Flatline
Flatline
Summary: A quiet night in Sickbay becomes a violent walk through the shadow of death. The culprit is a shock to all.
Date: PHD101 (28 July 2009)
Related Logs: None
Players:
Eddie..Roubani..Camille..Aggie..Dutch..Barghest..NPCs..

Kharon - Recovery Ward

The recovery ward is quiet, not much buzz going on when there's no new injuries and everyone here is seemingly stable. Eddie is tucked away in the same bay she's been for almost two days now, her situation not much improved beyond the fact that she's at least not as weak and she's able to sit up on her own. The top of her head is encased in guaze, covering up her very uneven hair cut she now has to sport. Currently, she's reading some comic books someone scrounged up for her.

Roubani got the note the night Eddie went into Sickbay, but there's been no getting away from engineering's own acute-care patient: the Kharon itself. With a four hour break now, he'd slept for two and a half of them and is now prowling about Sickbay, hairline still wet from some cold water quickly splashed on his face. There's a small paperback tucked into the crook of his arm as he finally hunts down Eddie's wing and comes up the aisle of her bed. "Hey."

Eddie folds the comic book down on her paper-thin gown covered chest, offering a bit of a smile towards Roubani. Her eyes look a little droopy, maybe from the pain or the morpha she's been given to combat it. "Ruuuubix. How's it shakin', my main man?" Yeah, maybe it's more the drugs.

Roubani remembers those drugs, trust him. He settles down on the edge of the chair by her bed, holding up the prize he's brought her with the title facing her. 'The Sword and the Sheath'. Romance novel. You can just imagine the cover. "I found you something."

Eddie's smile broadens. "How perfect. I won't be having the real thing for a while. Might as well flex my imagination. Did you take a peak? Underline any of your favorite passages?" She teases, because that's just what she does, and the delicious drugs shoot holes in that filter.

"You'll just have to watch for my notes to see," Roubani says. His voice is so matter of fact that it's hard to tell if he's serious. "I did count approximately ninety-three uses of the word 'stallion', in various descriptive roles."

Eddie looks to the comic book spread out on top of her, dragging it off. It gets set, albeit respectfully, on the swivel table next to a cup of water with a bendy straw. All tools of the wounded trade. "You're the best." And it seems genuine, even if it is a little over enthusiastic for Eddie. Her hand reaches out for the book, her wrist punctuated by an IV line. "What did you have to trade for it?"

"That," Roubani intones gravely, "Is between me, myself, and a tutu, thank you very much."

Eddie gives a snicker as she takes the book, examining the the cover art with a scrutinizing eye. "How do you figure her dress got that torn anyways? Is there anything keeping it on, but force of will? Hmm. How do they do that backwards kiss over the shoulder thing, anyways. Who the hell is that flexible." Her fingers run over the spine of it, "Thank you, to both you and the tutu."

"I'm certain that's been some therapist's thesis in the past," Roubani says, mildly. "The Anatomy of Romance Covers." He settles back a bit in the chair, a casual posture deftly covering exhaustion. "I was tempted to record it as an audio book for you, but I figured the medical staff is already subject to enough daily obnoxiousness."

Eddie turns it over to read the synopsis on the back, looking up when he mentions recording it. The book promptly gets handed back in his direction. "Or you could just read it to me in the here and now. Headaches make it hard to concentrate on the words." The paperback is waggled in his direction.

Roubani half-smiles and takes the book, but instead of reading he just thumbs through it idly. "Now I know they say an endorphin rush is good for headaches, but I can't believe this prose is quite that close to lifelike."

Eddie rolls her head on the pillow so she can see him easier and still be comfortable. "And I sure as Hades ain't gonna masturbate with a catheter in. But you could indulge me, just to hear your voice, ya know? You can skip over the gritty parts if you want."

"There is no 'gritty'," Roubani says, drily. "There is 'clothing on' and 'clothing off'. With some 'clothing halfway on' interspersed so it won't get dull." He crosses his legs, thumbing back to the beginning and clearing his throat, much like a history professor studying a tome. And thus he begins to read.

Eddie seems pleased that he's making the effort, at least, though she's watching his ears like a thermometer as to how hot the text actually is. She's a bit numb, at the moment, so his words are more lulling her to sleep then striking any other chord. "At least Victor is a better name the Reginold." Eddie comments absently.

Roubani's ears actually do quite well. This ship is wearing on him slowly, but every so often yeah, he does kind of blush. You can take the boy out of the conservative, but…you know. "Oh but will he be a Victor over the lacy undergarments of her heart?" he interjects, in a slightly affected accent like the Caprica voices that used to narrate movie trailers.

Eddie's laugh comes easily again, a simple thing to do when her worries in life are dulled away by drugs. "Wouldn't it just be so much simpler if things really did happen like they did in novels? You could make their clothes fall off with a well placed wink, or make them fall in love with you by a coy look from behind a fan."

