ArchivedLogs:Implications

Implications
Dramatis Personae Rasheed, Sergio	2015-12-11 "I don't understand a lot of what has happened." (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location Mount Sinai Hospital - Traumatic Brain Injury Research Center
It has been several days since Tiffany Newetner's spontaneous recovery. Her doctors are still utterly perplexed by the sudden change, as improvement in cases of similar magnitude are all but unheard of. The patient in question has demonstrated no memory of her own identity or that of anyone close to her, but retains her motor memory. Through a slip of the tongue on Sergio's part, she does appear to have an accurate understanding of football rules and scoring, a subject which according to loved ones the young lady has historically shown no interest in at all. German, which Miss Newetner was said to be fluent in, registers no response whatsoever. However, she has exhibited fluency in American Sign Language like never before. She's shown all the heightened aggression and increased appetite of someone infected with the zombie virus despite the highly improbable likelihood of ever having been exposed. This accompanied with frequent loss of consciousness, particularly while executing expedited movement, has earned her a private room during the early stages of her recovery. Behind his new mask, Sergio keeps one eye trained to the wall-mounted hospital room television. His body jerks as players streak across the green stadium field and he holds back the urge to yell at them, which he's made the mistake of doing several times. To the pedestrian eye, Tiffany sits up in bed with her legs covered by thin hospital linens. Her healthy blonde hair is freshly brushed and hangs down over her shoulders. To her right and left are baskets of flowers and momentos meant to stir her memory: stuffed animals, rhinestone tiaras, a Miss Teen Something-or-Other sash, glittery two-tiered trophies, a flute, etc. The lunchtime meal has just come. Unaccustomed to the new body's finer details, the fledgeling telepath fails to idly peel open a cup of chocolate pudding. With a sigh of exasperation, he is forced to give the prepackaged dessert his full attention instead of the game. There's been a fair parade of medical personnel through here in the past few days, so it's not all that surprising to see one more, now, a previously unfamiliar face. Tall and bony, a haggard sort of gaunt to his expression; like many of the very overworked staff around here, Rasheed is a somewhat wilted reminder of the chaos still ongoing outside the hospital's walls. Dressed in rumpled dress shirt and slacks, ID clipped to one beltloop -- Dr. Rasheed Toure, it says, Neurology. In the ID picture, there is far less grey in his hair. A young woman is along with him; in jeans and black sweater, she has no ID badge. When Rasheed speaks, it is in Spanish. "{Good afternoon. I'm Dr. Toure, I'll be helping out on your team here. How are you feeling, today?}" The woman, shortly after he begins speaking, starts to interpret this into sign, hanging back a small way away from Sergio's bedside. Sergio's lack of familiarity with his new host also makes interpreting his motives quite an easy task. Written all over the teen girl's face is worry and concern, perhaps even coming off as mousy. Her blue eyes widen as they take in the doctor and his Spanish, before turning to follow his translator's hands. 'Hello,' Sergio replies after a moment's hesitation over setting down the pudding cup, 'I'm well.' And then a quickly added, 'Thank you.' Rasheed's answer comes shortly after the interpreter voices Sergio's words in Spanish. "{I'm glad to hear. You've certainly given a lot of people a surprise. Which is -- these days,}" there's a ghost of smile that passes over his face. Thin, though, and brief, "{-- people could use a dose of good news.}" He glances from the girl's face to the television, and then back. "{I'm not sure exactly how much, yet, you've been filled in on the current state of affairs. Your bloodwork has come back, though, and your tests were positive for the pathogen that has been causing the undead plague. I'm going to be adding treatment for that to your daily regimen.}" There is a flicker of grim comprehension behind the girlish facade, and Sergio takes this opportunity to blink those large, soft eyes. The man's smile does not elicit one in return, at least not where the good news is concerned. The girl nods, as if to confirm her awareness of the state of things. 'What if-' Sergio hesitates, navigating how /not/ to reveal too much but also, save himself, '-it doesn't work?' "{Without effective treatment, the disease is terminal.}" Rasheed's voice is quiet, but matter-of-fact. "{The strain that you have contracted was until recently not treatable by any medication. A team I have been working with has, though, just developed a drug that has been successful in curing the resistant strain. Its side effects are harsh, but -- less so than the alternative.}" His eyes stay steady on Sergio's borrowed face. "{You are aware, I gather --}" Now he's flicked a brief glance to their interpreter, and back, "{of how this disease is spread? Can you think of any way you might have contracted it? Your presentation is -- somewhat unusual.}" Relief washes over Sergio's face, spreading down into the girl's posture. It's treatable. The resistant strain is treatable. Numbly, the telepath gives the tiniest of headshakes. Hesitating, those blue eyes drift along the hospital room. 'Through English?' The girl appears to look down at her own body, her arms and hands before turning her attention back to Dr. Toure and his translator earnestly, 'I don't understand a lot of what has happened.' It's not a lie, necessarily. She fights back tears, though whether anyone could identify them as tears of guilt... 'They-' Sergio side-eyes to the door, as if not wanting to be overheard despite the use of Sign Language which the two strangers outside have made it exceedingly clear they do not comprehend, 'Parents said they think it was a telepath? That's why I was asleep?' And why this was the perfect empty human shell. "{Yes, your previous condition -- bore many signs of telepathic intrusion,}" Rasheed agrees with a small tip of his head. His hands fold behind his back, posture straightening just a tiny bit out of his habitual stoop-shouldered slouch. "{The disease is spread through English, yes. But as far as we can tell, it has up until now exclusively been spread by two-way communication. If a telepath managed to infect you while unconscious --}" A furrow creases his brow, deep, brief, then vanishes. "{Well. That has serious implications for what we know about transmission. The danger posed by those with psionic powers --}" He draws in a breath, his eyes closing briefly and then opening. "{I'm sorry that this happened to you, regardless. We'll take the best care of you that we can.}" Forced to look away, Sergio fights back the quick, rough breathing that often accompanies the onset of true sobs. Overwhelmed by the implications of his own power, and what he's done to this innocent girl to survive, he's hard-pressed not to break down right there. The girl turns over onto her side and shows Rasheed the back of her head. "{We're going to need to bring you in for more testing, shortly.}" There's a quiet hint of regret in Rasheed's tone. "{But that can wait. For now, rest. A nurse will be by later to get you started with your treatment.}" For a moment he hesitates, mouth half-opened on the verge of saying something more and his dark eyes fixed on the side of the girl's head. But ultimately he just draws in a deep breath and turns from the bedside, hands clenched tight behind his back. Rolling back over, Sergio turns to watch the translator's hands. Eyes swollen, he musters up what strength and Spanish he has, "{Thank you.}" The voice that comes out of him isn't his own, but an artless, female one. His eyes widen with a brief flicker of surprise, and he brings up a dainty hand to touch the new throat. Gulping down his tears, he trains his eyes to Rasheed and searches the man's face. Repeating himself, this time his voice fades into something resembling a whisper, "{Thank you.}"