001: [holo] a rude awakening
One moment Alex had been lying on the ground in a London street, the searing pain of a bullet eating through her gut as she felt the life draining out of her, the world fading to white before her eyes, her colleagues- Gene, Chris... all of them, staring down at her, hopelessly immobile.
The next, she finds herself cold and very much conscious, lying on the floor in a metal room she doesn't recognize. She sits herself up, bewildered, before checking her stomach, almost in a daze. Finding no trace of a bullet wound, she totters to her feet, reaching out to touch the smooth walls, solid and real.
"No... no, this isn't-- I was supposed to go home, this isn't-- this can't be the hospital. Am I dead?" She mutters to herself, turning in circles on the platform, before raising her voice to address no-one. Or anyone that might be listening.
"Is anyone there? Is it still 1982?" It certainly didn't look like it, she thought, continuing regardless. "Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?"
Her voice echoes into nothing, and as confusion is rapidly turning into 'pissed off', she turns to practical matters, her eyes scanning the room and lighting upon the tablet. She picks it up, warily poking at it, and adding, loudly and with a good amount of reproach:
"Because if it is, the pearly gates leave a lot to be desired-- and Saint Peter's a lazy sod."
The next, she finds herself cold and very much conscious, lying on the floor in a metal room she doesn't recognize. She sits herself up, bewildered, before checking her stomach, almost in a daze. Finding no trace of a bullet wound, she totters to her feet, reaching out to touch the smooth walls, solid and real.
"No... no, this isn't-- I was supposed to go home, this isn't-- this can't be the hospital. Am I dead?" She mutters to herself, turning in circles on the platform, before raising her voice to address no-one. Or anyone that might be listening.
"Is anyone there? Is it still 1982?" It certainly didn't look like it, she thought, continuing regardless. "Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?"
Her voice echoes into nothing, and as confusion is rapidly turning into 'pissed off', she turns to practical matters, her eyes scanning the room and lighting upon the tablet. She picks it up, warily poking at it, and adding, loudly and with a good amount of reproach:
"Because if it is, the pearly gates leave a lot to be desired-- and Saint Peter's a lazy sod."