"I'm sure it used to work, back in times when said coy look was about as close to pornography as one could get," Roubani remarks quietly, absently flipping through a few pages in the middle of the trashy novel. "But how do you know it doesn't? How many fans have you carried around lately? I certainly haven't tried it."

Eddie mmms as her eyes close briefly, "Maybe we should try. Couldn't hurt, right? Now if we could only get our hands on some fans." Her eyes flutter back open. "Having a hole drilled in your head would hurt more, I would think. I think I've had broken fingers that've hurt worse. But then again, they don't give you morpha for that.." She rambles a bit.

"No, no, certainly not morpha." The words are a bit fuzzy in front of Roubani's eyes, so he closes the book over his thumb and rests his head back against the chair. "Did you know the brain itself hasn't got any pain-sensing…nerve-things? I looked it up."

Eddie grins broadly, "You looked it up and came away with pain-sensing nerve-things? You must be frakking tired. Wanna crawl up here with me?" She offers.

"Well they are nerve-things," Roubani says, way too seriously, as he lifts a hand and spiders out his long fingers in the air. "With the…you know, the…and the…" He points to his fingers, then the back of his hand. "…and the thing." His pointing finger indicates his arm. Human biology fail. "It was quite interesting." Thump, his hands lay back down on the chair arms and he eyes the bed. "Oh, I think the doctors would have a gory-eyed fit. What with the wires and everything." He does move his legs though, setting his booted feet on the bottom of the bedframe. "There, they oughtn't yell at that."

Eddie takes a deep inhale of breath, letting it out slowly. "Don't say I didn't offer. I would have even shared by broth with you. It even remotely tastes like…something. I don't think I've ever seen you so tired your brain stopped working. It's kind of fun."

"Axon!" Roubani declares, out of nowhere. He even lifts an index finger to punctuate the word. If he had a monocle it might've popped off his face.

Eddie gives a bark of laughter at the suddeness and the obscurity of that exclamation. "You're worse off then I thought. Don't they give you any time off down in snipe land?"

"Of course," Roubani answers, without sarcasm. "I'm here, aren't I?" He glances up at her IV idly, eyes tracing the line up to the bag. "Is it just broth they feed you? I don't suppose they give you any ice cream these days."

Eddie smoothes out the blanket across her lap, just an idle futzing from being stuck in bed for too long. She should protest that his only break he's spending here, but she's selfish and clearly cherishing his company. "I'm still on clear liquids only, I don't think icecream counts. Know what I could really kill for? A cigarette. My gods, I ache for a cigarette."

Roubani lifts the backs of his left hand fingers to his nose, sharply sniffing them. "Mmmpf. Scrubbed away the last of the scent, I'm afraid, or I would've…offered to waft a bit."

Eddie tsks, clucking her tongue against her teeth. "You're lucky I don't threaten to deep throat your fingers or suck on your hair. Too bad cigarettes aren't exactly inconspicuous. Damn smoke gives you away every time, the nurse'll surely notice that."

"I suppose I should quit," Roubani opines in that lazy, languid way that rich women sometimes used to say they really should stop driving the mercedes in favour of the ferrari. "Perhaps by the time you're out of here you'll have stopped craving them, and then you can guilt-trip me into stopping as well."

Eddie gives another little laugh, the sound settled deep in her chest. "You never should have started in the first place. Guilt tripping doesn't work when I'm the one that gave you your first cigarette. Kind of defeats the purpose of being a pusher."

"Well, then it would be a chance to cleanse your soul, now wouldn't it." Roubani half-smirks at her. "Perhaps I could find you some gum. Eos might have some in her vast oral fixation stash in engineering."

"Man, first Marek is telling me to turn over a new leaf, you're telling me to cleanse my soul. There was some new Chaplain's aide in here trying to save me. Maybe the gods are trying to tell me something?" Eddie's eyes roll to the ceiling as she gives a groan of frustration. "I'm trying. I am. There are just these…set backs."

"Marek is moody," Roubani says mildly. Something in his tone says, perhaps, that he's been on the receiving end as well. "And I suspect I know the aide. It's her duty to act, I wouldn't take it personally." He stretches his legs out a little more against the rail, crossing his feet at the ankles. "How you are is your decision, not theirs."

Eddie lulls her head to the side again. "He tries so hard to pretend he doesn't care, doesn't he?" She rewets her lips by drawing them into her mouth. "Anyways. Something's gotta change, right? Otherwise how many others'll leave me for their ex-ho-bags?"

"Ex…what?" Roubani's brow makes a dry loft upwards.

Eddie snorts a bit, dropping her gaze to something neutral, like his feet propped on the end of her bed. "Ho-bag. Samantha. Martin's taken back up with her, without so much as a word. Not that I can blame him really. More power to him, if I couldn't give him what he needed, right?"

Aggie arrives from the Sickbay - Deck 2.
Aggie has arrived.

