[color=00a651][b]July 20th, 2108 Late Evening Northwestern Memorial hospital, Chicago[/b][/color] All Charlotte remembered was the squeal of her tires as she turned the corner, then seeing headlights beside her, then it all went black. She had images of red and blue lights, the inside of an ambulance, the wreckage of her car. It had happened so fast. She woke up to the rhythmic beeping of the cardiac monitor beside her bed. When she first opened her eyes, everything was blurry and Charlotte feared she had lost her vision before realising they were her own tears. She had been crying in her semi-conscious state. It was when she tried to reach over to wipe her eyes with her left arm that she felt something seriously wrong. There was no arm, just a bandaged stub, sliced across just above where her elbow should have been. Panic overtook her and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was sitting on her chest. The cardiac monitor sped up in response, beeping rapidly. Her vision went dark as the nurse ran in and set up an oxygen mask on her. The next few days were all a blur. Most of the doctors had made an effort to come see their injured friend and a feeling of helplessness fell over her. Most left her get well cards, a few left balloons and one had left flowers by her bed. She had never really agreed with getting someone presents while in the hospital, what the hell were they gonna do with them? The whole idea seemed kind of silly to her. Two doctors she had worked with before came in to discuss prosthetic options, and in return left her a mountain of paperwork to do. Then, as if a saviour in shining armor, one of her best friends and trusted partners Dr. Jeremy Carter walked in and, without even missing beat, slid the paperwork off of her side table and began to complete it while Charlotte slept. When she awoke, he stood there smiling and she couldn’t help but do the same. He held two coffees in a tray in one hand, and a brown paper bag in the other which smelled of pastries, probably from the cafe across the street. She spent the afternoon talking, laughing and enjoying pastries and coffee with her best friend, one of the better days she’d had since the accident. [color=00a651][b]July 27th 2109 Early Afternoon Same Location[/b][/color] Charlotte sat in her office looking over various patient reports. She had been bored out of her mind since she lost her arm in the accident, and paperwork certainly wasn’t thrilling like surgery used to be. It was funny how life could change so drastically in such a short period of time. She flicked the translucent screen in front of her, swiping to a complete 3-D model of the spine. It highlighted an area in red where the injury had happened and between the accident report and the model, Charlotte was able to work out exactly what had caused the injury and began to figure out how to fix it. One thing was for sure, it was going to be surgical. She ran her prosthetic fingers through her hair with a sigh as she sat there like a kid trying to piece together a puzzle. The rising rate of riots and murders in the country had filled the hospital to it’s brim and the number of neurological consults she had received was insane. Stacks of paper describing blows to the head, people that had been trampled and concussions from fist fights covered her desk. Charlotte was slightly old fashioned, keeping all of the patient reports on hard copy. She found them much easier to read like this and she was also able to take them home to work on them further, something she couldn’t do electronically as they were tightly locked up on the hospital servers. She quickly mumbled something to the AI in her office and a metal splint appeared next to the spinal model. After fiddling around with different splints for a few hours, she finally found a model and orientation that would work and quickly jotted down some notes, takings measurements for the splint and then sending in the order to the supply desk to be delivered to the doctor in charge of the case. A few hours later Charlotte had gathered her things for a few other patients and left the hospital, greeted by the crimson sun that sat on the horizon. She hopped on a train downtown and stopped in at a coffee shop upon arrival, looking over her notes and patient portfolios as she enjoyed her usual coffee and pastry. She held the cup in her left arm which still felt foreign and uncomfortable, but it was better than nothing. Besides, it was useful for taking things out of the oven at home when she didn’t feel like getting the oven mitts out. By the time she had gotten home it was raining, the pitch black sky unleashing a torrent of lukewarm water onto the streets of downtown Chicago. She fell asleep very quickly, exhausted from yet another day of consults. Sometimes she actually wanted to work in the ER, at least that was a little more exciting. [b][color=00a651]Day Eleven February 10th, 2110 10:30am[/color][/b] The FN Herstal FNX-45 made a reassuring click as she chambered a round in it. Charlotte’s breath fogged lightly in front of her, but otherwise she felt fairly warm despite the conditions. The cargo truck bounced gently on the slightly decayed roads as they approached Washington. From what the other travellers had said, they were now about ten miles north of their destination. A few minutes passed and the truck began to sputter and cough, before the engine died outright. Charlotte holstered her pistol on her hip and hopped out of the truck, approaching the driver’s window. “What gives?” she said, tapping on the window lightly. The driver descended from the truck and looked to her, before tapping the hood “All out o’ gas I’m afraid, I thought we’d have enough to make it here.” His heavy southern accent caught her slightly off guard but she nodded and put it out of her mind. She waved to the others as she walked on down the road, the frigid winds biting at her face. Charlotte rolled her shoulders and stretched out her false arm. It never seemed to work very well in the cold and frequent movement with it was required to keep it from completely locking up. Her large black backpack felt heavy on her shoulders after being relaxed on the truck for so long, and her trauma kit hung from her good hand, not quite dragging on the ground.