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[color=39b54a][center][h1]Distant Town, Medical Bay[/h1][/center][/color]
[center][hider=Dressed like a civilian might keep me under the radar..]
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[b][color=39b54a][center]Character Sheet Updated[/center][/color][/b]
[center][color=39b54a]Mentioned[/color]: 
[@Sketcher] - Lucas[/center]


The scent of sterile walls and the ever moving hand of a clock blanketed Miles' senses like the droplets of rain had, before. Comfort, it was a celestial embrace wrapping itself around Miles' tired frame, a savior warming his cold and fatigued body. It was hard to tell, if exhaustion or blood loss had been the reason behind his journey to the land of dreams. Lucas had been driving, and Miles spent the moments leaning against the window in a tired attempt to fade away. Inevitably, he did. Once the boy came to, he found himself within the sterile confinements of a medical room. The soft beeping sound of various equipment reached his ears and drew a picture before his eyes ever gazed upon his surroundings. With his chest slowly rising, and lowering itself in tune with his calm breathing, Miles eventually allowed his eyes to adjust to the ever shifting world around him. 

It was rather dark, the lights dimmed for Miles' own comfort. Slowly ascending to a sitting position, he felt an all too familiar sting of pain echoing throughout his frame, though managed to hoist himself against the soft pillows behind him. Having adjusted to the setting, and the dim atmosphere blanketing the interior, Miles came to witness his exposed and bruised body. Dressed in a pair of boxers, a new pair would be fair to note, he had been cleaned and bandaged from the ordeals the young soldier had gone through. The otherwise bleeding wounds on his forehead had been covered in wrapping, much like his stomach, arm and forearm. Several areas across his wounded frame were scraped, but there was little one could do in covering them. 

Taking a deep breath, Miles felt the exhilarating blessing of air traveling down his lungs without pain stabbing at every inch of his insides. On the small bedside table right besides him, there was a glass of water waiting for his thin and bandaged fingers to wrap around the cold surface and downed the liquid in a matter of seconds. 

They had really done it. They had managed to get away from that hellhole and reached heaven. Well, the pearly gates didn't get much better than this. Not in this world. The passing of thirty full minutes eventually allowed for movement, and Miles slowly made enough progress to place his bare feet against the cold floor. Clenching his teeth through the pain, Miles pulled his scrawny body up to a standing position before seeing the wardrobe at the other end of the room. One wobbly step lead to another, which in turn linked to a third, and a fourth. This was going well, enough. Once he reached the wardrobe, Miles saw how more inconspicuous clothing awaited him beyond the door. A black pair of cargo pants, along with canvas shoes and a black sweater somewhat big for his lithe torso. This would do, and no one would be able to point at him and yell soldier. 

Soldier. Is that what he was? The conversation he had shared with Lucas in the car came back like a crashing wave. What would he do, from here? On the battlefield, he had heard more than a few words of uncertainty from his fellow soldiers and those who thought otherwise were dead set on Liberty's compassion. 

In the end, Miles didn't join the army to protect others. He didn't do this to save the world, did he? He did it for himself. He did it, to get a better life, in the end. He was hardly a saint, and he sought survival above all else. Perhaps Lucas had made the right choice. Perhaps, just maybe, the Wastes held what he was looking for. How ironic. He had been told that Wastelanders were all savages, but Lucas had proved those rumors wrong. [color=39b54a]"Maybe...I've been wrong since the very start..."[/color]