"Oh." Roubani moves his head so he can scratch the back of it, then he sets his hands back on the chair arms. "I'm sorry." It sounds sincere, rather than something idly said. "I don't know…one…just can't control what other people will do."

Eddie is in her bay, laid up in bed hooked to an IV and monitors. Roubani is stretched out in a chair nearby, with his feet propped on the end of her bed. The two are having a conversation, amidst trash novels and comic books. "It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, I guess. Jupiter gets stuck with a lame sister-in-law, and I go back to …doing whatever it is I do. Unless that leaf gets turned, I suppose."

The dentist wanders in. She snaps on some gloves and heads to the bedside of a sleeping Crewman. The Crewman has a particularly bruised face, and a split lip with a few sutures gracing the mouth and chin. The poor lad is generally a mess, and looks like he went face first down a set of stairs or some such. Ever the sensitive, well mannered type, Dr. Beckett flicks on the little bedside lamp, which is largely unnecessary in the overhead lighting on that side of the room, and whips out a little dental mirror from her pocket. "Wake up and open your mouth. I've got things to do today, Crewman." Her voice is a little throaty. Yep, that would be a cigarette hanging form her lips.

"It's not an 'unless'," Roubani offers softly. "Things are not so interconnected as we'd like to believe. When we are happy, the world looks better to us…and when we are unhappy, it all looks awful." His eyes wander past Eddie towards the sounds coming from a little ways away. But they're not being addressed by the superior so he doesn't hop to just yet.

About five minutes after Aggie, the hatch grinds open again, and an officer with a duffle bag wanders in. He might be familiar, he might not be. Nobody really pays attention to the marines unless they're bleeding to death, anyway. And even then.

Eddie picks her head up off the pillow at the sound of a …doctor?… making rounds. She can't quite see what's going on with the crewman though, so she drops her head back. Rubber necking hurts when you're neck's not rubber. "And my damn morpha button only works once per hour. Add that to the list of awful." But overall, she seems in decent spirits.

That's true. Aggie pays no attention to the man with the duffle bag. Dr. Beckett is too busy prodding the Crewman in the neck with a cold dental instrument. She chooses an un-bruised spot. "Today, Crewman." Eventually the man manages to crack it open enough to admit the small mirror, and the dark haired, lab coat wearing woman uses a pen light and said mirror to assess his damaged chompers. She only blows a little smoke in his face. "Please breathe through your nose," she mutters.

Gawds, she's a dentist. That alone kind of fascinates Roubani for a few seconds, the corners of his mouth drawn down in that expression of someone praying they'll never be in that position. Then he looks back at Eddie. "Now that is awful." He picks up the trashy romance novel again. "Perhaps I ought to read some more." He's barely noticed duffle man, himself.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Duffle man starts prowling the rows of empty beds, something vaguely methodical about the route he takes between them. He passes right by Eddie's gurney, oblivious to the discussion about trashy romance novels, and with no authority to indulge the pilot in shots of morpha. Thump. Thump. Thump. He approaches Aggie and her patient, then passes them by. He doesn't even glance over.

Eddie glances up as someone goes thumping by, her brow knitting together at the rather grumpy looking fellow. She shakes her head and looks back to Roubani as he picks the book back up. "I think we were around the part where Victor traps her in the stable. Something about the smell of fresh hay and desperation…"

A dentist, indeed. Dr. Beckett prods around the young man's mouth, to the chorus of several slightly muffled 'ows' as his busted lip is strained a little here and there. Gentleness, thy name is not Aggie. She doesn't glance up from her chore as the man thumps by. She mutters something under her breath, then straightens, and removes her mirror from the prone patient's mouth. "You need two crowns, and I don't know what you last ate, but you're getting a lesson in flossing before you get out of here, kid." She removes the cig from her mouth, and ashes into a bedpan. "Don't even think about trying to escape without it, or we'll be talking root canal." She points at the man. "I love my drill. You will not love my drill."

Roubani also glances up as Duffle Man clumps by, briefly watching the man's back. Then it's back to the book as he shifts his feet again. "Mm. Gratuitous 'stallion' reference numbers 14-19, coming up."

The officer continues past, footfalls rhythmic as he makes his way along the last line of beds. When he reaches the end, he steps up to the last gurney, which currently houses a sleeping engine snipe. He doesn't look too badly off; a few burns, a few scrapes and bruises. The duffle bag is set down on the chair by his bed, and unzipped as the marine starts rifling through it. There's the odd snap or thunk, but it's not loud. A set of prayer beads is also pulled out with a clickclickclack.

Eddie keeps getting distracted by Ovin Scrivello, DDS over there, waiting for Dr. Beckett to start busting out in song about being a dentist and causing things pain. People will pay you to be inhumane! She blinks and looks back over at Roubani, the duffle bag man forgotten as he's apparently just here for a visit like some others. "Wouldn't be a stable scene without them."

