LOG: Upgrade - Fifteen Hours of Sheer Hell

[x-jetstream.livejournal.com]

The X-Men return from the mission to bring Maverick in from the cold.



Jean and Maddie.

Madelyn wasn't a big fan of telepathy - like all headblind people someone having access to the inside of her head was a touch unnerving - but she never denied it was useful. Especially in medical emergencies - Jean was giving her a running commentary of Haroun's condition even as she brought him up from the hanger. Thus it was Madelyn was all set with the first dose of antibiotic as Jean came bursting into the isolation room behind the gurney.

Not until the isolation door was secured behind her did  Jean finally lower the gurney to the ground, releasing the tk bubble around it which had kept anything from escaping into the school. She left his oxygen mask in place, already able to tell from Haroun's laboured breathing that he needed all the help  he could get.

The hazmat suit was bulky and awkward, but it beat deadly air-borne contaminants. And the mask made it easier to hide her reactions to seeing Haroun as effectively broken as a child's toy - even the telepathic briefing hadn't encompassed the extent of the damage. One leg gone, the other mangled, bruises and contusions covering most of his body and face... "Mother of God," she murmured, moved to cross herself briefly before turning to business. Haroun needed a doctor, not a friend, and there was work to be done. "How're his vitals?" she asked Jean, knowing the other woman would have been monitoring those on the way down, even as she started prepping a site for an IV on the least-damaged of his arms. She could feel the heat of his skin even through the gloves.

Jean used her tk as much as her gloved hands to strip him out of his ruined uniform. "Not good," she told Madelyn. "Blood pressure's up, and obviously body temp, heart rate's erratic, and you can hear his breathing..." She had actually seen a body in worse shape, but the only reason Alison was still alive was magic, pure and simple.

As soon as his arms were clear, Madelyn got the IV into the back of his hand and a saline drip running, adding the antibiotic into the mix. Sweat was running off Haroun in streams, and he'd need the fluid replaced. "We need to get his temp down before there's permanent damage," she said perhaps a bit needlessly, hand already moving to the adapted comms device on the suit. "Hank, we need ice, stat. Leave it outside the door." Hank's voice in her ear, rumbling and somehow soothing. "We'll have some blood samples for you to work on asap." The comm crackled an affirmative even as her hands and eyes continued working, analysing the damage, determining what needed to be done and when. "There's some serious tissue damage here, but nothing internal. How's his mind dealing with the damage to the interface?"

"Charles and I aren't worried yet," Jean said, collecting the first of the needed blood samples. "He's still mostly in shock, but when that wears off..." There could be, would be problems. Haroun already mentally compartmentalized his cybernetic components, separating them from his sense of self to a worrying degree. With the damage he had taken, they were worried his psyche might fragment itself to cope.

Madelyn nodded grimly - knowing Haroun's history as well, she didn't need to be psychic to follow that train of thought. "We've got a couple of broken ribs here," she said, running her hands carefully along his torso and feeling the unevenness. "And given his face looks like he's planted it into a wall again, there's a good chance of a fracture to the skull, and a concussion. We'll need to rig up some kind of portable X-ray to confirm." The intercom crackled into life, Clarice's voice informing them they had several buckets of ice. "Leave them in the containment area, kiddo," Madelyn called back. "We don't know how contagious this thing is." Clarice's reply was a touch put out, but she knew Madelyn's She Who Must Be Obeyed tone.

The samples finished and set aside for delivery out of the isochamber when Hank and Moira were ready for them, Jean turned her attention to assessing the cybernetics themselves. Her knowledge wasn't anywhere near as extensive as Hank's, but she could tell salvegable from destroyed, and there was little enough of the first category. "There's going to be a lot of nerve damage," she muttered, running her hands along the joins between flesh and metal. Haroun was propped up because of the still-deployed jetpack on his back, and it was making examination difficult, but it would have to wait. Stabilise first, deal with that later.

Madelyn grabbed the samples as she went to get the ice, setting the decontamination cycle going before carrying back two large buckets of ice, which she began packing around Haroun's sides. "And then some," she agreed, laying her hand briefly on his forehead. It was like touching the side of the kettle. "Whatever the hell this thing is, it's nasty."

"Nasty may not even begin to cover it..." Jean said, sounding worried.

***

Moira.

