[center][i]Cordelia Lynn Holmes[/i][/center]

Lynn had seen and done a lot in her sixteen (potentially - Lynn's birth records were neither the most accurate nor the most accessible) years, both those spent on the earth and above it. She had many what she may call "four a.m." experiences - those being times or instances when something was so strange and twisted and warped, it could not have happened at any other time. It was the sort of thing you could only experience with someone else because it was so singular - just a brief, fleeting minute. Seeing a crackhead in a [i]Gravity Falls[/i] t-shirt trying to break open a soda machine for money and getting baptised in Fanta. Seeing someone attempt to start a riot, slip, and instead create a strange, prison-wide moment of unity in laughing. Seeing a boy turn into an eleven foot tall lizard after a metallic robot dropped down, music blaring, and kicked him in the head.

"We should - "

Lynn was in the hospital. It was four a.m. in her head.

Lynn would've felt bad for Radvi if he was awake, because she instinctively seized as tight as she could onto whatever she was holding, which happened to be an exposed part of his jawbone. Lynn had taken some nasty punches that left her head spinning but nothing like this. The air was all of a sudden different, clean and sanitized and bleached, and there was fluorescent light stabbing into her eyes, and they were surrounded by people. It was like going from being asleep to all of a roller coaster in under a second, and when the rollercoaster ended she was back asleep in a bad dream.

Lynn stumbled up from the body. Had she entered the doors normally, she would already have been restrained by doctors and checked for injuries. As it was, the sheer element of surprise had stunned the nurses nearby and Lynn was able to make it to the closest trash can where she hurled what little material was still left in her stomach. Lab coats had swarmed Radvi already and taken him away, and Lynn washed her hands of it. He was a dead man, but the others were welcome to try their best. She planned on walking home, showering, and sleeping.

"Go straight to hell, Amelia, what, what the fu-" Lynn's chest clenched. Her chest and belly were sore from the vomiting and she heaved again, her heart rate finally starting to slow down from the complete panic.

Lynn turned and looked up, thin wisps of smoke curling off her lips. A doctor had turned the corner due to all the clamor. Wait, she recognized him. [i]The motherfucker with the puppets![/i]

"Lynn," he said, a look of concern on his face - one slightly more paternal than any given person may have at seeing a person covered in blood. He fumbled in his pocket for a brochure, one she'd read out of boredom and burned out of greater boredom - [i]Healthy Weight Goals and Dangerous Weight Loss[/i]. "You don't need to vomit, you -"

"I hate this motherfucking station," Lynn whispered to herself, fingers bending the metal of the trash can.