A/N

It's been around 3 years since I last updated this story. This update is rather small, and it's only because this is the part of the chapter I had finished in 2014 but never uploaded. There is one more scene that I'm supposed to include at the end of this chapter, and you'll notice me trying to cram in 500 words there after not writing here for 3 years, ahah.

This is a rather heavy chapter nevertheless, so if you haven't been recently caught up on the story, now is probably a good time. I don't expect myself to continue this series unless I get people demanding it from me.

And as usual, forgive any typos. ;a;

12_The_Decoy_

It would take centuries for most to think that Resurgam First Care's Chief Surgeon, a leader of indisputable probity, was paranormal. But for Dr. Gabriel Cunningham, he could tell the moment he entered this joint.

To Hank, Tomoe, and all the other aspiring physicians around, Chief Patel responsibly handles her end of the management from the office desk. As a person, people were fully aware of her protective and supportive mannerisms on the job. Then as a person-person, she had her own dealings with family to wrap up. No matter how much makeup or paperwork was on her, that sensitive, motherly vibe around her still sustained.

With that sorted out, the commonly superstitious diagnostician raised one argument. "How on earth did you find a replacement..?" His impression of Esha from 'typical supervisor' to 'freaky landlady' would forever remain at a midpoint, but the fact that this self-proclaimed 'miracle-worker' just shifted all of the specialist's duties over to a newcomer was extremely discomforting. Sure, the woman had her resources and contacts spanning to God knows where; however when the staff and himself stood in the conference room for ten excruciating minutes expecting to pick up the fugitive's workload, (Oh yeah, he did fail to add 'tardiness' to his summary of the dear Chief.) you're not supposed to make a happy-go-lucky entrance claiming...you just hired a sub.

"Chill out, Gabe, I got it all under control." His boss gruntled back before echoing her first message to the rest of the personnel shooting awestruck faces across the mahogany, paperless table, "So what I was saying was: I found an experienced surgeon to oversee operations the kid left behind...at least for this week." Before the warden could bring forth any details, the astonishment from the audience diluted into deplored frowns. Every aspect of their surroundings felt normal, yet the emotional backlash from yesterday necessitated a short silence.

Mentally grunting from the corner nearest to the exit, Gabriel took note about the expensive bouquet of flowers placed in the middle by Dr. Tachibana as some commemorative centerpiece. The eye-catching asceplias and lilies weren't going to restore how everything once was. Frankly, those flora could be mistaken for funeral decor with that porcelain pot. No offense— the endoscopic doctor's thoughtful embellishment really didn't help much.

Right beside the Japanese surgeon sat a downcast Dr. Freebird, who normally disliked wasting time in a chair during work hours except for reviewing operation documents. This big guy, best associated with the bandwagon of optimists, struggled to keep himself from viewing today's dinner plans as an escape from his career. Maybe that destructive storm last night stole more sleep from him than he predicted...not that he had forgotten the events before then.

Evidently, the hospital was already spiraling way past the depths of despair. By the time Maria Torres came to save the day, she was literally late.

Having sacrificed her motorcycle to an unknown cause, the paramedic resorted to other mediums of transportation, may it be the dreadful bus or a borrowed ambulance. Nevertheless, when she walked into to the morning assembly, most figured her ride was broken or, if the depression stigma got to her, reluctance to show up delayed her. When the woman elbowed her way to her normal spot, she didn't bother with the excuses nor the apology.

Her staff in shambles, Chief Patel avoided poking at the EMT's delinquent arrival.

Regrettably, Dr. Torres' mood had been soured by something else earlier; the man with a coffee mug detected so from a few feet away. Although Lady Spitfire didn't totally 'blow' to the point of hammering surfaces with her hands, that livid roar of hers never changed. "Chief, prisoner or not, that idiot can't tell everyone he's dead!" Secretly, the truth of why the first responder was last to turn up, laid in the breaking news.

Not caught up in the current events without Hanzou's notifications, Tomoe lowered her purple eyes in shame. If only her butler sent her word of this apparent controversy, then she could fathom what Maria was speaking of. "What do you mean?" Her question overlapped the giant's, who also missed out what television had to inform. Opposite of those two, Gabriel was made fully aware thanks to RONI, who had to turn on by herself when he unlocked his office...the hubbub on the daily newspapers got him in on the info, too. After himself were the clueless nurses and stressed ringleader of them all.

