pistol plainly visible. Hiller wears a purple leather jacket, BDU trousers and short cut, red hair. Looks more like a punkt at the moment, than a MRT guy.

She walks around her car and gives Angela a wave. "Greetings, ma'am. You are?"

Angela's in her usual attire, duster concealing her pistol, boot hiding her knife, and her medical bag hanging plainly at her shoulder. "Angel," the doctor greets, tone warm, "Orange?" she asks softly, moving towards the car. "I imagine we have little time for pleasantries, though," she tsks lightly, eyeing the Honda. There's not many people around, in fact, they could be counted on one hand. Hiller, Angela, and the patient.

Hiller nods to Angela's question and continues quickly to the co-driver's door. It opens quietly and reveals a man on the co-driver seat. The back rest is lowered as far as possible and he's strapped onto the seat - and onto a bloody plastic sheet - with a safety harness.

"Quiet a mess it is. He got shot in the back, several times. Pistol, most likely. A mage tried to heal him but he's still…not able to speak. Seems to be absent…," Hiller says and releases the fastener of the seatbelt.

The man is about 24 years old and wears solid army boots, stone washed blue jeans, a grey BDU/Cargo-jacket and fingerless gloves. A bright green rucksack is placed on his stomach, and there dangle a pair of fancy rollerblades, as well as a Industrious Line helmet. The guy is well shaved and smells of some deo or perfume. That's the good news. The bad news is, that he's actually staring into nothingness. Blood covers his clothes, his face and hair. You can even see how his left hand - oddly snapped aside, is constantly shaking. Hiller turns around then, and looks toward Angela, then back to the street and the neighboring houses, as if she would await some kind of orders. From how Hiller reacts, Angela could tell that she's not a ganger or punk, though she looks like one. She definitely behaves with military attitude. Straight posture, serious face and few but direct words so far.

"This is as good as it's going to get here," Angela says softly. "I hate to move him but I can't do anything for his wounds if he's sitting here. Let's get him out of this jacket, first… carefully… What about the hand? Took a hard spill when he went down?" She's in the process of opening up her medkit, jacking in and examining him from what little she can see right now. At the least she has her eye mods, and doesn't need -quite- that much light.

Hiller gives a brief nod and removes his jacket. "The shots perforated his rucksack and he fell from some height. I can't tell for sure. I wasn't part of the rescue team at the scene. - Should I pull him out of the car?"

Angela's first inspection shows, that the man appears to suffer from a shock. Propably caused by a trauma or maybe by other things. He seems to be conscious of things, somehow. His general condition is hard to estimate at this point.

Angela nods, "Carefully… the bed of my truck will have to do for now. Please, be careful with his hand…" she says softly, moving to her truck to pull the back open. "I don't ask questions at the least, so aside from being shot and where… well," she smiles softly. "You won't have to worry about anything from me, dear. Now, on three…"

Hiller smirks a bit, as if she's not so certain about how to deal with this motherly medic. "Sure…one…two…three…" she helps as good as she can to carry the body over to Angela's truck. Hiller looks around again. "And I would appreciate if we can move inside the house. I dunno, it's a run-down neighborhood, but still a neighborhood, if you get me. - And for the questions: I need some answers from him. He seems so be alive, eyes open, but he didn't say a single word since I picked him up."

"Like I said, there's an old chop shop here…" Angela gestures to a nearby building, a set of rusted garage doors sitting silent in the darkness. "Let's roll inside, dear, and have a better look at him. Sooner the better," she mumbles, checking the man laying in her truck before closing the door. "Quickly now," the blonde says softly. Quickly, carefully, quietly. What a night.

Inspection and diagnose

Hiller nods and moves to the garages for a closer look, waiting for Angela to approach with the pickup.

It's an older building, not -quite- a messed up as the nearby highway, but it's pretty clear that at least one stray bomb nailed it. Heavy chains and old-style padlocks seal the doors, to deter squatters, though as Angela pulls up, she slips a key ring out of her bag. "So long as we leave it the way we found it…" she says softly, opening a few of the locks and pulling the chains free from the latches.

