Brad awoke to the sun washing across the room. Groggily, he sat up in bed, wondering where he was.
A glance around told him he was in a hospital ward. He looked down and saw he still had all his limbs. They all worked. He noticed an IV going into his left arm and a bandage around his stomach. Tendrils of fire shot through his body, trying to lay him low.
He restrained himself from the immediate impulse to tear the IV out of his body and take off running. He checked to make sure the IV wasn't plugged into any ominously beeping machinery first. Satisfied that it was merely a sugar drip, he pulled the icy needles from his forearm and swung his legs over the bedside.
A nurse approached him, having noticed his awakening. She began to talk to him in French.
"Thanks for all your help," he said as he got up off the bed. "But if you could just point me towards my clothes, I have somewhere I'm supposed to be."
He had a mission, and he needed proper medical attention. Thankfully, he could kill those two birds with one stone by rejoining Terra Group.
She stopped with a puzzled expression on her face. Great, Brad thought. Assign the one who can't speak English to the ward with the guy who can't speak French.
"Clothes," he repeated, tugging at the flimsy plastic hospital gown. "Fashion? Apparel? Une GFFA Jumpsuit?"
If I can't get my clothes, I'll just have to walk out of here in this... and mug someone fast.
Unfortunately, the nurse was motioning to the hospital bed and the discarded IV needle. "Non," he said flatly. "Non way in hell."
The nurse walked over to the bed, bent down and picked up a box from underneath it. Inside, was a pristine flightsuit.
"Ah, je suis desolé," he blushed. "My mistake."
He walked to the bathroom with the bundle and quickly got dressed.
The door swung open, and he ran out like a thunderbolt. His face was on record. Hospital security and visiting police would recognise him immediately. There was no time to be subtle.
He ran down the corridor, green lightning licking unnoticed at his heels. He turned a corner, and saw a patient being wheeled on a stretcher. Without breaking stride he threw himself in a leap over the surprised teen and landed on the other side. Within moments he'd found the stairwell and jumped down it.
Landing in the basement four floors down, he got up from his crouch.
What an unbelievably stupid thing to do. Almost as insane as the fact he survived it. This was dangerous - he was acting before he even had time to think.
Back up to ground level. The foot traffic was thick. He stopped, started walking at a human pace. As expected, there was a minor police presence. Not the coffee-drinking American cops he was subconsciously expecting, but thin gendarmes. He did his best to look inconspicuous, but dressed as he was, he wasn't surprised when one of the police took a double-take.
He locked gazes with the gendarme. He couldn't help but smirk. The gendarme tapped on his partner's shoulder. They were between Brad and the exit, and there was a crowd of people in the way.
They began making their way through the people as he watched them helplessly. He turned the other way and ran.
He had to find another exit. He sprinted down corridors, narrowly weaving from one near-miss to another. He spotted an exit, and stormed through it.
And ran into full view of a dozen French police.
They drew their pistols. A radio squawked.
Not good.