Verbal interpretation was all that was offered by the diagnostician, who seldom appreciated RONI's presentations just because of her voice and lucid observations. "Since Esha won't say anything, I guess I should." The informant purposely targeted the manager with his crusty manner, proceeding nonetheless, "Instead of pronouncing the kid as retained, the detective-moron made up some story about him being gunned down on escape... And then our lovely Chief had no comment." The exaggeration of his boss was too subtle in comparison to the actual headliner.

Not only was everything around them not making sense, even law became distorted. Strangely, Dr. Cunningham had no qualms with it: America's federals dealt with this just as well as he half-assed through his own crappy life. And the only one to stir up a fuss about those was none other than...

"You can't just lie to everyone like that!" The temperamentally outgoing paramedic. Her tendency to let her thoughts flow out of her lips was pretty much a perfected art— especially when it came to the rights of that surgeon she well-respected. "What's supposed to happen when he come back?!" Her female colleagues harmoniously called out to her, but they couldn't prevent what would was said next by Gabriel.

"'Was hoping that you realize there's no way they're letting him back here...Bet they'll just throw him back in the icebox or..."

"Enough! Both of you can settle this someplace else." At the limits of her tolerance with the pugnacious pair and the proliferating negativity, Chief Patel silenced the room with her own diminished authority. Particularly on bad terms with the rehired employee, she passively titled the him the scapegoat when she boiled the purpose of the meeting down, "Gabe, the stand-in will show up at your office in a hour; give her the basic rundown and attend the first operation. "

She didn't walk through any more of the duty and briskly shoved papers into his face, enough worthy of being his punishment.

Already fed up of competing with the ladies, the diagnostician wordlessly fled, knowing Esha could, and would, overwork him if he lingered. Not long after he was out and playing errand boy, the other doctors sequentially left, making the most with the rest of their careers, so they hoped. Funny how the 'Master of Deduction's' uncompleted statement still rang in their heads.

His life was complicated to begin with. But even so, he normally had some rational process all thought out to respond to the unseen variables ahead of him.

Unfortunately, his year of redemption ran into major complications only in the first week. That methodical mentality he prepared to ease through his residency at the hospital was no longer of any use.

CR-SO1 wasn't sure how to react to his faze that Sunday morning. Everything that encompassed him was foreign to the equation of how it was supposed to be. Just now, he shut the door to a dormitory incredibly emptier than the one from Resurgam:

It contained a plain bed, newly-sheeted last night, as well as a window whose drapery he neglected to utilize despite the storm's disturbances. There was a wooden bed-stand where he found the extra change of clothes (oddly, they weren't too different from what he wore when he arrived), and some unembellished, unfolded quilts on both the bunk as well as in the carpeted corner beside the pane. It was unnecessary to mind the room any further.

While hazily walking through the vanilla-chocolate wallpapered halls, it struck to him that even under some kind of house arrest, he still woke up in correspondence to the short-lived schedule with early morning assemblies. Though he didn't rival the times of the next-door children; they probably horsed around beyond the slits of doorways he passed by. When he reached the upper mouth of the stairs, he recalled the image and monologue of that blonde from before.

Perhaps it was a combination of hunger pangs and a thirst for information that created the illusion of a dining table already set up for a drawn-out conversation. Instead, the outsider ended up following some busy woman in a blue dress proceeding to another part of the building, who he discovered, once he passed over the mess hall and it's leftover plates, was the housekeeper.

"Took you long enough... breakfast was really getting cold." Out of the three people he spotted while stumbling upon a kitchen, none of them was the one he was acquainted with the most. Two were familiar only since yesterday:

The kept woman with the eye-patch, Candice, if memory was correct, was settled on the opposite end of a smaller table, a hand comfortably on a mug of coffee and a hand with some daily newspapers—she was the one that grouchily spoke seconds ago. Impatiently forking a stack of pancakes already divided into fourths, her expression and consumption was hidden behind gray walls of text. The specialist intended to take the seat in front of her, the remaining, unattended spot with where food was served...but he took the time to analyze the rest of his new surroundings.

