Scott looked up, smiling, looking to Alexis, as he tried to think, connecting the words.
"Alexis...Alexis. Where am I?" He said, quietly, barely able to get his words through, as his mind felt like it was coming together a bit. He had to worry, but his body felt different. His grey matter was actually beginning to connect, and while it had been for weeks and months, through his treatment, it was if only now, it had really began to spring into a real step. He felt the oxygen tube around his nose, and the slight of his legs and arms exist, as he shook violently and in an uncotrolled manner, not controlling his muscle's movements. He blinked, looking. Memory wasn't there, he just knew her, but what was Basra? A place? He felt as if he was somehow just blinded, not understanding of what was going on, looking at the other nurse that had noticed him say it.
"I'm still here...I just feel really confused...I can feel things slowly coming back, there's a real pain in my arms and legs." Scott added, just feeling his whole mind was a blur, as he slowly sat up, the feeling returning to his fingers and hands, as well as parts of his legs, but not his feet, not yet. But things felt like they were restoring, like everything was coming out of the blur, and he was somehow recovering. Perhaps it was just the time it took for his mind to reassemble all the pieces, and now, it had clicked, and rather than muttering or reflexes, he was in conscious thought.
"It's like everything is really hazy..." He almost felt like he could speak a little louder, coughing a little as he smiled, looking up at Alexis.
"I can't remember much..I can't remember anything at all. I just remember this really sharp pain, and poof." Scott added, just looking to her for answers, wondering what she'd say. He knew his name...it was Scott, Scott Harris. And he was some sort of soldier, that came back too, but he didn't know what exactly. Did he have family? Or what was he? What role? He had no idea that the whole of the time he had been out, the operation had been one kept under the rug. He was a relic, of something that didn't happen, on paper that was. All the hospital knew, was that he was from a US operation and in need of post-traumatic care, namely, in his state of a coma. The Army had relinquished it's hold over his injury- he was now a veteran hospital's worry, and they were responsible for the rest of his treatment, while paid for by the US Army itself.

---

The van pulled up, the noise of men in the back cocking rifles being heard. They wore balaclavas, as one at the back cocked the AKM, looking to the others.
"This man we find, and take." He simply said, his accent a deeply Arabic one, as he opened the back door, and putting away the picture of the American soldier. They emerged, wearing various white shirts and gloves, all balaclava'd as they moved in. They simply jogged through the Hospital lobby, already weapons raised, the four men moving with a certain pacing that seemed to suggest that they meant business.
"DOWN ON THE GROUND!" He yelled, as he pulled the trigger, emptying a pair of rounds into the roof. A security guard reached for his sidearm, but the leader's accomplice shot him with a pair of rounds to the chest, as the rest kept eyes on the crowd, and another frightened nurse came over to his body. The accomplice shot again, one round, and it sent her on the ground in fear. Walking up, the leader pointed at the receptionist.
"Do you know where Scott Harris is being held? You have thirty seconds, or we kill three people in this lobby for every ten seconds you run over. You understand, woman!?" He yelled, his loud Arabic accent scaring the whole room, as she barely searched up, almost crying, not wanting to let people die.
"DO IT!" He yelled, spitting through the mouth hole, raising it right to her temple, the woman now in tears as she could barely act, almost totally frozen yet somehow knowing full well it was going to make people die. These people had done it already- and surely, one patient compared to a whole lobby would be a brazen act. This wasn't a bank, it was a veteran's hospital. And even the security guard, who was there simply for appearances to deal with external threats such as aggressive visitors or other smaller security concerns, had failed in dealing with this. The police could well be on their way, but they had minutes of time, not seconds, to get what they wanted done. To find Scott Harris, and to bring him. It had taken years to find him, to this very hospital. And while he was no liability, he needed to be brought as proof to their employer, to be dealt with appropriately. This was a man who had been part of the operation that meant a lot to his employer, and he had very powerful connections.