"Don't give me that look. Flossing is easy, and takes minutes a day." Aggie takes another hit off of her cigarette. "If you'd like to, we can discuss what to do about those giant central incisors." She steps back from the bed, and checks the pain meds the Crewman's getting. He's got burns along his arms. She glances at them briefly, then shoves the cig into her mouth again. "You'll be fine. Gum disease doesn't kill people." Pause. "Often."

Roubani's dark eyes flicker up once from the book towards duffle man. Perhaps just because he recognises the snipe in that bed from their firefighting team two days ago. Then he starts to read quietly from the romance novel again. He doesn't indulge in any theatrics; matter of fact the overly serious tone of his voice probably makes the ridiculous text all the more amusing.

Click.

Gum disease may not kill people often, but uzis are a pretty good bet any day of the week.

RATATAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.

Splat. That's a bit of the engine snipe's brain matter, that just hit Aggie across the cheek. You might want to duck rather than look over, because there's a marine spraying the ward with automatic gunfire right about now. A glass enclosure separating the room from a little pill prep station shatters and explodes every which way under the deafening sound of the firearm.

Camille arrives from the Sickbay - Deck 2.
Camille has arrived.

What the fra…Eddie's brain doesn't even have time to comprehend what's going on, her mind dulled by the morpha. The gun fire rings in her skull, the sudden sound almost deafening in the peaceful atmosphere. She flinches at the sound, the fact that she should be diving for cover apparently doesn't register. Her shoulder shrugs with the velocity of the bullet, as it skims across her skin and gets imbedded in her mattress. She cants her head down, looking at the blood start to well, before panic sets in. Off the bed. She has to get off the bed. Damn the IV tubes and wires hooked up to her. She's trying to roll off /away/ from the madman.

Aggie barely feels the splat against her cheek before the report of the weapon spurs her into action. She's from Sag, afterall. If it's one thing a Saggie knows, it's live fire, and how to get the frak out of the line of it. She dives over the bed, and drags the burned crewman, with a fat lip and cracked off teeth, onto the floor. He yells, but it's buried under the sound of automatic fire. The dentist and the patient hit the floor in a painful pile of flailing limbs and charred flesh. That could have gone better. The screaming doesn't start until a few moments later, when Aggie's elbow jams an already fractured rib into the poor man's lung. But it quickly fades to a gurgle. Dr. Beckett has that effect on people. The cigarette remains firmly between her lips.

Words burst from Roubani's lips, a gutteral Kashmiri epithet well suited for being spat out. The novel goes thudding to the floor as he jets up and out of his chair at the same time Eddie goes down, as he ducks at the side of the bed and helps pull poor Eddie off it. Not that he and/or the bed itself are much of a shield, but he does what he can.

Camille was pulling duty shift in the front room, but the moment she hears fire going down, well…she goes into combat medic mode. People in there are going to need her help far, far more immediately than in the front area of sickbay. She pushes the door open, keeping her body low as she was taught in training, out of the easy line of fire as she tries to duck into the recovery ward and seek the closest piece of cover before the elder doctor and triage the situation.

There's no pause, no quarter given by the gunman. The earsplitting report of his weapon continues until the clip's empty, which it doesn't seem anywhere near in danger of for a while yet. A few empty beds are pumped with bullets as the machinegun makes an indiscriminate arc around the ward, spraying mattress filling and shredded linens. Those who don't move fast enough, are turned into bloody messes splattered across beds and walls. A hail of bullets peppers the bedframe inches from where Roubani just dived for cover.

Eddie falls in a heap onto the floor with Roubani, grace long ago leaving her bones. "What the /frak/ is that. WHAT THE FRAK!" She huffs, clawing at the IV, trying to rip it from her hand so she's no longer tethered and tangled. She scoots to lay more flat against the floor, hand slapping over the oozing wound on her shoulder.

Roubani grabs a handful of sheet off Eddie's bed, wadding it up against her bleeding shoulder. Like that's her real worry right now. "Be quiet," he hisses through his teeth, regardless of whether the gunman could really hear them through this hellish commotion. He stays on his knees, shoulder pressed against the bedframe with his head ducked down just enough to be behind the mattress. His fingers curl into the metal bedrail and he peeks upward when the sound seems to arc away from them, trying to see where their crazed gunman is in the room.

Dr. Beckett crawls along the floor, and grabs the first weapon she comes to. A bedpan. Yes, a bedpan. That isn't going to work. She huddles beside her gurgling patient, and pats down her pockets for a weapon, any weapon. Pens? No. Teeth picking device. No, well, only if rammed through the temple or eyeball. No. Out of her boot comes a small but serviceable knife. Knife at a gun fight. Not ideal. Aggie shrugs out of her lab coat, and hugs the wall.

Camille's eyes shoot wide as she realizes the mess of her sickbay. Well, not her's, but some days it feels like it. Much less, her -patient- with the most severe head trauma she's seen in ages is… well, no longer in bed. That sight sends just enough paniced energy for Camille for her to leave her crouched, covered position and duck up to reach for the intercom and phone. She immediately hits the panic button to call for security, praying someone is actually in the office as she drops low again, phone in her hand.