The other individual he vaguely remembered was the one he pursued prior to entering the orphanage's disproportionally miniature kitchen. Cluttered with dishes at the sink, she appeared ignorant of his presence. "Good morning." Her voice was stressed, unlike the indifferent tone from the undesirable weather on their first meeting. She was Elise; although the man rarely needed to refer to names, hers wasn't extremely difficult to recall. Minding the chores more than anything else, her involvement with him was rather minor.

"Wow, Candice." The new face, the closest and appearing the most mature, was a dusty-white haired female helping herself to a glass of milk. Idly leaning on the fridge, she couldn't help but peer at the outsider's borrowed clothes with misty yet amused eyes. "I think it's a perfect fit." She even attempted to tug at a section of his sleeve before he broke away and slid into the arranged chair— his impression of her was off to a bad start.

"Yes it is..." With a downward motion with the newspapers, the blonde could affirm that with her own eye. A smug grin was on her lips at the sight of the modest, apologetic frown of the critiquing friend, but a grunt followed upon noticing the humiliation on the fugitive, who in her opinion, acted like an endangered animal in this circle of strangers. She disinterestedly allowed the daily news to naturally fold itself back up on the table before lightly bantering on the accomplishment, "Less than a decade with retail and a bit of digging through a closet was all it took."

Gazing upon a stack of lukewarm pancakes and some silverware, the surgeon soon was forgotten as much as the individual concentrating on scraping out a bowl. Putting the unwelcoming encounter aside, he moved on with both breakfast and readying his mess of questions. His chance was delayed when that third woman dropped her emptied cup into the sink-water and explained herself with a lingering impressed tone, "Sorry about that; I don't usually get to see her use the talents she gets from the boutique..."

Resting on the ledge of the counter, she flicked her bangs to the side, talking herself into introductions, "My name is Hope...uh... so..." After that embarrassing fashion close-up, the wrinkly khakis and cerulean top on herself highlighted her informality when compared to the other nicely-dressed people in the room. The urge to leave from the awkward scene overwhelmed her when the others casually resumed their activities, "You'll probably forget about me since I'm rarely here." Failing to get anyone to really notice, she gave in and sighed on her way out, "Okay, I get it... going to work!"

A hint of red could be seen on her pale cheeks when she bumbled out a goodbye to everyone, frustration at its peak when she called the doctor 'someone' on her way out. CR-SO1, still struggling to adapt to his actual name, found himself in a silent position for another few minutes as the remaining two added to the idle conversation. At best, his only conclusion drawn so far was that the meals at Resurgam and that prison had much to improve on.

"These many years as a waitress and yet her social skills today..." The other diner stated dispassionately as Elise removed the cleared plate from the tabletop. "Not looking too great." She didn't float around the topic very seriously, soon returning to the daily, which the convict soon realized, surrounded two large stories on the front. To his surprise, the cover and the main pages were abandoned on the table, she was reading something else located in the last few pages.

Through with rinsing, the second young adult gave herself a break by responding, "Maybe it's just the circumstances? Most of the guys don't check in until nighttime." Her burned-out composure was perhaps from whatever rush came with daybreak, a concept of this orphanage that eluded the guest. Instead of loading the dishwasher, she left the chinaware to dry itself on the side while selecting a roll of plastic wrap from an upper cabinet. "I'm going to package leftovers...excuse me." There wasn't a single sound between that and when she walked back to the mess hall.

The strength of the daylight from the blinds directed at the checkered floor as well as a distant thudding sound maybe from the residents above increased.

Besides those, nothing else occurred prior to the former doctor setting down his fork. But even then, Candice was probably too engrossed in some article to acknowledge so. Breaking the peace, his words were shaky at first, "So...why was I taken here? And for what?" He knew not of the motives that hid behind those cordial, complacent expressions; certainly these were purely pretense. "I don't see what there's...to gain." Worst possibility was that they asked for a reproduction of what happened at Cumberland. That was going along the improbable fact they were terrorists- he waited for a reply rather than assume.

