This is pure unbridled mind vomit that had to get out.

Chapter 1

There was a blinding pain in his lower leg and he vaguely remembered Poe, the free man, the troublemaker, driving the sharp end of a broken stick through his shin and calf. His entire body felt on fire, it had been through quite a lot and not even Cyrus the Virus could handle all of this abuse. He didn't know where he was, but he was aware he was somewhere quiet and comfortable. His battered body laid to rest in a comfortable bed, too comfortable for it to belong in prison, or even a prison hospital ward. He must have had produced some sort of sound, because the reply that came was a soothing voice telling him to calm down and rest. Someone was touching him, and even though it didn't hurt, he tried to avoid the gentle hand. He wasn't keen on being touched. His father used to beat him senseless when he was just a little boy, and his mother, too drunk and hooked on crack to even notice, did nothing to protect her young son.

The hand on his forehead disappeared and was replaced by two hands touching his painful leg, causing him to squirm. Someone was hurting him and he wanted that someone to go away and leave him the fuck alone, but the voice returned, now clear. "Easy, easy, Cyrus. Calm down. I'm trying to help you" A woman? There was a woman touching him? Whatever, woman or not, unhand me. He thought. Get your fucking hands off me, he continued squirming after a moment of confusion. "Don't fight me, I'm not trying to hurt you. You're shivering.." a soft blanket was placed over him and only now he noticed he was cold.

"Get.. away from.. me" he managed to rasp, trying to sound as angry as possible. But the hands continued, unwrapping his leg, cleaning the wound with a biting substance and rewrapping it in clean, cool band aid. The woman didn't answer, simply continued cleaning his wounds and placing a cool, wet cloth on his sweaty forehead. It made him shiver even more and he closed his eyes to the fevered sensations that shocked his already weakened system. "Sleep, Cyrus. You need to rest, or you will die." The woman spoke. "Am I not dead? It feels like I'm dead. It feels like I'm in hell" he mumbled, his head going from side to side in everlasting restlessness, never at peace, never relaxed.

"You're not in hell.. " she answered, placing a warm hand on his freezing shoulder. Her touch hurt, his shoulder was too bruised up and he growled in pain. "I'm sorry. I will tend to your bruises in a moment. Your leg needed to be treated first. Rest, Cyrus, all will be well" she said. He concentrated on his breathing while she tended to his injuries, staring at the white ceiling. He slowly became more aware of his surroundings. His attention was drawn to his right side, where a machine announced his heart rate with a soft, rhythmical beep. He listened to it for a few minutes, as it slowly calmed down. "Your heart is fine" the woman spoke, her face coming into view as she hovered over him to refresh the cloth on his brow. "It's just a precaution. You've been on it for the past few hours, I'll disconnect you in an hour or so if it keeps beating this beautifully" she was young, too young, to be tending to a murdering bandit like him, he thought. Whoever put her in charge of such a dangerous and ridiculous task deserved a good beating.

"Now tell me, Cyrus. I need to know this, do you feel pain anywhere else but your leg and head?" her question brought him out of his thoughts and he tried to lock eyes with her, but her image was still fuzzy and trying to focus hurt his head. There was no use playing the tough guy right now, she was trying to help him, and help he needed, he knew that much. "Breathing.." he answered, swallowing thickly. She nodded in understanding. "You hit electricity wire during your fall off the crane. It's possible your lungs got a little fried, it'll pass in a few days. Let me know if you have any real trouble breathing, I'll give you some oxygen" she sounded like a doctor. But not a prison doctor, they were never this careful with him, and they were hardly ever young females.

He felt a short, sharp sting in his arm and moved his head to see what she was doing. "it's alright" she said, holding an empty syringe. "It's for the pain. Try to get some sleep, are you warm enough?" he was still shivering, but didn't feel cold so he nodded and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and with no other men around, he felt like he could relax and sleep for a little bit, maybe half an hour. What could happen in half an hour that he needed to be awake for? The woman continued soothing him with words of comfort, atleast she wasn't going to do him any harm. He drifted off to sleep listening to her calming voice.