Hair pulled back as tightly as humanly possible, Moira set to work. It was going to be hard, she and Henry both had to avoid contact with whatever Haroun had come into contact with. Out of everyone, as parents, they had the most to lose if they became infected. Needed to keep it as isolated as possible, so she found herself running off of feeds from the surgery proper, tests results from Cain and Haroun's own personal file.

And the samples that she had collected that Jean and Maddie had left out for her and Hank. Instead of stepping on each others toes, she and he had decided to split and work from different angles. Hopefully, they'd meet somewhere in the middle, thanks to frequent updates and open conference lines from lab to lab, and come up with a solution.

Her hands shook a second before she clenched them tightly. It was the worst--working on those that you knew. But she had done it before, with people closer to her, and damn it all, she could do it again. Letting go she nodded as her hands stopped shaking.

Between her and Henry, they'd figure something out, that was beyond a doubt.

A small part of her mind quietly wondered if it would be in time.

***

Alison and Scott.

Staggering out of the chemical shower which had been deemed obligatory as a precaution, Alison took a gulp of air, then another. The clothing she'd had in her locker felt rough on her skin after the harsh chemicals, though it was probably only her imagination, or so she told herself, vaguely so. Eyes still stinging from crying under the jets of the chemicals, even though a normal shower had been quickly taken after, she leaned on the wall facing the door, hoping no one would see her like this. Struggling to get it together, to start working on contacting the people they would need to, in order to get Haroun what was needed, as soon as possible.

"Alison." It wasn't a question. Scott's voice was quiet, calm, but too firm to be soothing as he approached her. "Ali?" He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Look at me." He knew basically what had happened, and had at least some idea of what had to be going through her mind right now.

"I told him to..." her voice faltered, and she realized it was shaking over every word, echoing her hands which were now pressed flat against the wall. "I ordered him in. I sent him in there to-" A small, incredulous laugh escaped her, replaced by a sob within the next heartbeat. "Sent him in..." The horror in her voice shone clearly in her eyes as well, even as she pressed one hand to her mouth, turning around to lean on the wall, hugging herself with her other arm.

"Yeah. You did." He didn't take his hand off her shoulder. "Because that's what you had to do, to get the job done. Haroun didn't question the order, did he?" He didn't want to stop her from reacting however she needed to react to this. But she had to let herself or not, one or the other. There was too much to do for her to be paralyzed by this.

The tears were running down her cheeks as he finished speaking though, Alison just shaking her head slightly, heartsick at what she'd done. What had been the proper and right thing to do, and had saved the lives of those in the house and ensured the success of the mission. "I didn't even think of- just reacted. Only thing to do..." She slid to the floor, slowly, rocking back and forth, the sounds coming through the comm system as Arkady had turned upon Haroun with a vengeance remembered far too clearly still.

Scott knelt down beside her. "I didn't order her outside," he said after a moment, "but I remember what it was like to stand in the cockpit of the Blackbird and watch Jean swept away by the water." He was silent for a long moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing here. But he could only trust his instincts, as usual. "If you can't get up and face this right now, you can't. That's all right. I'm not going anywhere."

"Not yet. Just a few minutes..." She couldn't do it, not without breaking down first. If she tried to go up now, she'd just break at the worse of times, she knew. Knew it, bone deep. They had to call Shaw Industries, reach Emma Frost, get things in motion. She had no doubt medical had already put in the first call, just as she knew no response had been given yet - any one of them would have told her right away, if so. But for now, just for a few blessed minutes, she could break down. Scott has said it was all right, and she knew she would have anyway.

Scott waited there with her, saying nothing. Not trying to offer any comfort, because there wasn't any, not in a situation like this. But the hand stayed on her shoulder.






Cain

Cain stretched in the small room they'd isolated him in. Idly, he ran a finger over the walls, remembering when he'd had to toss Marie in here during one of her fits. Airtight, smelled like a dry morgue, he thought. Quadruple HEPA filters kept anything contagious from getting in or out.

Contagious. Heh. Cain looked down at his body, clad only in a pair of underwear for the sake of modesty. He'd been constantly scrubbing with that weird blue soap McCoy had pushed through the double-sealed portal, but the little chemical strips STILL read as contaminated. Damn biological weapons.

Sighing, Cain dropped to the floor, face-down. Placing his hands on the bare metal, he levered himself up and began pumping out push-ups like he was back at Paris Island. If he couldn't wash the stink out, he'd sweat it out.

***

Hank.

Hank wished he had the leisure to climb the walls.

