sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Ravi Chakrabarti
WHERE: Hospital
WHEN: April 22
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: General illness/unhappiness of digestion
STATUS: Open!

Ravi hates everything.

No, that's too kind. Ravi loathes everything with the fires of hell layered upon teenybopper performances and CDC-firing bosses on top of that. Ever since he'd woken up from the morning after the feast, he's felt sort of off. Then, this morning, 'off' became the fiery guts of Dante's circles of hell, at least four through seven. He's trudged to the hospital on the auspices that he might work, but truthfully, as soon as he's arrived, he collapses face down on the nearest bed and manages to groan. Even that ends up hurting his body, peering out through blurry vision at a shape that seems to be coming in the door.

What he hasn't actually noticed is the rash, mainly because he's been so occupied with feeling miserable. He turns onto his back and stares at the too-bright ceiling, squinting as he drapes his arm over his eyes, wishing death upon himself.

"Why?" he complains, searching for something to drink because he doesn't even know what would make him feel better. He doesn't even know what it is, because this has no hallmark of food poisoning and he doesn't think this is a disease that he's seen before. Or maybe it is and he's just too discombobulated to actually tell what's going on.

He stares at the person, squinting and reaching out with a needy hand. "Please tell me you've come to put me out of my misery," he pleads.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"That's probably why it feels swollen," Beverly comments, barely looking up from her work. Her lips curl upwards with amusement, though. She likes Ravi normally, but this is almost hilarious.

"You did? How'd you manage that?" It almost sounds like the time Beverly had pioneered the techniques to return someone from their life as a Borg drone. If she had the right equipment, she could do it again easily. Well, maybe not easily but she could do it. Here, though? She doesn't expect to ever get that equipment and the surgery is delicate enough with it. She isn't sure she would dare try without.

So if a Borg drone ever turns up, they might be in deep trouble.

"It's still a work in progress, the cure doesn't work permanently. The subjects re-zombify unless you give them an additional cure, but that one causes memory loss," he rambles. "The initial change was biochemistry, tainted drugs mixing with an amped up energy drink that caused...well, it caused Night of the Living Dead," he rambles, reaching up to touch his tongue every once in a while, like he can't exactly believe that it's dry until he checks it, then understands yes, it's dry as he remembers.

"So it was just reverse-engineering the effects using similar ingredients and a lot of lab rats. Rat labs?" he squints. "Rat labs," he says confidently, through his cooked brain.

"That sounds familiar," she comments, doing her best not to laugh at the 'rat labs' part. He really is well and truly fried. Hopefully she can find a cure for this or she might start worrying about the permanent state of his mental faculties.

She had, after all, needed to learn the cybernetic ins and outs of the Borg drones in order to turn Locutus back to Jean-Luc. Many of those implants could never be removed, not without killing the patient, but she had done enough to save him and return him to the person he should be. Not a drone. She can still remember seeing him as a drone, turning that corner inside the cube to see him at the end of the corridor. The eye. The cybernetic implants across his face. Knowing, knowing, that he no longer was her best friend and captain. That he was likely lost forever. That his body would still function, but his mind was long gone.

A shiver runs down her spine that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

"Here, I think I've got something. Can you sit up for a few minutes so we can look at this?"

It's nothing, really. She doesn't have a cure or even a real reason why he's feeling like this, but she wants to focus on something that isn't the Borg. Or zombies. And maybe with two sets of eyes, even if one of them is a little off right now, they can come up with something.

Ravi grimaces at the question, but he thinks that if he doesn't, it's only going to get worse. He can practically feel his brain cooking and every moment that passes with him not getting the temperature down is a minute spent worrying about the damage it's doing. Well, it would be, but the fever is making him a touch stupid.

He nods, swallowing with a great deal of effort, and trying to take his mind off it. "What did you find?"[ ]

Beverly will worry about his fever enough for the both of them. She shifts to help him see what she's got. "Well, it's not much--" But it's better than worrying about zombies and the Borg, that's for sure.

Edited 2017-05-23 02:10 (UTC)