"when will he be fit for travel? He doesn't seem to be very gravely injured, does he?"

A male voice disturbed Cyrus in his much needed sleep and he frowned, not willing to wake up yet. His body felt sore, but the bed was comfortable and he was feeling warm. There was no way he was going to open his eyes right now. Vaguely, he heard his heart monitor beeping up a storm at the tension the male voice caused.

"He's waking up.." the voice said.

"You need to leave. He needs to rest." That voice he recognized, it was hers. He opened one eye when he heard a door slam shut. The man was gone and the heart monitor calmed down again. "I know you're awake, Cyrus. That was marshal Larkin coming to check up on me" she said leaning over him and adjusting the covers on his bed. So the authorities knew where he was, splendid. That meant he needed to get away from his place as soon as possible. His opened eye jumped through the dim bedroom, looking for an exit or escape route, there was a window on his right side that looked out on the many lights in down town Las Vegas.

She finally had enough of the heart monitor announcing the man in the bed was having a slight panic attack and turned it off, removing the pads on his chest carefully. "How are you feeling?" she asked simply, waiting for his reply. Still looking around the room, he was distracted. "I'm okay" he mumbled, trying to sit up. His body protested in every way possible, feeling muscles ache he never even knew he possessed. The room was spinning in front of his eyes and he felt like he was going to be sick, but she was there at his side, placing a cup of water in his hand. "Drink" she said.

He did as he was told, something very unlike him. But what of it? She was helping him, and even though that was hard to imagine for him, he was willing to accept it while he still needed her aid. Someone probably paid her a shitload of money to take care of his sorry ass. Maybe Larkin himself, he seemed to be a goody two shoes now more than ever, perhaps he thought that a pretty little nurse was just the thing to lift the Virus' spirits. He snorted at the idea, sipping the cup of water rather gratefully, he was thirsty but hadn't realized it before. He blinked when she came into view, now finally able to make out her features more clearly.

She really was a pretty young nurse, or whatever she did for a living, coddling convicts if that was a real profession. "You gonna throw up?" she asked, her hands in her sides. "In a moment, probably" he answered matter of factly. She placed a large metal bowl in his lap when he started sweating and swallowing nervously and looked at him sympathetically when he emptied the contents of his stomach in the surgical bowl. He rested his forehead in his hand to catch his breath when he was done and didn't even notice when she removed the bowl and left to clean it. "The last time I felt this dreadful, stomach flu was going rapid in prison, one by one they fell. I had it too, felt like I threw up my entire digestive system" he said. She placed the clean bowl on his side table and gently guided him to lay down again, placing a cool, wet cloth on his forehead like she had done before.

"I can't imagine what it would be like to be sick in prison" she said, dabbing his sweated face. "Pretty unfair, actually. You're already serving time for what you did by just being there every day for years. And on top of that you have to feel like utter shit too" he explained, gazing at the ceiling. "Did they come to help you?" her question was of an innocence he hadn't seen in years and it almost made him chuckle. "I believe they gave me aspirin for my sore abdomen the morning after" she nodded, atleast that had been a good thing. "But they had to send a doctor to me anyway because the fever had cooled me down so much, I was freezing to death right there in my cell. I remember asking a guard for an extra blanket, but that request was ignored unfortunately" he continued, not feeling sorry for himself, simply telling her what happened to convicts if they fell ill. Then again, he didn't know how objective his story was, the guards treated him extremely bad, worse than others.

"Let me know when you need an extra blanket" she said simply, smiling down at him. He was silenced by her kindness, not familiar with it, he had been in a rough environment for so many years. He hardly knew what to do when someone was just simply being nice to him. He nodded, awkwardly and turned on his side to make himself comfortable, his stomach protesting at the movement. He fell asleep listening to the rain outside.