For the last time, she lowered the thin sheets of half-completed crosswords and work puzzles as well as a number two pencil, a standard writing implement that must have already been on her for light use. "You didn't think we're here to patronize people like you, good." She wrapped her fingers around the coffee and ascended from the chair to move her legs a bit. Slightly leaning over the faucet, she released one hand to push aside the vertical blinders. "I think you're better off asking her..." The obstructed rays diffused throughout, mostly centered on a hardy, brown door that was adjacent to where she sat at.

Contemporaneously, that doorway to a basement swung open. The timely blonde chortled a bit at the sudden arrival, clarifying, "Sparrow. The one that brought you here."

That resembling head of black strands was way worse than the uncombed hair of the prisoner. Her eyes were half-closed from the glare of the sunlight, which almost reflected off of the dangling t-shirt she had on. Overcoming the final stair, the burden she lugged the whole time was left to sit on the kitchen ground. This scratched trunk's owner expressed a tired scowl under the natural stage-light.

According to the sober attitude of the adult lounging at the side with caffeine to drink, looking awfully dreadful at sunrise was norm for the girl. Indeed, so far with those the house-guest met, it appeared everyone cared less of what transpired, everyone except the house-guest himself. With his 'kidnapping' treated so insignificantly, the reality he was living in was getting harder to accept.

While he was determining whether not he was free after all, the piece of luggage on the other side of the table tilted over, hitting with a thud loud enough to reenact the sounds from Saturday's downpour. It was the suitcase from before.

"Too bad he couldn't fit it with the mail." Candice appeared as if she yawned the joke, before discarding the mug into the sink. She brought a wrist to her hip upon turning around, her devilish smile transforming into a glower as she sneered, "We were surprised. But if I recall, you don't have a forewarning policy." The one good eye broke away from the duller pair of the imposter's. Displeased but not willing to break the teen's apathetic facade, she meandered her way to the exit. "Guess I better move on..." She clasped her hands together and folded them above her shoulders, exposing the sash-like belt that connected a leather purse to her.

"H-hold on, what about—" The 'victim's' opportunities to settle on a truth were stalled; and if this was false hope, he refused to have it. He must know, even if the rest of the world didn't. Distraught, he shot up, letting loose a disheartened "you didn't answer anything."

"I lied." Perhaps it was rude manner in which she stuck out her tongue that temporarily immobilized him. She hummed in a sassy demeanor, "You'll manage on your own. Besides, you've got to earn respect, doctor. Like hers." He wouldn't see that sophisticated woman again until dinner, but even then he could only extrapolate her intentions. In the meantime, this 'Sparrow's' purpose in ameliorating his status, which he was undecided on, eluded him more.

So that kid that had just immersed him in a world of uncertainties, what did she have to say now? That mistakenly-identified criminal, who was barefoot might he add, has indeed changed, but only In comparative terms to how she treated the mall like a carnival. He watched as she fetched a slice of bread from a toaster before taking a seat on the kitchen counter— and for quite awhile, he remained standing with a sickened feeling. Conscientiously, he challenged the the image of the audacious seventeen year-old that dogged him that entire week. He could yell, run out, or find something to throw... yet just like the other three, she remained poised towards those off-chance impulses.

The fact of what was happening boiled down to this: the 'orphan' finished off her small breakfast, and he had the honor to observe it to the smallest detail. That's pretty much it. Soon later, she, too, joined him in the unofficial staring contest with her own queasy gaze. One waited for the other to break the silence, one wondered if the other had knee problems.

Elise did them both a favor upon her return. "Am I interrupting something? And there are seats for the two of you..."

The ex-convict disdainfully collapsed to a chair and growled, "Just who are you people..." Originally his composure was uptight with all the unmasked, honest faces that no victim would expect of his perpetrators. In the end, it was the mulish, impolite qualities of the person now dusting the crumbs off the ledge, that broke him. However, the quirkiness, what she had that he was familiar with the most, had become non-existent.

The cook carrying foiled leftovers snickered at Sparrow's direction before responding with an artificial interest, "I thought Candice had already introduced you to most of us..." The freeloader that dined on the countertops instantly sensed the danger in dirtying the floors of the janitor (the one exhibiting a lovely but actually vicious-natured smile). Tracing the littering girl's scamper to the corner with the oven, CR-SO1 presumed there was something odd about the sweet yet offish woman.