It was harder to concentrate than usual. Not impossible, of course, and he bent almost all of his powerful intellect to the task at hand. But a tiny part of his mind continued to fret. Maddie was in there. What if her containment suit leaked? What if she got sick? What if something happened to her, because she'd been in there and he hadn't?

And he couldn't go in, because of the baby, sleeping upstairs under the watchful eye of a sitter. He loved his son, but he hadn't realized before the full extent of the restrictions that being a parent would inflict. No more taking risks. No more rushing in. He had to hold back, he had to be careful... while Maddie was in there, taking risks. And he couldn't get to his patient. That bothered him, too. Being held back from the bedside of someone who needed care, for any reason, felt like a betrayal of his profession.

The ice was gone, and there were blood samples in its place. He collected them, going to work with all due care... and speed. It was frustrating, but even though he knew he moved faster, now, than an ordinary person - significantly so, at times - he couldn't tell it himself. It still seemed the same as it ever had, which was Not Fast Enough. If he'd had Pietro's speed, it still would have seemed Not Fast Enough, not with Haroun threatening to die at any moment, and Maddie in there risking it too...

He frowned, pushing his glasses more firmly onto his nose and bending over the microscope again. He would focus, he would work, he would come up with a way to fix this, and he wasn't going to permit any other possibility to enter his head.

But he still wished he could relieve some tension by climbing the walls.

***

Forge.

Forge wiped his face, looking at his computer screen. The data being piped in from the secure medlab mainframe was astonishing. Haroun's cybernetics were trashed - it was immediately apparent that repair wasn't going to be an option.

Typing a quick text message to whichever doctor was at the screen, Forge posed the difficult question:

++HOW MUCH CAN HE LOSE?

Scanning at lightning speed through updated schematics, MRI results, and the constantly-changing information from the medlabs, Forge caught the flash of the return message.

++UNKNOWN. ETA ON REPAIRS?

With a long sigh, Forge snapped his fingers, turning on the entire wall of monitors in front of him. Each screen began scrolling images, wireframe diagrams of the JETSTREAM cybernetics cross-referenced with medical jargon and reports. Scanning from one display to the other, Forge breathed out and calmed himself. Let it fall into place, he repeated under his breath as his fingers flew over the keys.

Mechanical-Biological Interface: Voltage overload. Unsalvageable.
Left Leg: Severed. Remnants damaged. Unsalvageable.
Right Leg: Mass deformation trauma. Irreparable. Possibly salvageable.
Bone Lacing: 70% intact. Remnants salvageable depending on biological cooperation.
Thrust Vector Pack: Offline. Structural damage. Nonfunctional. Irreparable. Unsalvageable.
Spinal Interface: Offline. Nonfunctional. Irreparable.

Coming out of his fugue, Forge stifled a sob. The damage was... how were they keeping him alive? How much of him could still be even thought of as alive? With shaking fingers, he wiped his eyes and sent the message.

++REPAIRS IMPOSSIBLE. RECOMMEND COMPLETE REBUILD. WILL HE LIVE?

A long pause, then the reply.

++WE DON'T KNOW.

Burying his face in his hands, Forge sat and shook, illuminated only by the light from nine glowing screens.





Maddie, Jean and Bobby.

"Dammit!" Madelyn exclaimed as she checked the electronic thermometer again. One hundred and six, and climbing. They'd dealt with the physical injuries as best they could, but whatever this spore was, it was shrugging off everything they threw at it. And already the latest batch of ice packed around Haroun's sweating body was melting. "So much for the penicillin-base. What's next?" she asked Jean, seeing the frustration she was feeling echoed in the other doctor's face through the plastic shield of her face mask.

Without a word, Jean handed over the first of the next series of medications which she had begun preparing as soon as it became clear that the penicillin wasn't having enough of an effect. "We've got to find a better way to cool him down, Madelyn. If he stays this hot much longer there's going to be permanent damage..."

Nodding curtly, Madelyn injected the new medication into the IV line. "Bobby can use his powers through a suit can't he?" she asked. "If he could cover Haroun with a thin layer of ice, that might cool him down, and frankly? I think frostbite's the least of our concerns right now."

"He ought to be able to, yes," Jean said, not quite brightening at the suggestion, but there was a hint of hope in her voice. Concentrating, she tapped Hank and Bobby's minds, quickly explaining the situation. "He'll be here as soon as he can get into a suit."

