Participants:
Also Featuring:
| Scene Title | Daidō Shōi, Part V |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | His name is not John Doe, but no one else is aware of that ugly truth. |
| Date | April 5, 2010 |
"His condition hasn't changed since he was brought here." A worried look from a young nurse standing in the doorway of Coler-Goldwater's H5N10 quarantine ward is afforded to the patient of room 216, one of many Evolved rounded up on the Roosevelt Island sweep for the infected, one of several who did not even have identifying documentation of their existence.
Out of sight of the patient, behind the nurse, the attendant physician for the quarantine area offers a slow shake of his head. "He's sedated at the moment," the doctor notes with a frown, brows furrowed and head shaking slowly. "We've treated the fever as best as we can, but he's one of the high risk patients. I know the hospital staff is pulled pretty thinly right now, but I'd like you to add him to your close watch list." The doctor's green eyes angle back towards the nurse as a sigh slips past his lips.
"Hopefully once the fever breaks he'll be lucid enough to tell us who he is. We sent his fingerprints off to be run, but the police are so bogged down with other casework it might take a while to get back any results." Glancing down to the nurse, the attendant doctor offers one more shake of his head and a sweep of his hand over the top of dark hair. "He's under observation with four others at the highest risk of fatality, I need you to keep a close eye on his temperature too, and if he wakes up see if you can get a name from him."
"Alright…" The nurse quietly murmurs, clutching her clipboard to her chest a bit tighter. Deeper into that room, laid out on the hospital bed and flat on his back, Hiro Nakamura — one of the nation's most wanted terrorists — rests right under the government's nose, sweat beading on his brow and face flushed from a fever that ravages his body. Helpless, stripped of his power and body unable to move, it is only a matter of time before his past catches up to him.
Standing silently in the corner of the hospital room, back to the wall and arms folded, a mirror of Hiro's own countenance stands in silent observation of the bedridden counterpart. Dark eyes are narrowed, brow furrowed and head tilted down as his gaze sweeps to the floor. Listening to the doctor and nurse talk, Hiro contemplates this predicament, looking towards the snow falling outside beyond the hospital windows, and staring far beyond that to something more distant and remote.
With a rush of air filling the void where his body once was, Hiro Nakamura disappears from the hospital room, disturbing only the curtains for the barest of moments, leaving the soft and rhythmic beep of the machines his counterpart is hooked up to reporting to an empty room and a dying man.
Sometimes, not interfering is harder than anything else.