A young green man in a labcoat waves her over - scarcely older than the oldest children affected by the disease - and to an open infant-sized oxygen chamber.
Selina looks at the young green man and then at the chamber. Normally there would be a flippant comment of some sort but not tonight. Tonight, she just heads over there and places Mary in carefully.
The door of the quarantine room slides open to admit Zauriel. The angel treads carefully and quietly, wings folded in close so as not to brush any equpment that might not take kindly to feathers.
"I'm here to help if I can," he says softly. "I have some ability to heal."
She's got a large carpetbag at her feet, and is cradling Cerdian in her arms, holding the little boy close. Lian is in a too-quiet, unresponsive slump next to her.
Full costume with mask, fur bristling. She is, quite literally, a mama bear with cubs.
On a bed off to one side lies a young girl, unconscious. Since being brought here by Dr Mid-Nite, Greta's vitals have slowly lowered closer and closer to the instrumentation's warning levels. Despite the oxygen mask over her face her breathing is labored, and has slowed for the last several minutes.
Without warning the monitor next to Greta begins beeping it's shrill note, and the frail blonde on the bed begins to convulse. A second later the monitor is dragged to the floor by her spasms, where it continues to give voice to Greta's distress. Greta herself adds to the noise, choking noises combining with wet rasps as her body continues trying to breathe in spite of the seizure.
Lyle's at her side in a moment, checking over the monitors. He pulls a subdermal injector from the small pouch he's carrying, giving Greta some anti-convulsive medication to ease the seizure.
"Brainy, we're going to lose this one." His voice is tinged with sadness, but layered with a controlled, clinical tone.
Greta's seizures quickly subside as she comes to rest askew on the bed, one foot dangling off the side. Her breathing returns to it's labored pace, but the monitor continues to show the degeneration of her body, which has already been weakened by one bout of flu less than a week before this. Her breathing, heart rate, and blood pressure would all be setting off the monitor if it hadn't been silenced by Fauna, and the steady descent of the readouts give mute testimony to the plague's speed.
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She doesn't want to let go of her.
"What can I do?"
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"I'm here to help if I can," he says softly. "I have some ability to heal."
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Full costume with mask, fur bristling. She is, quite literally, a mama bear with cubs.
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Talking is hard in this state. "Titan children."
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Without warning the monitor next to Greta begins beeping it's shrill note, and the frail blonde on the bed begins to convulse. A second later the monitor is dragged to the floor by her spasms, where it continues to give voice to Greta's distress. Greta herself adds to the noise, choking noises combining with wet rasps as her body continues trying to breathe in spite of the seizure.
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She's racing over, trying to make sure that nothing falls on her or gets pulled from the wall.
She knows first aid and folk medicine, but this is far beyond her.
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"Brainy, we're going to lose this one." His voice is tinged with sadness, but layered with a controlled, clinical tone.
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