His fake counterpart was well aware of this suspicion. She cagily plucked out a broom from a closet after browsing through the rusty stove-top. Without a hint of instruction, sweeping up her own mess became a self-assigned responsibility. A quick glance at her fretful expression as well as Elise's pleased one only alarmed the doctor. By then, he had figured out who the real manager of the orphanage was... though he was a little late at that.
"So tell me, how experienced are you with children?"

Even before the dark red-headed owner asked, the man acknowledged this wasn't entirely a paradise for fugitives. Their boarding had to have some sort of compensation. "What? I'm...just a surgeon, that doesn't have anything to do with..." He frantically turned to the second fugitive for some defense on this matter. To his horror, all the kid had was a 'oh no' written across her face. He was a deadweight in an orphanage; this was a mutual understanding between them. Really, that question itself was a spell for disaster.

Despite the pushover-like sense about her, the coordinator of this shady institution had already set their tasks in stone. "You see, this orphanage you're in is called Owl's Nest. It's not well-known, but we have quite a few residing here...And since you guys are here..."

All of a sudden, he felt a strong dejavu. His fate was to get stranded in a sea of youths.

Again.

Agent Navel could detect his superior's vexation from the computer screen. On the contrary, it could have been his weariness from the meaningless interrogations with the two youngest witnesses he ever had. Or it could just be the failing air conditioner that started to fry him. His own suffocating office wasn't too far-off from Dr. Kimishima's, so he was positive the heat ruined her composure one way or another as well.

The technology was operating fine, but the lack of cohering evidence cards, research portfolios, and reliable testimonies still pricked at Naomi's confidence.

From where she was, the crimson wallpaper that lined her workplace strained her concentration more. Everything about the situation was wrong, but according to her daughter and her friend along with the rest of the uninformed public, this file and its studied criminal bore no importance. The medical examiner may not feel like a powerless, failed mother, however she certainly didn't sit well with the seemingly dead-as-a-doornail case.

The pair of private detectives dug far into both the prisoner's escape and the impeccable 'robbery.' No dead bodies, tons of bewildered bystanders— and at the same time, a mountain of clues, all with no clear answer. With the amount of information she had gathered, all the doctor could do was summarize her findings and scattered thoughts. "If we look at Raven's latest success... It's more than likely our suspected group pulled quite a few strings on the security system of the museum along with the traffic controls." It was a typical full-scale heist, plainly put. "The pursuers seem to confirm seeing the thief in multiple areas and heading in various directions... "

"And by that time... the stolen antique is long gone." The assistant grumbled at the end, unsympathetic for the police forces who played monkey-in-the-middle for just a forgotten painting. This was the normal synopsis-like spiel they would hold during the online get-togethers, and since he knew a good amount of details, he gladly added his own commentary. "Must have been as easy as them walking in there and coming back out...these guys do their homework." Praising the villains really started to get on his nerves, but there wasn't much to add for the officials in the first place. Excessive planning and deliberate hacking made these instances a piece of cake for the hired robbers.

Dr. Kimishima took her turn at stacking up the obvious, but kept her chance at it brief, "Spotless execution as usual..." She unfolded her arms and reached for the mouse. She let the pointer circle a single card and offered a possible opening for a breakthrough, "We found fingerprints in the other location for the accomplice that helped the specialist flee...and there's a good chance this person is related to Raven..." What she gathered from the orphanage owner and other sources was that this mystery teenager housed with a false identity... or to be exact, lived with the name, gender and appearance of the prisoner taking residence in the same building.

The agent sounded his distaste to the subject with a shuddering note, "You mean the other runaway?" He let out a thwarted sigh and tried to explain his unlucky discovery, "The person...well, doesn't exist in the records. Got the same number of search results like the skeleton in our databases." The examiner he conversed with sharply exhaled with the disappointing odds. Both of them already faced insurmountable pressure just from tackling a case the FBI now dared not to touch.

