So Prepare



Scene Title So Prepare
Synopsis Zachery comes home from a day at work, decides to sort some things.
Date June 18, 2019

Back room of the Dirty Pool Pub

Entering this space from the pub almost feels like stepping into a different building entirely, though the unapologetically barebones concrete floor remains a throughline. The room is separated from the pub by an extraordinarily thick layer of white drywall, which extends several inches past the doorway. Entering, it gives off the impression of of a smallish doctor's office, if a doctor's office could be very, very tired.

A ceiling light bathes a hard steel and teal operating table in the middle of the room in cold, fluorescent light. It is the newest looking thing in here; Everything else seems to have taken a beating at some point, even if it does look, generally, spotless. A long, grey leather couch stands in the far end of the room, next to a stainless (but not scratchless) countertop with a large, embedded sink. Four white metal cabinets, all of different build and make, stand sandwiching a small fridge that drones a quiet thrum out into the rest of the room. A small, portable radio stands atop it, its even smaller LCD display showing the time.

With no windows to open, and only a small vent up over a bathroom door for airflow, the smell in here is overwhelmingly one of bleach and disinfectant.

"You always take on too much at a time."

This is surmised, by Zachery, from within the sound-proofed room at the back of the Dirty Pool Pub. He slides a box of antibiotics - past the date - onto the operating table in the room's center and against the large pile of boxes and small bottles already present atop of it. Without even thinking about it, he's arranged it all neatly enough to likely do the creator of Tetris proud.

"Why do you always do this?" He asks tersely, and waits, but there is no answer. "Focus."

He turns, first to a sheet of paper and a pen atop a white metal cabinet nestled against the wall behind him, scribbling something down, and then turns his attention down to the cabinet itself. It's empty now, as are the two cabinets on the other side of the room. Time to move onto the last one. With the screech of metal quite in need of oil, he pulls it open with far more energy than required, then jerks his hand back with a start. It takes several seconds before blood escapes a pale, clean cut across his palm. Not enough to drip, but enough to sting.

He breathes. Stares at his palm. Then breathes some more.

"This time is different, though. They're very good. They make…" He falls silent, bringing his hand up to the right side of his face so he can look at the cut more closely, "… No allusions. This makes them possibly much more dangerous. And they're trying to drag you in."

His hand closes, fingers curling inward. The pressure forces a drop of blood out from under them, trailing a path down past his wrist. Correction: "They're dragging you in."

"You can't pretend as well as you think you can. Already, Nicole is a drain on your defenses. You're not prepared for this." Sounds… defeated.

"So prepare."

The next thing he sees is still his fist. Except the blood has dried. He's sitting, back against the wall, on the floor, surrounded by brown glass shards, spilled liquids, medicine boxes and pulled over cabinets.

He breathes some more. More heavily than before. He reaches to rub at his throat - when did that start hurting? - with freshly scuffed knuckles.

The next thing he knows, he's got his phone pressed against the side of his head. A voice rings out from the other end of the line, but it takes him a moment to register the words spoken.

When he finally manages a reply, his voice is raw, but tone collected. "Hello, is this Dr. Farkas' office? I'd like to make an appointment."

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