[Intercom] Camille says, "Security to sickbay, this is an emergency. We need Marines to sickbay, recovery ward, now."

And, just like that, the sound ceases as the marine's weapon runs out of ammunition. The empty clip is ejected, and hits the floor with a clatter. A new clip is slotted in methodically as he starts walking toward a cordoned-off area of the ward. The area housing the comatose Major. The prayer beads he's tangled around his wrist clack softly as he works, and he doesn't so much as lift his eyes to survey the damage he's done. Once the new clip is slotted into place, he steps around the partition and opens fire again. There isn't even a scream. He continues walking, heading around the other side of the beds, where Eddie and Roubani are crouched.

Sickbay, currently, is a horrific mess of blood, ruined bedsheets and shattered glass, with bits of what look like peoples' brain matter sliding down one wall, and a couple of very dead looking patients riddled with holes. Spent shell casings litter the floor, and there's a uniformed marine officer firing a machine gun, making his way around the back of the ward.

Eddie can't do shit. Why? Because she doesn't have the energy. She just lays on the floor, taking the sheet pressed to her arm by Roubani and holding it there. Her head is starting to ache, and her body feels like jello, and now she has a frakking superficial bullet wound in her shoulder. She's doing her best impression of invisible, even closing her eyes as if that aids her somehow. Her breathing comes out in panicked huffs, but she's quiet, at least, and she can't see impending doom headed her way.

Aggie crawls past a couple of the beds, a switchblade in hand, but not deployed. She's headed for something heavier and more substantial to hide behind, like a bulkhead. The gunman is between her and it. Will she make it closer before the gunman notices her maneuvering? Let's watch. Da-dum. Da-dum. Her white coat has been left behind near the 'rescued' Crewman.

Whether it's a bullet that clipped her or just random debris, Camille doesn't know, but suddenly her cheek is bleeding rather fiercely, a long gash opened up just over her cheek bone, an inch below her eye. She got damned lucky there. She stays with the phone, still crouched, trying to remain half covered as she looks around for her patient on the floor. Then Eddie is spied, several beds away, and she swears lightly, her Saggitarian accent think beneath her breath. She calls one last time into the intercom before leaving the phone and ensuring her kit is still slung around her shoulder as she begins to crawl in Eddie's direction…

Roubani barely has time to process where the man's going, and that the next hail of bullets just obliterated Vendas. The intercom going off calling security also registers in some back part of his mind somewhere. His hand is still on the blanket on Eddie's shoulder, his body half covering hers as much to keep the pressure on the bleeding as to have something reassuring her, frail as it is with bullets flying everywhere. His breathing is tense and shallow.

[Intercom] Camille says, "Repeat, Security to sickbay, recovery ward. Emergency."

The Call brought all sorts of halts to Marine land, followed by the pounding of jackboots along the corridors outside. The first two too arrive on the scene are the current marines on patrol, one Sergeant Dutch elder, paired with Corporal Barghest. The had just started the rounds on the deck when the hail over the intercom came over. Fortuitous or perhaps highly unlucky. They come in through the opened hatch, quietly, as the sub machine guns are very much raised. After picking their way through the first part of Sickbay, they come to the sectioned off Recovery Ward, the Sergeant tiptoe'ing in first and he waits for Barghest to catch his flank. Ahh the days of two men fireteams are not over But its the shots fired they catch that has his him hurrying through the damned door like a fool.

Safety is switched off even as before he comes through, and quickly that gun is turned and leveled at the Lieutenant. Under normal circumstances Dutch might have cursed and stood slackjawed. But, for now he remains silent for a beat. Just a beat before that bark and the twang of the Tauron's voice is heard. "SIR!" a bark of a command from the NCO, ad should that gun point to him he will put a bullet in the marine "Lieutenant Put that weapon on the deck, now Sir!" or by Mithras he might shoot. "You so much as Twitch wrong sir, and I'll frakkin shoot." added in that command.

It's finally time. Bar's secret dread's finally manifested itself. The sickening icy writhing in her stomach is only contained by the sudden rush of adrenaline that surges free at the sound of the gunfire. The Corporal's weapon is chambered by the time the pair make the threshold and she hunkers down into her creeping stance as she takes up the cover position for the Gunny. Likewise, her weapon lines up on the gunman, and her thumb kicks the selector switch to 'Yes we're serious', eyes not daring to leave him.

Aaaand Aggie's suddenly between marines with guns. Ever seen a slightly goth dentist in uniform slide for home under a tray of medical supplies? No? Now you have. She's still got a gobbet of brain matter sliding down her neck, headed for the fertile valley below. She hasn't noticed. Yet.