The responder was critical of the criminal. "This girl... if she's affiliated, her work was sloppy." In an earlier phone call, Naomi extracted some direct opinions from her colleague, Gabriel. This normally laid-back diagnostician astonished Naomi with his discordance on the subject. All he provided her was the mischievous tales and observations that he had over the last few days. Those were mildly entertaining, to be frank.

"Sloppy?" Navel interjected dubiously. It was a rare word in terms of their out-witting foe. "She blew her cover, I suppose...but they still escaped with no problem..."

"That's what I was aiming for." The woman lightly flicked at her earring as she clarified her point, "Even with all the distractions and system failures...the thieves never had to make facial contact with their opposition. But here..." She fell back on her office chair and pondered aloud, "It was a mistake.. Or was it? It's not consistent with their usual etiquette, after all."

"It'd explain the missing ID records...!" Little Guy beamed at the realization, but then recoiled, "W-wait, erasing an identity is nearly impossible... well, it can't be done overnight for sure." The excitement fell with his reasoning. Looking through the data accumulated so far, he added, "Oh, and there is the missing threat letter for the kidnapping..." He lowered his voice to a mumble, "And the fact Raven never targeted a person before." All these side notes increased as time goes by. They may have joined some logic to the fragments of this puzzle, but there were many other pieces still needing to be placed.

"If it was a first at abduction, then a letter was unnecessary." From her perspective, a playful warning about seizing a felon charged with mass-murder would stir up unneeded obstruction that would hinder a first-time operation such as this. The woman narrowed her eyes and combined some the generalizations she had, "It definitely was not a one-man show. Still, this incident had a fair share cleanliness similar to what this Raven perfects."

Navel then brought another idea to her attention, "Alright, say this was completely on purpose. They would've needed to prepare a lot to rob a high-profile convict out of government hands." The blonde man risked getting outsmarted by making this large conjecture, but he did so nonetheless, "Here we had the prisoner. If Raven wanted him, why go through the trouble of having a member spend three years in an orphanage, then burn it up when the times comes—"

"Hold up there, Little Guy." Dr. Kimishima's chuckle sunk the hopes of the person on the other side of the line. "You did bring up a point about this accomplice's background, but remember there was no possible way Raven would've known anything about this prisoner's bargain to operate that far back." She didn't expect such a flawed theory to exit his mouth and even bothered to disprove it another way, "And besides, it was by chance this impersonator ended up staying at Resurgam..." She waited for a hollowed-out 'oh' from her subordinate, though she received a hard silence instead. Perhaps she acted too harsh on him; they only had guesses to go with so much loose tidbits of information, so she backed down from further scolding.

Her partner in this discussion was in fact, bolder with the argumentation. "That's the thing, doctor. How come this person winds up being the one helping the prisoner escape?" He expanded on his idea using what his 'mentor' had just said, "Why wait three years in such a place? Following what the orphanage owner said, the perpetrator was found on the street and raised like a normal teenager..." He never saw his boss widen her gaze yet he had anticipated some sort of surprise to his proposition. "The fire and the hospital were both by accident. Then this entire escape...could it be..."

"By coincidence?" Naomi grunted straightforwardly. Despite being a little impressed, she found other gaps left to be filled. "There are contradictions. Consider the timing, the skill, and the teamwork involved." She quickly flipped open the folder holding the sparse paperwork on the fake Erhard Muller. Was it all set-up, or all by mischance? The foundations for both hypotheses were well-supported, so a decisive stance was difficult. Clearing her desk-space, the medical examiner could only voice her choice in path down this forked, cold trail, "We'll need to look into the fire and who this... abettor really is."

The agent agreed readily and offered to interrogate the balky Gary Forester yet again as well as the sprightly manager of the destroyed facility, Diane Kimberly. Though they now had severely limited privileges to the Federals' top investigation, they may be the only hope in exposing Raven's secrets.

Now it all made sense.

So Gabriel Cunningham thought as he and the "substitute" surgeon exchanged somewhat incredulous gazes through his office door. "It's a small world." The veteran diagnostician let out this piece of small talk upon recognizing the blonde woman from a few days back; she was the one in Esha's office displaying interest in entering the medical workforce again. At the time he ignored her, but the fact he'd be dealing with her again became painfully clear when the Chief bothered him about having a new member on the check-up wing. "So you're planning to operate after...how long?" He didn't foresee an actual immediate return to the OR, though- former Caduceus member or not, it was still a red flag.