"And in the meantime we keep trying to kill this thing... Any word from Hank and Moira about what we're dealing with here?" As she spoke Madelyn was checking Haroun's pulse, which was thready and weak under the onslaught of the spores.

"It's looking manufactured," Jean said. "They're still doing a few tests, trying to rule out... well, mutation effects, but given how successfully resistent it is to standard medications, there definitely seems to be intent behind the whole thing."

"At least Betsy hasn't shown any symptoms yet, and Cain's immune..." Madelyn was saying as there was a chime at the door and the red light appeared that indicated someone was in the process of coming through the airlock-type arrangement. "Bobby's here."

Bobby hurried into the room, still trying to get used to the bulk of the hazmat suit around him. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, hesitating just inside the door. The suit would keep him safe, but still... Haroun didn't look all that appealing.

Jean looked up, giving Bobby a tired, but relieved, smile. "His fever is dangerously high," she told the young man, and we need you to keep him as cool as you can. And Bobby," she added, catching his eye. "Frostbite is the least of our worries. If you can get him that cold, do it." All ready Haroun had been too hot for too long, and additional nerve damage was the last thing he needed.

"Concentrate on his core - we'll try avoiding losing his fingers, but right now it's a matter of stopping his internal organs and muscle mass breaking down." Madelyn stepped aside to give Bobby space to work.

Bobby jerked his head in acknowledgement and held his hands out toward Haroun, fingers splayed. It was more a way to focus than anything, as he concentrated on dropping the temperature around Haroun, slowly at first, but as the ice refused to form, he increased the intensity, until he was maintaining a constant thin sheen of ice on his skin.  "Fuck, he's hot," he mumbled, not even realising he'd spoken aloud, as it was taking constant concentration to renew the ice as it melted.  "...Like that?"

Jean nodded, watching his temperature fall, slowly, but it was going down. "Good," she said, some of the stress draining out of her. "Just keep that up as long as you can. Maddie? Let's see if we can repair some of the damage to the cybernetic connections." Now that they didn't have to worry he was going to fry to death, they had time to do, well, everything else. Starting with the jetpack - if they had to resuscitate, it would only get in the way.





Cain.

"Nine ninety-nine, one thou." Cain breathed, using his finger to mark another line in the soap he'd smeared on the wall. This made ten thousand, and he rolled up to a sitting position. Another quick scrub with the soap and a check with the test strips.

Red. Contaminated.

"Dammit!" he barked, smacking his palm into the floor hard enough to leave a dent. He heard the air scrubbers rev into life again, purging the air in his cell. From what he understood the docs talking about, he'd gotten a bigger dose of the Spore than Haroun - but it wasn't affecting his invulnerable cells. Yet it wouldn't just leave, either. Hiding in his pores, in his skin, in his lungs.

Growling in frustration, Cain rolled back onto his belly, palms flat against the floor.

"One... two... three..."

***

Alison.

The calls to both Shaw Industries and Frost Enterprises had been made, with mingled answers for the moment - forms sent back her way from the former and a slew of replies and reactions from the latter. Medical data was filtering back to her with excruciating slowness from the operating room, the forms and requirements from Shaw Industries driving her insane with the level of complexity involved. But Alison filled each out meticulously, didn't bother any of the medlab staff in their work and more importantly, didn't waste time.

Emma Frost, she had been told, was on a business trip, but had indicated that any and all information and data be sent to them. As such, all efforts would be made towards finding the latest information on the MRI's software, staff being called in to assist with the matter. The data was starting to flow in through the network, settling in the servers of the medlab as reference material for whatever might be needed. Patches and upgrades and even personal notes from the programmers had all been offered up to her without question.

It was a start.





Moira.

Hour Six.

Lab coat off, sleeves rolled up, Moira was feeling as if she was getting nowhere fast. At this hour, they knew it was manufactured--meaning they weren't dealing with a mutant pheramone or something. Which added some hope, because it would be a lot harder to handle if it was that option. Manufactured toxin meant that a cure was possible. But again, time was not on their side.

Henry kept sending her updates on what was not working in surgery. Which, honestly, was too much. This spore was hard to figure out, its strands a mess, something that under normal circumstances they would take their time unraveling. Piece by piece until they had broken it down to its core components.

Spinning around, she brought up a fresh window on her computer. To manufacture something, you needed a base. It was doable, but hard, to create something out of nothing. So. The question was where had this something come from?