Hiller helps Angela with the doors and would close the garage door behind the pickup. But more than once, she looks over her shoulder, always watchful for any unwanted witnesses. "By the way, whatever you remove from his equipment, clothing or body, handle it carefully. The man is supposed to carry important information."

"I'll make sure to set it aside…" Angela says quietly, cutting the engine but leaving the internal lights on so she can work. "Let's get your guy taken care of…" she murmurs. Once more, she moves to the back of the truck, looking to 'Orange', then back to the patient. "I should still be able to patch him up since it hasn't been -too- long, but doing surgery here will be a little less friendly…" she lays the medkit on the bed of her truck and sees to it that the man is on his stomach. She takes off her jacket, rolling it up so he can lay his head on it, and Hiller might be able to see her filled shoulder holster.

Hiller reckognizes the holster but says nothing. She's been sent here anyway. Call it trust, call it fatalism. Hiller continues while Angela has the chance for a closer inspection now: "I just need an assessment if this man is still seriously wounded, under shock or just unwilling to speak. Lionell said you would give an evaluation and I'll decide how we can and will proceed with him then. But that's not your concern then, ma'am. But thanks for your assistance so far." In a relaxed stance, hands folded on her back, Hiller watches the doctor.

The doctor and her patient. His blood pressure, pulse rate and breathing suggest that he got drugged. Trauma patch propably. And if he got shot in the back, it sounds very believable that he received indeed some kind of magical healing. Otherwise, he would be unconscious or even dead, since he lay on his back through some rocky ride for more than half an hour.

The man received two bullets in his back and suffered serious blood loss. And he suffered a trauma to the head as well as a broken or sprained wrist. But most notably, the wounds have been treated by magic means. At least to a certain degree. From Angela's judgement, this man has been saved from near-death. His body will recover, if there's nothing else Angela can't pinpoint with her equipment available. So, the absent behavior of the man may be caused by the trauma patch drugs, or by his psychological condition. He suffered some shock, that's for sure.

Hiller is eager to watch Angela doing her job and what kind of tests she conducts but remains silent otherwise.

Angela concludes several things,and looks back to Orange somewhat wide-eyed. "Well, for one, it's a miracle that this man is alive…" she says softly. "His body will heal, but… the mind isn't always so resilient…" she shrugs. "His unwillingness to speak is due to either severe psychological trauma… or the sheer amount of drugs rolling through his system from being yanked from the hereafter… I'll need a few more moments, dear."

Some simple tests show that his mind is still there, but slowed down by the drogs. Besode that, the man suffers a very serious shock, obviously. Maybe it is the result of magical treatment or other magical pheneomenon, maybe it is just the plain experience of having already died, almost. Angela's final assessment is, that the man will have to receive psychological after-treatment. Nothing that can be solved in the back of a truck. It is possible, that his mind and, well, soul, suffered serious damage as well. But his bodyly condition is alright so far. In some sense, he appears to be trapped in his own mind. Angela could only imagine what experience might have caused this.

The woman looks to Orange again, folding her arms. "The last time I saw something even close to this, a man had been slapped upside the head with a troll's penis…" Angela says completely straight-faced. "He's lost in his head presently, and the drugs aren't helping. He'll live, but I can't do much more for him aside from wrap his hand up and make sure there's nothing still leaking out of him…" she shakes her head. "If there's personal effects you need from him, he's all yours, dear, but he's quite in shock at the moment."

Hiller clenches her teeth and nods. "I see. I'll have to search him through and will carry him on to his … friends." She steps forward now, and starts to search his belongings, as well as his clothings. Rather incidently, Hiller asks after several minutes: "Since when do you know Mr. Lionell, by the way?" As it seems, Hiller has found some interest in Angela.

Angela watches, just making sure that Orange doesn't disturb the dressings she'd put on the man's hand. She doesn't seem to have -that- much of an interest in what's coming out of his pockets or anything. At the question, she purses her lips, then smiles pleasantly, "We are business associates," she answers simply. It's not untrue, and she's sure Hiller probably knows what sort of business, being that they're in a run down garage looting a half-corpse.