And here comes the cavalry, in the form of two marines packing heat. But wait, you say, complete and total destruction of the recovery ward is not yet achieved! This is probably what the methodical gunman is thinking, too. After painting a wide arc across the bank of beds directly to his left — and pinging one of the huddled pair on the floor by Eddie's bed, in the process — he racks the slide on his weapon, and brings it to bear upon Dutch. Too bad he's a little (a lot) too slow.

Eddie flinches as another volley of bullets goes spraying, her body curling tighter in on itself. Scared? Yes. Because there's nothing more scary then being helpless. And we won't even discuss how inappropriate that paper gown seems right now. She cracks her eyes open, looking for something, anything to make the noise stop. Afterall, it's threatening to ruin her morpha buzz.

Camille is crawling, keeping down low as possible and beneath beds, straight at her post-surgical patient. She actually makes it without getting assaulted by another bullet, the marines sadly now acting as targets instead of her patients. Good, they can take it better. Camille looks up to Roubani, breathing out fast, "I got her…" and immediately grabbing a tourniquet from her kit, tying off that shoulder before she even examines how back it might be. She looks down to Eddie's eyes…"Morales, talk to me… do you understand me?"

Roubani's body jerks as that bullet gets him right under the ribcage. He stays partly draped over Eddie like a human blanket, his elbow pulling down against the sudden flash of hot pain. Camille's face suddenly all up in the space makes his dark eyes blink and he shifts carefully, trying to give the doctor space. His shoulders twist, trying to see the source of the new sound - the Marine voices.

"Oh Frak You." Dutch does not Hesitate as he watches the gun slide towards him and come up for the aim. Finger just squeezes right on the trigger, aimed for the center of the chest. Sure perhaps one or two bullets would have been enough, but Dutch squeezes for a burst shot of three. After all if you're going to shoot someone-make sure they remain dead. that's what the Corps taught him at least. Here's hoping the Corporal joins in on this little shoot out, because if for some reason the Lieutenant is getting up, well they might be rightly frakked.

And so Dutch is silent after the bullets rip and the casings fall. Just frakking silent.

Aggie is silent, too. She's silent and huddled on the floor, with her arms wrapped over her head, small body made even smaller as it's curled in on itself. Her black hair spills over her arms, and her face is to the floor. If she could get any closer to the floor, she'd be part of it. Too much gun play. Doctor go still.

Eddie's eyes slide shut despite Camille's words. "You're speaking frakking Standard, aren't you?" She responds dryly to the doctor. Somewhere, in some corner of her brain, it registers that Roubani is tented over her, making noises of pain. "Think we had enough fun for today…" She barely murmurs, then slips off to unconciousness.

The '90 in her hands voices Bar's resolve, or, better said, her ingrained training as the gunman brings the weapon around. It's a burst. A short one, limited more by the engineered selector setting than the controlled jerk of Morrigan's finger. What rounds strike true are hers, or Dutch's are too close to call. In any case, for her, it's the same, either way….
She's opened fire at a human being.

It only takes one bullet to drop a man. Except when it takes three. Dutch's burst fire rips through the uniformed officer's abdomen rather than its intended target. But Barghest's rounds sing true, and oh, do they sing. The marine's gun slips out of his hands and clatters to the deck as his body is battered by bullets to the stomach and chest— not a sound does he make. Except maybe a gurgle and a sputter. He stumbles forward, into yet more lethal rounds, and then topples facefirst onto one of the shot-up gurneys. Blood quickly begins pooling into the linens.

Somewhere, a few papers lazily float to the floor, after their brief flight induced by machinegun fire to a trolley carrying patient files.

Somewhere else, a machine gives a steady, low whine of a patient having flatlined.

Camille leans over Eddie, but having the woman tied off and stable, the sound of the flatline going jerks her head up. "Dr. Beckett!" She calls over to Aggie, not all that phased by live fire but then again they both were from Sagittaron… this wasn't a new situation, sadly. She nods to the patient going down before looking across Eddie, trying to ensure that the woman is stable at least before she can move onto others. There just aren't enough hands right now…

Roubani pulls his feet under him as Camille takes over Eddie. That high-pitched whine somewhere off to his left. Now it strikes him where the gunman had been, and his face loses a shade of colour. "Major Vendas…" Stumbling slightly over Eddie's feet, he starts for Vendas' area as quickly as he can get his feet to move, leaving bootprints in a thick puddle of blood from some other unfortunate shredded soul on the ground.

"Corporal, check him." Gun is remaining on the body, but then Dutch isn't taking any chances. There's a step in and over someone on the floor-that much he does know as blue eyes remain frakking fixed on Drarelle's body. The Marine does take time to spit out of the corner of his mouth "Frakking cocksucker." Apparently shooting the wounded is a great sin to Dutch, or it is one to Mithras, whom he follows. Its hard to say.

Aggie doesn't respond, still huddled on the floor in the immediate wake of assorted gunfire.