Maddie and Jean.

"He's fitting again!" Madelyn cried out, perhaps a little redunantly considering Haroun's upper half was jerking and twitching violently, sweat pouring off him. She could be excused, considering how long they'd been fighting the spore. Bobby had exhausted himself an hour or so earlier, and they were back to ice in buckets - the floor was awash with tepid meltwater. "Jean, hold him steady while I hit him with the anti-convulsant!"

Even as Madelyn said it, Jean's hands were spread before her, exhausted mind tapping into her tk for the she wasn't certain how many time, pinning Haroun to the table, holding him in check. They'd gone the conventional route to keep him from biting off his tongue, but tk was just more effective than straps and they had to stop him damaging himself further, especially with the newly stitched wounds in his back from where the jetpack had been mostly removed. The convulsions were weaker this time, which was a small mercy. "Hurry," she muttered, hands shaking slightly.

Madelyn didn't need prompting - she had the syringe filled and ready, yanking the safety cap off with her teeth before plunging it into Haroun's upper arm. The syringe emptied, she joined Jean in physically holding Haroun down, trying to stop him from further damaging himself. The connections between hardware and tissue especially were vulnerable after the MMI shortage.

Slowly his convulsions ceased, and they were able to ease off the pressure. "Hell, Maddie," Jean said, breathing harshly as her heart started to slow again, "there has got to be something we can do..."

"Besides pray, you mean?" Madelyn replied, pushing herself back upright rather limply. Inside the suit she was as sweat drenched as Haroun, it felt like. She checked the breathing tube they'd ended up having to insert an hour ago, making sure the convulsions hadn't dislodged it. "He can't survive much more of this," she observed, her voice cracking slightly. The show of emotion was a clear indication of the exhaustion and frustration they were both experiencing, exhaustion no less for being shared by Moira and Hank out in the lab proper. "We've got the spore contained, and we know it can't survive beyond an hour in the atmosphere, but as far as something that'll kill it..." She went to rub her eyes tiredly, and swore under her breath as the plexiglass got in the way.

"We've tried every medication we can get our hands on, and I'm this close to storming into Salem Mercy and demanding they give us something else to try, and the only thing stopping me is that they won't have anything better, either." God, Jean wanted out of this suit. She managed to roll her shoulders and relieve some of the tension, but it cut down on her motion too much to really work it out.

"Is it sad I'm entertaining thoughts of freezing him in carbonite?" Madelyn lay her hand on Haroun's shoulder, the muscles of his chest still twitching and jumping minutely in the aftermath of the fit. "If we could figure out a way to maintain a steady body temperature while Hank and Moira work on the spore... It's the fever spikes that are killing him."

"We could stick him in the fridge," Jean suggested facetiously, then blinked. "Actually... am I just too tired to think or could that work? If Forge could work out how to set up a refridgeration unit, add temperature sensors on the inside so we can tell if he spikes up too far again. Just like when we had Bobby down here, but without burning him out. The power drain would be enormous, and it would be stopgap, at best, but it might give us enough of a break to sleep a little and try to help Moira and Hank find a cure."

"We might both be crazy, because that actually might help. Like you said, at least enough to give us a break and give Haroun more time." She reached for her comms, and then gave Jean an amused look. "They're going to think we've lost it, you realise that. Or genuses. Possibly both."

"Well, I've been called both before, so..." She shrugged, then smiled at the incredulous tone of Hank's answer to Maddie's call. Between him and Forge, it wouldn't take that long to set up something, and even as he promised to get started right away, Jean could hear his mind plotting out improvements to the base idea which would give them more time, maybe even enough time.

"Thanks, hon," Madelyn finished talking to Hank and gave Jean a tired grin. There was a chance. Not much of a one, but that was all they'd been going on since Haroun had arrived. "They're going to try it. It's just up to us to keep him going until then." She stroked his shoulder again, not sure if he was sensing anything by now, but the gesture came naturally any way. "Hang in there, Haruon," she whispered. "We're not beaten yet."





Alison.

There are no current upgrades for the Jetstream model of the serial number in the contract you hold. We regret to inform you that several of the parts listed on your request form are no longer in production.

The contract information with Shaw Industries was apparently being circumvented in every which way possible, what had been helpful and even eager answers at the start now nothing more than stonewalling. Even what little Alison had managed to wheedle, beg and plead out of the Shaw Industries representative on the tenth or so call to them had been of little use.

