[Center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/25b9f4eb-a8b1-46ca-8ab3-88c168ed18b3.png[/img]

Joel Beck 
[b]Location[/b]: Joel's apartment 
[b]Tags[/b]: Grim[/center]

The entrance to the building was guarded by a man curled up on the stoop. Joel stepped over him without a second thought and began fussing with the stripped lock until he could finally shove the door open. The interior was...unpleasant. The dark green tile carpet was absolutely filthy with mystery stains, there were several insect carcasses in every corner, and a man was slumped in an arm chair in the foyer. The smell of smoke and pot hung heavy in the air. Somewhere, a dog was barking viciously and a base was rattling the walls. The elevator had an "out of order" sign that predated either of them. 

Joel lead the way up the stairs silently until he finally came to his floor. His apartment wasn't...awful. It was certainly neat. As clean as a poorly maintained crackhouse apartment could be. The wallpaper was peeling in several places and the carpet was old as hell, but at least it wasn't piled with garbage. In fact, Joel hardly had anything. The wobbly kitchen table, a couple chairs, an old saggy couch, and an armchair made up the kitchen/living room combo. Up the hall, his bedroom appeared to be almost completely empty, save for a mismatched set of dressers, no bed. Overall, it was nicer than one could expect from a depressed widow. 

He picked up the folder off his table and began flipping through the pages until he found the name he was looking for: Doctor Ellison. "Shit," he hissed, reading the report on decreased brain activity. It suggested administering a test for possible brain death. He shut the folder again and went to get coffee started.

"Dr. Ellison was a neurologist. He was the one who convinced me to participate in this experimental treatment for fatal familial insomnia. But he didn’t actually get my consent, because I was dead when he took me. I never had FFI, and now I can't even remember why I thought I did. Aside from never sleeping. He did some shit to my head, made up some..." Joel waved his hand, trying to come up with the right wording, "Fake memories, or something. Now I have no idea how much of what I remember was real or not." 

He leaned on the kitchen counter on his elbows and pressed his face into his hands. He was clearly frustrated. "He probably still works at that damn hospital, shopping for his next victims. Northwestern Memorial. You ever been there?" 

He glanced over at Grim, then took notice of the other hero's bandages. "Hey, why don't you wash those burns out a little better. I got stuff here to rewrap them. Don't know what kind of shit got in there." Like burnt Joel particles. "The bathroom's up the hall, first aid kit is in the closet in there." 

With the coffee maker working it's magic, Joel excused himself to his bedroom to put on some normal person clothes. He shoved his suit into his drawsting backpack and slung it over his shoulder when he was done. Hopefully he wouldn't need it again tonight.