Doctor's Log.

Prolouge

Laying there, each breath I drew felt like it was going to be my last, and that scared the absolute Hell out of me. With each breath, I felt a searing pain of white hot fire go from the left side of my chest, arching its way up to my brain. With one gasp, I felt somethung fall to the back of my throat, and I rolled over, coughing out a mass of blood and teeth.  As the mental haze cleared, I tried to get my feet under me, and I failed miserably at that. I can't even do that right! Son of a Bitch!

I lamented over my shame and misfortune of not being able to pull my legs under me when reality set in, hitting me like a ninja with a 2x4: I was locked in a room, beaten to a bloody pulp, all because we wanted to go and play super...Oh crap.  I whipped my head around, scanning the room for his body when I saw a large animal cage in the corner.  I reached down with a shaking hand, grabbing my semi-auto pistol.  I wracked it back, looking back at the metal door that held a very tiny window...that was spattered in blood.  I army crawled myself towards the cage, not caring if someone was watching me or not...I had to see what was in that cage.

As I reached the cage, all I could see was a mass of hair...or fur. I hesitated slightly, afraid of reaching my hand in, fearing I'd pull back a bloody nub.  Gingerly, I reached in with my gun, tapping the bars, hoping that just tapping would make any unwelcome suprise make a noise.  I tapped the metal floor several times, and when I was assured that whatever it was wasn't going to rip my throat out, I reached in with a hand to feel the plot of hair.  I touched it, and was relieved to feel that it was human, but it was hard, like it was crusted over.  Running my fingers through, I cracked through a shell that now, I wished was only hair-gel...but the acrid smell of sweet, sticky iron wafted through my nose, and I realized with horror, that it was who I was looking for.

Reaching through, I felt cold, clammy flesh, and I slapped it vigorously, my voice coming out as a harsh whisper.  "Jon...?"

A fountain of blood erupted from his mouth, followed by a small groan.  I patted his face again, trying to raise my voice.

"Jon...hey...come on...wake up!"

"Claire?" came a harsh, disembodied voice.  I cupped his cheek in my hand, laughing quietly, "No...It's Ang...come on...quit playing around."

His jaw went slack in my hand, and I felt the pulse at his neck flutter away to nearly unpalpatable.  My eyes went wide, and I grabbed a hold of the bars, dropping my gun, and I shook them violently, screaming his name until I was hoarse, but all I did was shake the cage until he rolled to his back, and I saw what they did to him; blood made him nearly unrecognizeable, same with the large goose-eggs that were forming.  His eyes were two black golf balls, and the trickle of blood never stopped oozing from his nose, ears and mouth. I watched for the bubbles, and I counted... nine a minute...  Suddenly, the absolute, deafening silence of the room was broken by the click-clack of a pump action shot gun.

I flipped over wildly, my back up against the front of the cage. I grabbed my gun, fumbling for my badge as well, all the while praying that Jon didn't make a noise.  The one time I wanted someone so badly injured to not make a sound, I was almost assured he would.

"Identify yourself." Spoke the mysterious shadow.  He was shrouded by the garish light that filtered in the door behind him.  I knew I couldn't even pretend to make a description of him later.  All I would be able to say was, 'Big, Imposing man with a very large gun'.

"I...I'm..." I was wracked by a coughing fit, coughing up several tons of blood.  I felt my heart rate sky-rocket, while I started feeling like I was sitting on a spinning top.  I heard my voice slurr out a rather cocky statement, especially from someone who was as injured as I was.

"I'm not gunna tell you who the hell I am...besides, it's a federal offense to mess with someone like me..."

"Oh?"

"Yeah...judges don't take too kindly to meat-heads who haven't passed the third grade beating up a Doctor who's also a SWAT Medic...so take that Tiny!"  I threw my badge at him, and it sounded with a thud as it hit his tree trunk of a torso.  A laugh began to form in my throat, but it came out sounding like someone who was gargling mouth-wash and a mouthfull of marbles.  The mysterious person cocked his head to the side, and he bent down to pick up the badge.  I was slightly disheartened by the fact that he didn't bite it to see if it was real.

"Alright...I found them..." Said the tall, still very scary looking stranger.  Flash lights filled the room, and I grabbed my gun, pointing them out at the dancing lights which were starting to look more like dancing fireflies.

"Come one step closer, and I'll start blowing body parts off..."

The threat had nothing to back it, and I knew it, but I was praying to everything that they didn't know that.  I started seeing black spots, and the room began to close in on me.

"Someone want to stop those damn walls...please?"

A chuckle was heard from Tiny, and a flashlight sweeping over his face gave me a slight hint to his identity.

"Dude..."  I began to lay down on the floor, resigning myself to the fact I was going to die, right here, right now. "Max...get me out of here...by the way, Jon's in there..."  I gestured with my gun to the cage behind me.  I lost conciousness, regaining it every few minutes to lose it again.  I saw the Investigators with their cameras swooping down to take pictures of the scene, I felt the minor prick pierce the skin of my left arm, and a warm, flooding sensation filled my body.  The other medics rolled me over on my back, making short work of my clothing with their Trauma Shears, while I looked up into the eyes of a hardened police seargent who was given the task of sitting at my head, blowing oxygen into my lungs with an Ambu-Bag; that first true breath of air sent me into spasms, and he leaned down, whispering in my ear as he would do to his own children.

"Ang...relax my dear, please..." I felt a soft, warm hand touch my forehead, tenderly brushing whisps of hair off my forehead.  His hand was c-clamped around my jaw and the mask, and he managed to deliver each breath by squeezing the bag between his arm and his body.  The first few hits of oxygen reached my brain, re-energizing what was not shut down by my bodys' defenses.  I suddenly got a bit of fight in me, and I clawed at the mask, trying to scream that I couldn't breathe.

"Ang...please...relax my dear..."  He then began to whisper softly, so softly in fact that I had to stop fighting and listen to him.  I remembered doing the same thing to many a patients when they fought this very same mask.  He whispered encouragements to me, praising me for every acheivement; not killing the Medics when they started a very painful line in my other arm, reminding me to let go of my gun...you know...supportive stuff.  I looked up into his eyes, trying to remember him.  He was the reason I got into this mess; because of him, I wanted to be a SWAT Medic, he trained me harder than he trained the boys, and in a very odd sort of way, treated me as he would've treated his own flesh and blood.

"I'm sorry baby girl..."  I looked at him, fear in my eyes, "I gotta go find who did this to you...they're gonna take good care of you..."  With that, he handed off the green bag to a female EMT, who had obviously never done anything more than put a bandaid on someone.  Sgt. Gregg went over how to use the bag, and patted her on the shoulder.  I heard him say something about, 'Yeah...I know it's your first time...'  With that, I reached back, patted the EMT's leg, and I pulled the mask off long enough to speak with her.

"When this is over...come and do time in the ER...It's me, Dr. Trommashere."  With that, I closed my eyes, and I let my body go, knowing it was going to be in good hands...