Dr. Hawksmoor no longer works for us. We are not at liberty to forward any information as to his current whereabouts.

Doctor J. Hawksmoor. The name blinked up at her steadily from the screen of the portable cradled in her lap, as though mocking her, all the information associated to the man in Haroun's file of no use to her at all. It was like trying to find a ghost.

The number you are trying to reach is disconnected. Have a good day!

Slamming the cell phone shut, Alison resisted the urge to throw it at the wall in front of her. Voices murmured in the room down the hallway, a sharpness to the voice calling out bringing her to a dead pause as she listened and waited, willing the door to stay shut and for no one to step out to tell her it was over.

The cell phone rang, startling her so badly she nearly spilled her portable to the ground. Hands trembling, she pressed the control pad lightly to answer, bringing the unit up to listen.

"Miss Blaire? Good day. Your... uncle has informed me that you wished to speak to me? I am Jack Hawksmoor. How may I be of assistance?"

Hope.






Maddie and Jean.

Jean held her breath as her hand hovered over the ignition switch. They'd sent the parts and instructions on how to finish assembly half an hour ago, and while it wasn't a complicated set up, it had still taken time. But now it was ready and as she switched it on the engine purred to life with a comforting hum.

"And now we wait to see how it works," she muttered.

"It had better work," Madelyn replied, having caught the muttered words, mainly because they were echoing her own thoughts. She stepped inside what was essentially a portable refrigeration unit, laying her gloved hand on the steel wall. "I can feel it cooling down already. Wait a few more minutes and then wheel him in?" She shook her head in slight disbelief. "They never told me I'd be refrigerating live patients in medschool..."

"Ah, but did they ever tell you you'd be battling a sort of death spore for the life of a mutant cyborg vigilante?" Jean asked, not looking up from where she was monitoring the unit's readouts. Still safely in the green and the temperatue dropping steadily. "Because I know they left that out at G.W. Admitedly, I already knew I'd be doing that, so it was ok." She paused. "Well, not the cyborg bit. And I was betting on alien death spores, but we don't have any sort of confirmation on what this is yet, so I could still be right." She was, perhaps, a little tired, possibly verging on silly relief that the machine was working. Even if it was only a temporary reprieve - keeping Haroun in it for longer than a few hours would result in tissue and nerve damage from the cold as much as the fever.

"I think I must have been sick the day they covered mutant cyborgs and death spores," Madelyn admitted, with a laugh that had only the slightest edge of hysteria to it. "And remind me to tell you the story about the dead man walking when I was in the Bureau. It's what started the interest in mutation." She shook her head, amused. "My partner has a nervous breakdown and retires early, and I get a new obsession. I wonder what that says about me?" Over on his bed, Haroun twitched slightly, and she moved back to check on him. "Temp's creeping up again, but not as fast - I think that last batch of meds Moira had us try is actually doing something," she informed Jean. "The respirator's keeping him breathing, and his heart rate's still a bit twitchy. EEG's smoothing out, though. I think Charles might be having a hand in that."

"I'll remember to get that story out of you next time. Sometime after we've both slept. I think he's ready to go in," Jean added as the temperature indicator leveled out. "Especially if he's starting to go up again. Have you got the sensors hooked up? And yes, Charles has been... helping." During the worst of things, when the fever had peaked and Haroun's mind had started trying to swim towards consciousness and dillusion, Charles had stepped in, keeping Haroun's mind as calm as he could and shielding Jean so she could work.

"Last one's going on now." As she spoke, Madelyn was attaching one of a myriad of patches to Haroun's exposed skin. They were designed to monitor every nuance of his temperature, breathing and heart rate, and set off a variety of alarms at the least fluctuation. "I'll take the bed if you nudge along the machines?"
               
"Deal," Jean agreed. Too tired to risk using her telekinesis, Jean moved to collect the monitors, pushing them in behind Haroun, making sure not to let any of the wires pull tight. As they entered the refrigeration unit Jean could feel the change in temperature, even through her suit. "You know, I think this will work."

"And once this is all over we've got the world's biggest cooler for picnics." Okay, she was definitely tired - her sense of humour was getting strange. Keeping an eye on the monitors, she was gratified to see his temperature hold, then even drop a quarter of a degree. "I think we're onto something here," she said, voice breaking just a little. They'd finally caught a fucking break.

