After a few moments, his attention is drawn to the sight of a doctor entering the room, and striding towards him.
(Hans): Well…
Blowing out air through pursed lips briefly, he sets the magazine down beside him.
(Hans): What’s the situation Herr doctor?
The doctor comes to a halt besides Hans, glancing momentarily at his clipboard, before offering it to Hans, who takes it, flipping it around as he does so.
(Doctor): Well, we’ve ran all the tests that we’ve the capabilities for. Whatever it is that you were injected with isn’t attacking your blood cells, immune system, liver, kidney etcetera. I ran a few checks this morning looking at whether it was perhaps targeting the muscles, but no, it’s not. Same goes for your respiratory system.
Hans’ eyes rove over the clipboard as he listens.
(Doctor): We’ve kept you under observation for three days and nights now, and there’s been no noticeable change. For all intents, it’s…
(Hans): Benign?
(Doctor): Not quite Hans. Right now, despite the presence of these foreign cells in your body, you’re safe. Now I’ve sent some of your blood tests off to be analyzed at facilities more specialized and suited to this than ours.
(Hans): How long could it take before you get any results back?
(Doctor): I honestly couldn’t say Hans. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Two weeks? A month?
He shrugs his shoulders, an apologetic tone to his voice.
(Doctor): Sorry. We’ll do our best though, rest assured.
(Hans): I appreciate it.
With a final look at the clipboard, he hands it back to the doctor, and extends his other hand out, shaking the reciprocated one in thanks, as the scene fades out momentarily.
Fading back in, we come across a quiet coffee shop sometime in the late afternoon. Sitting directly in the camera’s view is Mike Anderson, casually sipping on a latte, as Hans comes into view, settling himself down in the seat opposite Mike.
(Mike Anderson): That was quick.
Merely chuckling in response, Hans takes a small sip of his own coffee. He settles it down onto the table, and gestures at Mike’s own half-empty cup.
(Hans): You sure you don‘t want anything Mike?
(Mike Anderson): Oh I’m sure, but thanks anyway.
(Hans): Right, so, where were we?
(Mike Anderson): You were telling me about when they brought up, dialysis was it?
(Hans): Not quite. A hemopurifier if I recall. I’ve got to head to DC for the nearest one if that’s the route they recommend going down.
He lifts up his coffee, holding it just below his lips.
(Hans): I can’t say I’m thrilled at the thought of course.
He takes a sip, mulling over his next words for a few moments.
(Hans): But if helps, then so be it.
(Mike Anderson): Heard anything back about what it is yet?
(Hans): Nothing to pinpoint exactly what it is, or it’s purpose. They seem to think that it could be, because it’s essentially harmless right now, needing a catalyst to kick it off.
(Mike Anderson): So another injection perhaps?
(Hans): Exactly that.
(Mike Anderson): Mustn’t be a good feeling to know you’re going back into the ring with the man that gave you that injection then?
(Hans): No, it certainly isn’t.
Taking another sip, he shakes his head gently, as he adds.
(Hans): Not a good feeling at all.
(Mike Anderson): Think you can push past it, and focus solely on the task at hand?
(Hans): I’m not sure I can Mike. The man injected me without giving any thought to ask what was in it, and without a care as to what it could do to me. What if it contained something that could have left me dying in that very ring? Does he have no regard for his fellow wrestlers? Given that he’s willing to put their lives on the line in such a manner, I’d say yes. I’m not even going to get into enquiring what the reasons for him doing it were, because his actions, they’re inexcusable.
(Mike Anderson): Has he apologized to you by any chance?
(Hans): *Scoffs* Of course not. And I’m not expecting one.
(Mike Anderson): How’s Butch holding up?
(Hans): He’s doing a lot better now. Touch and go for a time, but he’s stable. I’m going to go and see him tomorrow so if you’re wanting me to pass on anything, then I’m sure he’d appreciate it.
(Mike Anderson): If you wouldn’t mind.
He gestures at the camera.
(Mike Anderson): I’ll wait until we’ve finished shooting though.
Glancing down at a small prompt card momentarily, he carries on.
(Mike Anderson): Right Hans, add in what we did before you went for your coffee, and I think we’ve got enough to edit together. Just one final question though. Maniac said that, with regards to the injection, that you ‘got what was coming’ to you. Anything you’d want to say towards him?
(Hans): Really? He said that?
(Mike Anderson): You didn’t know?
(Hans): No. I’ve been strapped up to god-knows how many machines these last few days getting checked out and tested that I only got out last night…
He trails off, leaning back in his chair, a thoroughly shocked look on his face beginning to flourish.
(Hans): Wow, he really said that?
(Mike Anderson): Afraid so.
(Hans): Well then…
Tongue poking into his cheek, his gaze hardens, as he taps Mike’s prompt card with the index finger of his left hand.
(Hans): What I want to say to little Antonino, is that he’d better watch his f*cking mouth, and seriously look into somehow getting eyes in the back of his head. ‘He got what he deserved’. Really? Well, sooner or later, he’ll regret uttering those words.
(Mike Anderson): Well, that should do us…
The scene fades out as Hans and Mike continue to talk.
(OOC: Sorry for the delay in getting an r-p up folks, been a busy few days for myself, Mike’s wedding, the recovery time (not helped by agreeing to play 5-a-side’s with Jamie) and what not. Still, hope it’s an enjoyable read!)
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