A wisp of smoke writhes from the muzzlebrake of the Corporal's weapon while behind it, wide eyed, the woman herself is locked almost unmoving as the man gurgles to the gurney. There is a silence from the woman at first. Though once the order comes down, "S-sir!" she stammers, blinking out of the more paralytic factors of her shock before she starts to approach the man, her own weapon sighted on the latest exanguinating figure. She swallows and gives him, at first, a nudge with the weapon before she extends a hand, slightly atwitter, to check his neck for signs of life barrel pressed against his ribs, "H-he's…" swallow, "alive. Barely…" She edges back, then, to cover him some more.

The marine doesn't move. But he does bleed. A lot. Who'd have thunk a body could hold that much blood. The machine over in the intensive care ward is still whining away, pitch unchanged.

"Let him bleed." Dutch says before he's making his way over towards the intercom. "Take his weapon.." It seems someone is going to be calling out an order or such over the com, since the Doctors will have their hands full. There's a look finally back towards the ICU area, and he is silent. "Shit.." muttered out…All the same he's got to give the call.

[Intercom] Dutch says, "Situation is All Clear. All Off duty Emergancy Medical Personnel report to Sickbay. Do you Hear? All off duty Emergency Medical Personnel report to Sickbay."

Roubani reaches the corner of Vendas' intensive care area and halts, the abrupt shift in his balance from movement to stillness lasting under a second. And there he stands, looking at the bullet-ridden wreckage of Vendas' body as the machine continues its monotone whine. There isn't a trace of tremulousness; his face is simply frozen. His hand rests on the wall leading into the area and he then turns halfway back, meeting Dutch's eyes as the Marine looks that way.

Camille swears, but Eddie is stable enough and the person flatlining isn't. Camille dashes to her feet, ignoring the downed, if still breathing Marine for her dead patient. Maybe she can get them back. lost to any blood she's losing herself, the wound probably superficial if a bleeder, she grabs a crash cart and rips the gown of her patient open…"Clear!" She calls loudly as she charges the machine. Maybe they can get her patient back…hopefully…

Barghest nods hastily and pads the…. oh Gods… the hostile down for anything that feels like a holdout of some kind. She looks a couple pints short, herself, a subtle sheen of clamminess to her skin as she collects the fallen's firearm.

The doctor currently doing an impression of a speed bump slowly unfurls her small body, and moves to rise. She sidesteps the growing pool of blood just before it reaches her shoes. Dr. Aggie Beckett isn't a fan of the open and gory trauma. This is evident in the way she flicks her hair out of her eyes, takes a look around sick bay, and then pats down her pockets for a new cigarette. No pack is to be found on her person. It's probably in her coat over yonder, which is slowly soaking up blood from a brain dead patient. She steps across the bay toward her earlier patient… "A little help." He's almost twice her size. And he's on the floor with a broken rib, split lip, and burns (she's only responsible for the rib).

There's nothing else on Drarelle. No pistol, no nothing. Wait, there's a slip of paper in his pocket. And the prayer beads around one wrist. Oh and by the way, that weak pulse? Is now no pulse. He's gone.

Barghest nods hastily and pads the…. oh Gods… the hostile down for anything that feels like a holdout of some kind. She looks a couple pints short, herself, a subtle sheen of clamminess to her skin as she collects the fallen's firearm.

The doctor currently doing an impression of a speed bump slowly unfurls her small body, and moves to rise. She sidesteps the growing pool of blood just before it reaches her shoes. Dr. Aggie Beckett isn't a fan of the open and gory trauma. This is evident in the way she flicks her hair out of her eyes, takes a look around sick bay, and then pats down her pockets for a new cigarette. No pack is to be found on her person. It's probably in her coat over yonder, which is slowly soaking up blood from a brain dead patient. She steps across the bay toward her earlier patient… "A little help." He's almost twice her size. And he's on the floor with a broken rib, split lip, and burns (she's only responsible for the rib).

There's nothing else on Drarelle. No pistol, no nothing. Wait, there's a slip of paper in his pocket. And the prayer beads around one wrist. Oh and by the way, that weak pulse? Is now no pulse. He's gone.

Dutch hangs up the intercom once the call is out and he is decidedly switching his gun to safety. As far as he is concerned he's not about to heal some asshole who goes shooting into the wounded. His own call for letting him bleed out stands. A look goes to the Corporal. "Check him.." After all that's her duty being the MP. Soon enough others should be filtering in to help secure the scene.

Camille shocks Vendas three times before she looks at the blood, the monitor… and she just knows its over. Her brain is running too fast, doing visual triage of the entire room before she chooses to whom she's running next. Sadly, it's the downed Marine leader, three bullets in him and too much blood on the floor, she dashes in that direction, grabbing for a pulse and swearing loudly as she motions over the crash cart again, all the while doing mental calculations on if she should even bother trying to revive him.

Roubani moves back as Camille rushes in with paddles, quite still compared to her rushing in and back out. His eyes stay on Vendas for quite a long time, his expression unreadable except for the tense lines at the corners of his eyes. He finally turns away fully, letting the medical teams swarm in for their duty.

