Aidan sat down on the first whatever near his body, rested his head on his right fist and closed his eyes to listen to the briefing. He did have to struggle to keep himself awake, but he couldn't think of any other posture that would make him withstand the entire briefing without succumbing to microsleep; he judged that if he would allow himself to close his eyes, his brain would become too anxious and keep itself from actually falling asleep to not embarrass himself. From personal experience, he knew that the more he tried to keep his eyes open, the sleepier he would feel. As Blade went on, the dog questioned his own state of awareness: were they really heading on foot, dressed like civvies? The amalgamations of bad feelings made him almost retch on the spot, choking on gastric reflux that gave off its specific taste at the back of his tongue and throat. He immediately wanted to call in sick on this one, his instincts, his emotions and his rationality outright refused to join in. The colonel was a super nice guy, he would understand his issue, right? That would me he had to lie again and dig himself deeper in his own grave. Against everything, he avoided telling Silverwind about his situation and turned 180 degrees. 

He mindlessly headed towards the armory in tandem with Michael, but he allowed him to go first and get the stuff he needed. For himself, he thought he would get a casual dark blue short sleeve shirt, his denims and a pair of boots that wouldn't look too military. He considered getting his sneakers, but he would get the worst blisters on Arvara if he had to run for a large number of miles. The armorer, suspecting that he was joining the tiger on this weird task, offered him a similar vest to wear under the shirt, a walkie talkie with earpiece which he "masterfully" concealed with the help of a dark grey cap and his pair of sunglasses. He took [url=http://www.carryonluggagesize.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/IMG_00037.jpg]a black briefcase with a shoulder strap[/url] in which he stowed his PDW, the 5.7x28mm round-totting M-57, along with two more spare magazines, two magazines for a subcompact handgun in another compartment, his knife in the same compartment with the handgun, a super-basic first aid kit and a couple of bottles filled with water. In the end, he looked like some business man dressed in casual-wear. Either that, or a soldier trying really hard to look like a civilian. What helped with making his outfit more believable was to unbutton the first button, leave the shirt untucked and leave his jeans unbloused over the boots. Like Blade, he concealed a [url=http://assets.academy.com/mgen/78/10064078.jpg]subcompact handgun[/url] around his waist under the loose shirt. The briefcase felt stupid heavy at first, but there was no other choice for him but to get used to the extra weight pulling him down. There was one last thing he had to deal with before he would go out, so, he waited beside the armory for a particular feline to pop up. Once the Captain showed up, Aidan quickly took a step forward to block her from gaining access to the armory, nearly stumbling over his own feet due to his hastiness.

"Captain. May I have a word with you? Privately, of course."

Once Aidan made sure no one was around to eavesdrop on their conversation, he sighed heavily and pressed his eyes back in their sockets, thinking of a good way to deliver the news.

"Ma'am. The results came back. The guys stood up all night working on those samples, mainly because the findings were baffling for them, I suppose. They wouldn't know the final verdict, since the results have to be pieced together by a physician, so we're safe for now.

I couldn't find a better moment to break this to you and I can only trust you with the information. If your squad finds out exactly what your problem is, they WILL freak out, act suspicious and blow our cover. I don't want to stall this any longer, so I'll give it to you straight: you've got GPA. Granulomatosis with PolyAngiitis, or Wehrner's Granulomatosis. Basic description, it's a form of vasculitis- uh, inflamati- SWELLING of blood vessels in most organs including, yes, lungs. And kidneys. I don't think you ever check your urine, but it should be bloody red by now." Aidan shot his head to a side to check if anyone was peeking at the two crammed up in a cramped alcove. He turned his attention back to Esailia to grab her shoulders and pull the woman closer to speak on a lower tone.

"The swelling is caused by antibodies called ANCAs, so basically, your own body is trying to destroy your own blood vessels, an auto-immune disease if you will. What caused this, I'm not sure; it could be you inhaled some toxic fumes, or it could be genetic inheritance, what concerns us now is not how it popped up, it's how we treat it. We need remission-inducing drugs and immunosuppressants to control the advancement of the condition. We can't find any of those here, since the military doesn't accept people with any health issues, BUT, the visit to Martenstown is a perfect opportunity for me to snatch-and-grab the stuff you need. We can control it for at most five years with basic drugs, but if I get my hands on some really good stuff, it should be just enough to get to retirement. Or until you decide you want to quit.

Esailia, if allow me to call you so, this is something that's out of my field of knowledge. From the moment I got the results at 0600 hours, I powered through all the e-tomes I could download on my PADD to do my research and I [i]think[/i] I've got the gist of it. As promised, I'll do my very best to help you out, but I would still suggest seeking more capable help. To recap: autoimmune disease, swollen blood vessels, lung bleeding. Prescription-only drugs, 5-year survival rate 80-something percent if treatment is followed adequately. You won't die today or tomorrow, but I can't guarantee you'll make it the next month, it's your call, ma'am. I'm here to help and support you, okay? Whatever you choose to do, I'll comply."

With that, he lifted her chin one inch up and gave her a smile and a nod before he left off towards the hangar door. He didn't know how he pulled off a smile with the sense of foreboding clouding his mind. He got so distracted that he managed to snag his shirt in a door handle, getting yanked back by the object; he ignored that incident and the half-humorous remark, he would otherwise find rather amusing, someone near him made. The long walk towards the hangar door felt like a marathon he had to pull through, having all the reasons to just drop on his ass and refuse to join. The restless night, the physical strain from the other day and the difficult condition he had to treat all mounted his head and dragged him back and away from his duty; every step was harder to make, he physically felt his legs growing heavier during the approach and by the time he arrived, he already felt exhausted. Lucky he had the cap and the sunglasses to conceal most of his distressed expression. To lose some tension, or at least attempt to, he smirked to Nawlin's question and replied.

"Hopefully it won't be us who'll get pounded. Guess it goes without saying you people should watch your back on the field; if I would carry my kit, I'd might as well put a bull's-eye on my head."