[color=teal][h3]Ripley Hayes[/h3] September 1st, Empire State University[/color][hr] It was quiet in the library. The only sounds occupying the space were the subtle clearings of throats, turning pages, and the graphite pencil that was scritching softly against paper. The pencil paused. A frustrated sigh. The sound of the pencil tapping at the table. Silence. And more writing. Ripley Hayes' head wasn't in the game that day. Usually she was quicker than this, finishing the assignment for the day much earlier. Usually, by now she'd be studying for her own interest. Ripley sighed, closing her eyes to escape the fluorecent lights of the library. [color=darkred][i]Drop.[/i] [i]Drop.[/i] [i]Drop.[/i][/color] Ripley opened her eyes to face the stark white paper of her essay, only to be met with stains of fresh, red blood. The saturated drops seeped into the white of the paper, completely opaque on top of the gray scribbles her pen had made. Confused, Ripley blinked and looked up to see where the blood was coming from. The movement caused blood to rush into her mouth, the warm, irony taste hitting the back of her tongue. Was her nose bleeding? Ripley brought her hands to cup her nose. They were covered in red before she could comprehend what was going on. [i]Shit.[/i] Ripley began looking for a tissue. Her nose was running now, the occasional drips having turned into a steady flow of blood. It was everywhere. The front and sleeves of her white hoodie — dear god why had she chosen to wear that today — were dotted with bright red blood that dried into a rusty burgundy colour. Her head hurt. She felt dizzy, light headed. It must've been the blood loss. Glancing around, Ripley was about to call for aid when she saw it. People were coughing, shaking, falling unconscious. Dread settled into the pit of Ripley's stomach. What was going on? Red haze. Ripley wasn't sure if it was actually in the air or if it was just because of the blood everywhere, but everything seemed to be covered in red mist. Seeing people coughing, Ripley realised her throat felt itchy too. [i][color=darkred]Cough.[/color][/i] A splurt of blood hit the table, spraying from between Ripley's fingers. A coughing fit hit her, and blood was everywhere. Her lungs were burning, they were on fire, she was going to die. She was going to die then and there, surrounded by books and other withering people. [i]Shit. F*ck.[/i] Ripley realised she couldn't breathe, that her lungs simply wouldn't draw air. She panicked. The girl rose up from her seat, turning around to run... And was met with the cold floor and a sickening thud as her legs gave out. [i]She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, she was suffocating, she was dying. She was going to die.[/i] She was going to die, and she didn't even know why. [hr][color=teal]September 5th, Greenwich hospital, New York City, NY[/color][hr] Ripley had been going in and out of consciousness for days. She didn't know how or when, but she had ended up in the hospital. Someone must've called 911, because the last thing Ripley remembered was falling unconscious on the cold library floor. It hurt. Breathing hurt, her lungs were on fire. Her limbs felt like they were constantly being assaulted by thousands of tiny needles. Her brain felt like it was frying. She was sweating, shaking, her spit was weird and foamy. All sounds were too loud, too close, too much. Her tinnitus felt like an ominous buzzing in her ears, it felt like a piercing pressure she couldn't get relief from. Ripley didn't know what was happening to her, but she knew she wasn't the only one. Pained wails and groans carried down the hospital corridor, and all that accompanied it was machines beeping and hospital staff rushing back and forth from room to room. People were in pain, just like her. So many people. Too many, in fact. Where would they all fit? There wasn't room for everyone. The doctors told her what they knew, that she'd been right at the center of it all when it happened. "The attack," they called it. Ripley had no idea what they were talking about. Apparently she'd been there for four days now. Ripley didn't remember much of it aside from the excruciating pain she'd been in. The doctors had been busy going in and out of the rooms, checking on multiple patients at a time. Ripley couldn't really remember anything. [color=teal]"...Can I see my dad?"[/color] Ripley asked on the fifth day. He voice was raspy and weak from disuse. Everything felt off. [b]"We... Your mother is on the way. She was listed as your emergency contact, and she was the only one we could reach. Your father hasn't been picking up calls, unfortunately,"[/b] the nurse checking on Ripley's IV explained. Ripley frowned, blinking a few times. Why hadn't her dad picked up? Surely he would've done so as soon as he'd noticed the attack. He knew Ripley studied at that university, he would've been worried sick. He would've picked up, he would've been here days ago. Why wasn't he here? There was no way, unless... [color=teal]"...He's really busy,"[/color] Ripley assured the nurse. Or was it herself? The nurse looked at Ripley, something akin to worry sparking in her eyes at the statement. [color=teal]"Yeah, he... you know, he gets really caught up with his work sometimes. He could be on a work trip - yeah, that's it - he just haven't had the time to check his phone."[/color] [b]"What does your dad do for a living, if I may ask?"[/b] [color=teal]"He's a business man. Probably just in a place that has really bad reception,"[/color] Ripley insisted with a sure smile on her face. Despite Ripley's smile, her heart monitor sped up. She was getting agitated. [b]"Well, your mother is on her way. She's taking a flight all the way from California to come and see you. She'll be here in the next few days,"[/b] the nurse soothed, her voice calming and reassuring. Ripley nodded, but she didn't really seem to hear what the nurse was saying. [color=teal]"Dad will come too. As soon as he realises he's been getting calls from the hospital, he'll come rushing in - just wait."[/color] And wait she did.