The MP swallows, breathing more out of muscle memory, than anything as she'd been checking him. She withdraws the paper, but tucks it into a vest pocket in liue of looking it over. Her next priority is the fallen weapon, which she collects through proceedural process. Once that's taken care of, she steps back to something supportive to brace herself against. It's only as the other Marines start doing their jobs that she remembers to safety her weapon and slings it before reluctantly looking at the paper retrieved from the Lieutenant.

Aggie, meanwhile, contemplates wrestling with the 192 pound Crewman on the floor. It's a losing battle. She drops to her knees beside him, and does her best to dredge up the trauma training she endured during an unfortunate hospital rotation. "Making that face isn't going to help you breathe any better," Dr. Beckett informs her patient dryly, before she goes back into professional mode.

A couple of nurses, and one of the other doctors finally rush in, responding to the page that was sent out by Dutch some minutes ago. They stop dead at the door, and then the doctor snaps out a few orders, reminding them of the basic triage rules. Guy with half his head missing, is ignored. Vendas is ignored. Drarelle is approached at a jog by the two nurses, while the doctor veers off to help Aggie.

Camille gives the downed Marine another shock or two, but she's been a surgeon long enough to know the blood is too much. Even if they threw him right on the table, he'd be a goner, and there were others than need her. "…Frak this…" The normally polite Camille sighs out, standing from the bloodied man and dashing over to another bleeding patient. The reinforcements are given a quick nod as she shouts out smoothly…"Vendas is down… same with the Lieutenant there. Morales is stable for now but I want to get her back on monitors. Jones is down… Victori is…" And that's where she's going next with the crash cart. The blaring flatlines are almost too much…"Clear!" She snaps into the room again.

"Don't be such a pussy," Aggie mutters to the man she's tending. Her small hands check his vitals, and prod here and there to check. "Lift him," she says to the Doctor who's come over to help out. The blood flowing from the Crewman's head wound is more or less taken care of. There's just that pesky rib. She hands him off to the doctor, who has more trauma experience, thank you, and steps back. Her eyes briefly sweep the interior of the room, and she takes note of the carnage. "I'll be in my office." She turns on her heel to take a little… breather. Smoke break? Something. "Call me if someone chips a tooth."

With the Sickbay bustling in a macabre version of its normal self, Roubani stands there for about half a minute until his watch makes a soft beep. Shift in fifteen minutes. It beeps for a little while until he notices it, the sound nearly lost in the chaos, and his fingers press the buttons on the sides of the black face. Shift. He heads stiffly towards the hatch, skirting around the clumps of medical staff, and pauses by Dutch. "Contact me if you need anything, Sergeant."

Dutch remains standing guard where he is, watching as Medical staff do come in, and others seem to be seeing to the dead, and wounded esque here. A grimace all the same before he looks over towards Roubani and nods. There's a turn and he's filing out as more MP's come to take over the crime scene.

Barghest closes her eyes and shakes her head for a moment before, as she lets the reopen, she steps in front of the Ensign's way, "I'm…" green, " sorry, sir. I have to ask you to… to come with me."

Camille gives the smallest of looks up to Aggie as the woman is retreating to the shared office. None of them have their own offices here, sadly, the place just too cramped and crowded. The look she gives the younger doctor is plain and utter shock, that the woman would duck out at a time like this, but Camille doesn't have time for it otherwise. Realizing Victori is a lost cause, she moves onto her next patient who she does, somehow, manage to stablize. She's calling our orders for surgery like it was as natural as breathing, tryign to get everyone through one round of triage before she gets suck in the operating room.

Roubani was just turning away from Dutch, foot lifted to start walking. Then Barghest cuts him off and he stops again, one brow making a tic up at her choice of phrasing. "Yes, Corporal?"

There is a nod, and Barghest begins, "You're currently the only non-medic who was witness to…." her eyes drift to the expanse of death and it's repulsion, then back to him, "The incident. We need to take a statement, if you're capable, sir."

Aggie is a dentist. Apparently she doesn't do windows. Er… trauma. The petite doctor exits via the hatch, and disappears into the outer main bay. The dead are left to the capable hands of the nurses and doctors who flooded in. The few living are apparently, in her opinion, in much more capable hands. That or she doesn't give a flying frak. Inscrutable, go!

"Alright." Roubani's voice is low and even, and there's a glance at his watch. Eleven minutes. "Let me notify my CO that I may be delayed, and I will be with you shortly."

Barghest swallows back her stomach and salutes, "Thank you, sir." she answers politely before stepping out into the hall to either give him space or summon up enough resolve not to collapse into a gibbering mass of first-killing jello. "I'll see you in the Sec in ten minutes, sir." she says once she's confident she's collected enough to trust herself to speak again.

Roubani looks back long enough to give Barghest a formal nod and then he's off, his pace stiff.

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