"It won't change the fact there's one scheduled in a few." Not receiving the introduction she expected, the new arrival tapped on a clipboard in hopes of changing the man's sloth-like position in his office. She deceivingly wore an aged lab coat and sustained an air of professionalism... all with the intent to conceal her status as "fresh blood," even if she was clearly in her late forties. "This a bad time?" Plus her patience was rather short; it was the most natural part of the disguise.

"Always."

"Excuse me?" The sarcasm was not well-received, much to his chagrin.

"Name's Gabriel Cunningham. There. Now..." After being forced to speak his full name, Gabriel relieved his post on the couch. "I'll be assisting you, but any sign of trouble and I'll probably go straight to Esha afterwards." His voice was far from threatening, but the risks even he couldn't ignore. He eyed the surprised orange irises of the one before him and conceded with a sigh, "I might cut you some slack, if you explain the intermission you took."

The replacement surgeon, baffled by the turnaround attitude, stuttered out a response, "W-well. It was personal, really." With her hand latched onto the wrist of the other, she stood hesitantly as the messy-haired physician scooted past her into the hall. "And my name is Sharon Williams..." Her voice trailed off upon realizing the physical distance between herself and the disinterested surgical assistant being too large. "Hold on!"

Dr. Cunningham, with the newcomer's name already memorized, proceeded his stroll to the elevators without a thought for the words dogging him from behind. What occupied him was the specialist's disappearance, even if he never assumed much responsibility in the matter in the first place. This Sharon character, though, barely caught his attention: the little interest he had was due to her work record before the 10-ish years spent in a pharmacy. But the curiosity was only partial; he wouldn't dare call Derek just to look her up.

This tiny attention span was thrown wide open as soon as he noticed the wrong incisions being made halfway through the procedure, around twenty minutes later. "What are you doing?" he blurted out, quickly handing over sutures instead of stating the solution to this mistake. Now that his mind was out of the gutter, namely the one the 'shady' detective created, the physician began judging the rather poor sewing technique examples scattered across the liver's surface. "Can hardly compare it to the kid's..." His grumble was never picked up by the main surgeon, who was busy correcting herself and her impression.

Besides the blunder and rough stitching, the operation was, for a lack of a better term, fine and dandy and boring. The temporary overseer left the clean-up early, as his motivation to follow Esha's request was approaching zero. "Dunno if I wanna go the extra mile to actually report that." He talked to himself, unsure if such problems could be pardoned by a decade's worth of time. His footsteps were directed to the nearest staff lounge, but the man had honed in on another set of sounds suddenly tailing him. "Whaddya want?"

He whipped around to find the Williams woman gasping for breath a meter or two behind him, her clenched hands on her knees. She was too slow to regain a steady stance, so before she could speak, Gabriel threw in nonchalantly, "I was just headed for a coffee break." His assurance wasn't met with immediate relief, to his surprise.

"Thanks for the assist." Was instead her response. "It's been a...long time for me. In truth I-"

The sudden expression of gratitude sparked an instinctive "what" from the diagnostician on break. Annoyed by the overly-convenient situation at hand, he mustered a slightly curt answer, "Save the story...You were fine. Skill's out of touch, but uh," He paused knowing his evaluation is rather lenient, but eventually sighed, "Welcome to Resurgam." Not want to be held to the conversation as it was, he spun back around and rushed off for the coffee.

"Oh...thanks." The remaining recruit, who appeared to have prepared more to say, fell in silence. Now straightened out, she could reveal the story enclosed in one of her hands: a faded gold ring.

After examining it with exhausted tangerine eyes, she faced forward into the empty halls and voiced in resignation, "I wish I could've saved him, Cand."

And that's all for now.

The last section I had to rush in because I never wrote it all this time ^^; It definitely isn't too elegant, but it leaves some room for speculation. I know Gabe was a bit OOC in a last part too, oops.

Anyways, any reviews would be nice, I always love to hear what other ppl think, even if it's just plot guesses, those are actually the most fun to read.