"Ah, well, I thought they've brought down the healthcare system to something like this, finally," Hiller jokes flatly and gives a brief smirk. She removes several electronic devices from the rucksack then. A radio, a small notebook, cables, a broken bottle, the helmet, the inliners. Then she searches the clothings. It takes quiet a time, until she discovers that there is a small compartment on the back of one of the fingerless gloves. It appeared to be some kind of gel padding. But in fact, is is a small hiding place for…a data stick.

"Here we go…that looks like we found what we're searching for." Quickly, Hiller puts the data stick into her trouser bag. "You know, Angel, this man wasn't supposed to die or suffer or whatever. He was supposed to deliver. That's all. So I guess he did it, finally. He'll receive his payment, if he's lucky. But I doubt if he can spend it in this condition. What shall I recommend to Mr. Lionell? Is there anything we can do for him?" Hiller steps away from the man, after she found the stick. She was quiet cautious and treated the man for what he is, actually still a /living/ man.

Final judgement and goodbye

There's a silent parting of lips, Angela's face having that sort of 'ah' expression. "A courier…" she says quietly, nodding. "There must be something rather important on your datastick, then…" she gives a faint smile. "Once he's healed, physically, see to it that he gets some professional help for his mental health… a psychologist, trauma, PTSD even…" she murmurs. "I've done all I really can for him, though I can put him under so he doesn't suffer from any more pain in transit, while you and Mr. Lionell see to more substantial care."

Hiller nods. "I'll report your evaluation and recommendation, doc. What'll happen then, is no longer our business." She finally walks over to stand directly in front of Angela. "What is your price, ma'am?" Behind her steel-mirrored sunglasses, she eyes the woman in front of her. Hiller's initial tension is gone. She appears to be a bit more open-minded now, though she remains a disciplined even formal behavior.

Angela frowns thoughtfully, "Of course. Mmm, payment?" she looks at the slightly-taller woman, eyes meeting those mirrored shades. "Five thousand… I didn't really use any supplies, though I will have to refuel and clean my truck. We should get him back into your car, I assume he's still entirely your responsibility to get back into Mr. Lionell's hands safely?"

"Hrm, sure. My responsibility," she murmurs. "I piloted for Doc Wagon some time, but I can't even use a trauma patch," she remarks dryly. "But well, I'll get you five k on a plain stick. Knock him out with some drug if you can. I don't wanna have any surprises for the rest of the journey." And with this words, she would return to her car and prepare 5000 nuyen payment.

«Stats System» You pay Angela (#10952) 5000 nuyen for "Hiller paid Angela 5,000 for the treatment of Jack Benester, a wounded courier NPC.".

"Easily done," Angela says softly, setting up a proper dosage of a sedative for the injured courier. "Rest now, sweet prince," the doctor murmurs as it injects, brushing her hand along Jack's forehead. Weird lady. She stands up, starting to pack up her medkit and looks up when Hiller returns. "It's done, dear. He shouldn't trouble you with any fitful dreams."

Again, Hiller just wonders about the medic. Then she offers Angela a firm handshake, the credstick, and a small, translucent orange business card. It shows the name 'Orange' and a phone number and trix adress. "If you ever need a ride, call me. - Ah, and besides, did you serve as a paramedic or in the army?"

Angela shakes her head, "No, dear. You might be surprised to know I have no real formal training or schooling, either…" There's a helpless shrug, "I'll give you a call if I do need a lift, though, for sure." The doctor smiles, "Help me with our friend here, we'll get him back in your car."

This said, Hiller prepares to leave without further words. She picks up everything she brought to the place. Then she drives her Honda closer to the garage and lifts the body back onto the co-driver seat, together with Angela. Finally, she prepares to enter her car on the porch/driveway. One leg already inside, she gives a sloppy salute and a brief nod as a goddbye. And unless Angela has something else to say, she would leave the place, heading to the east.

Angela's got nothing more to add, she just sets to work cleaning up the back of her truck, if need be, with some SoyBleach and SoyCloth. Well, cleaning chemicals and a disposable shammy. The half-salute is returned, what little there is of it, of course, but she doesn't watch Hiller drive away.

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