"Oh thank God," Jean breathed, sagging against the wall in relief. "Come on," she said without moving, "let's... collect the last of the samples for a while, and keep an eye on him to make sure there's no adverse reaction, and then... out. Sleep. Food. A shower..." Jean wasn't sure which sounded better.

Madelyn smiled faintly. It did sound good. But... She looked down at Haroun, features barely visible between the swelling and bruises, and the equipment. "You go. I can take care of that. I haven't been breaking my brain telekinetically holding him down." She glanced towards the door, and even though she couldn't see through it, she knew Alison was out there. "I'll make sure he's stable so Alison can sit with him - he shouldn't be left alone." And not just because of the medical reasons. He needed to know what he was fighting for.

Ah, being sensible. Even with the sensors it would be best to have someone in here, already prepped in the suit, just in case. Jean nodded, shoving up from the wall with an effort. "I'll take the samples out with me. Four hour shifts, at least through the first night?"

"That sounds about right. Exhausting, but right." Madelyn stretched out her back as well as she could in the suit. "Forge and Hank are working on a less tenuous solution - they'll page us both when it's ready."





Moira.
The liquid in the syringe seemed to mock her and Moira frowned deeply. This was not a cure but it could probably hold off the spore's affects for a while. She'd been getting frantic updates from Forge and Henry for quite a while. Two things had actually been the catalyist to getting her to this point.

Nathan's virus, for one. Unlike the spore currently in Haroun's body but not totally different, either. Both seemingly uncurable but with the right mixture of drugs and medicines it could be contained. With Haroun, she had been hoping to ramp up his immune system to the point that it would actually fight the spore off while not making it realize that it might just want to reject what was left of the 'ware.

Also, it had reminded her slightly of anthrax. Again, not in its entirety but just enough to give her SOMETHING to hold onto and work with. Right now they were all clinging to threads of something in order to keep him alive.

The first batch was ready. And if that didn't work, the second one was slightly different. And the third and the fourth...






Moira.
Moira slumped in her chair behind her desk, head in her hands as she fought off the exhaustion and the fear that had been pounding against her all night. Haroun was in the process of being stabalized--she worked with some of the most brilliant if insane people ever--and now was really the only time she would be able to catch her breath. Stabilized but still in danger. The last batch of medication had seemed to have the greatest affect, again pulling on her experience with coming up with the unusual drug cocktail Nathan used to be on.

A suggestion from Henry had been the cementating element and...well, it worked. She needed to stop analyzing it before her brain exploded.

The need to get up and seek out her fellow doctors became too much. Wearily, she grabbed her notes and the print outs and headed out of her office. The comfort of the rest of them around her would help.

Forge.

"Thermally neutral gel," Forge spoke into the headset as he watched the thick green liquid decant into the drums he was rolling in from the hallway. "Electrically responsive, it'll adjust to keep his core temperature at a safe level according to the thermal sensors I put in the tank. Completely non-toxic, but it's not oxygenated - you'll have to give him a breathing apparatus. I recommend completely submerging him in it, let his body equalize the pressure. The tank has inputs for any medical equipment you need to hook up to him - if any of it needs to be adapted for the temperature, let me know ASAP."

Pausing in his narrative, Forge grabbed a handcart, pushing the telephone-booth-sized plexiglass tank out into the hallway. Eighty gallons of the thermal gel followed in four canisters, waiting to be picked up by the medlab staff. As he walked back into the lab, he noted the lineup of soda cans along the shelf. Grabbing one, cracking it open, and chugging it warm, he waited for the rush of the caffeine to hit his system.

A twitch in his brain, and an idea hit him. Rushing to the computer, Forge pulled up the JETSTREAM schematics again, speeding through diagrams. "No... no..." he mumbled, running his fingers over the image on the screen. "Can't work. Dammit."

Keying his headset, he spoke to the medlab. "Forge here. We're a no go for rebuilding his cyberware."

"What?" came the surprised call back, "If he doesn't get it reinstalled, he-"

"Not on this design," Forge interrupted, "Trust me. With the trauma to his body, an invasive design like this WILL kill him. I guarantee you that. If we try and reinstall this model of the cyberware, Haroun will die."

A crackle of static, then the businesslike response. "Give us options, Forge."

Closing his eyes, Forge reached out to the screen. The image was right there, just beyond his reach. Then, just like that, connection.

With a self-satisfied smile, Forge flicked his eyes open, hammering out commands into the computer.

"We upgrade."