thecapitol | Patient Zero Scientists Mingle

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Patient Zero Scientists Mingle

The scientists are given absolutely everything they might need that the Capitol can provide. An entire floor of the Training Center is cleared out and remodeled with frightening celerity to be a state-of-the-art lab, so they don't even have to travel far to work. They also have access to Peacekeeper Headquarter's labs, although only a couple rooms.

(Penny seems more than a little upset that the Training Center lab outstrips her own in terms of technology and cleanliness.)

All around are microscopes, scanners, centrifuges, sterilizers, computers, protective suits, safety drains for chemicals and all other manner of scientific equipment to play with. The Avoxes bring meals to a little separate lounge, as if encouraging the scientists to spend as much time as possible trying to figure out what killed Finnick Odair (whose body has helpfully been donated to the endeavor).

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Being around all this scientific equipment is -- well, it's very comforting to Carlos. It's all a little streamlined for his taste (the lab could do with more blinking lights and dials) but that's the Capitol for you. Honestly, to Carlos, it feels homey.

"Wow," he says. "I have to say, it's a nice lab."

Carlos hasn't really been allowed anywhere besides this lab and the Tribute center, but he's barely noticed. He hasn't tried to leave. Carlos has a project, and he's got an obsessive streak when it comes to science.

Poor Finnick. Destined to know no more peace in death, than he had in life.

Not yet, at the very least.

Like a vulture at repast, Wesker leaned over the pale corpse laid out before him. The strange hours he kept meant he was the first to the body, but he wouldn't be the last.

They would poke and prod and cut until they drew the secrets from his flesh.

In the cool still of the makeshift lab, Wesker shifted Finnick's limbs, looking for bruising - hematomas ballooning beneath the skin - checking for buboes. The only sound was the soft, gentle movement and the occasional silken murmur of Wesker's voice as he spoke into a recorder, taking down his thoughts as them came.

When he was satisfied that the drawn exterior would reveal no more, he reached for a scalpel.

It wasn't so much that Carlos kept odd hours. It was more that Carlos was obsessive about science, and he had a very scientific problem ahead of him. That meant that time spent sleeping felt -- well -- wasted.

So Carlos came down to the lab around three in the morning, carrying a sealed cup of coffee and only pulling off his protective face mask once he was safely in the lab. He opened the cup and took a deep drink -- then nearly spat it out again. The area where Wesker was performing the autopsy was sealed, of course, away from the rest of the lab, but the walls were transparent, and Carlos could see Finnick's carved-up body lying on the slab.

Oh.

Carlos's brows knitted together. He'd missed the funeral, having lost track of time in this very lab, a fact that he personally regretted. Carlos set his coffee down, suited up, and stepped into the surgical area.

"Hi," Carlos says, recognizing the man by face and name, though they'd never spoken. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if there was anything I could do to assist." The mask gave his voice a muffled, echo-y quality.

Carlos clears his throat and picks up his pointer and a tablet. The room goes dim but not dark, and he stands next to a screen in his nice, if a little too formal for everyday work, lab coat.

"As you can see," he says, as the screen lights up, "this x-ray of Topher Brink's chest reveals a cavity in the right upper lobe. The x-ray confirms my suspicions that this is a primarily respiratory disease."

Carlos clears his throat, then presses a button on the tablet to change the slide. "I ran a Ziel-Neelsen stain," he explains, pointing to an image that is mostly blue blobs, dotted sparsely with red shapes, "on a sample taken from Topher's throat. The bacteria are acid-fast, meaning they resist both staining and decolorization, which significantly narrows the possibilities."

He presses a button again, revealing the next slide: an image of a bacterial culture. "It took three weeks for this bacterial culture to become observable. It's a sputum sample, again taken from Topher. Finally--" and here, Carlos flicks to the final slide, "--this is a skin test. The induration is 15mm across, clearly a positive result. Based on this and also on the symptoms I have observed, I posit that our mystery disease is not so mysterious after all." Here, Carlos's voice took a turn for the dramatic, as he pointed at the disgusting picture of red swollen skin. "Ladies -- gentlemen -- behold. I believe the Capitol is suffering from an outbreak of tubercle bacillus. Or, as it's more commonly known: tuberculosis."

The only movement was the eyes. The slitted red-gold irises flashing above the dark lenses perched on his nose. There was a silent moment, Wesker still as he was - hands peeling back the flesh of Finnick's chest - then he nodded, eyes flicking to a nearby tray.

"Just in time," he replied.

He recognized Carlos, of course, but was still on the fence as to his usefulness. Calling oneself a scientist did make one. And Carlos' brand sounded equal parts magic as science.

Folding the flesh back, he held out a hand.

"Hand me the power-saw."

From the back of the room, a dark shadow shifted, Wesker stepping forward - a folder of his own in hand.

"I don't deny your findings with Mr. Brink," he said, in his cool, soft voice - clear, despite the low pitch. "But those symptoms don't match some of the patients I observed."

Carlos wasn't thrilled to be the assistant in this situation, but then again, he wasn't a medical scientist. Wesker probably knew what he was doing better than Carlos did, so Carlos was content to play a supplemental role.

He did as he was asked, knowing exactly what Wesker was going to do. You didn't use a bone saw unless you planned to cut through bone.

To his credit, Carlos didn't flinch. He had seen enough death, dismemberment, disembowelment, and slicing through bones to last him a lifetime, and he wasn't nearly as sensitive to gore as he once had been. He would wait until the saw had quieted to ask any further questions.

There was a familiar tingle around the base of Wesker's spine as the saw roared to life. The brush of memories in time to the rhythmic vibration against the heel of his hand - other labs, other specimens... blood and bone and screams.

Home, sweet, home.

The saw pitched into a ear-piercing whistle as the spinning blade bit into the gleaming, wet bone and chewed through the ribcage as it were little more than kindling. There was a splash of ruby, a mist across the front of Wesker's pristine suit and then - returning silence.

The blade purring to a stop.

Turning the grip out, Wesker held the instrument out for Carlos to return to the tray.

Carlos accepted it, setting it back into its holster, which began to hum -- it appeared to be self-cleaning, so Carlos left it alone.

"What have you found so far?" he asked, completely businesslike, without so much as a hint of horror at the blood splattered across Wesker's chest. Carlos has seen much, much worse.

Carlos tapped the tablet a couple of times. The presentation faded, and the lights went back up.

"What did you find?" Carlos asked with serious interest. His tone made it clear that he wasn't doubting Wesker, either: he was merely collecting facts.

"In regards to Mr. Odair, here?" Wesker asked, gloved hands - stained pink and red and black with blood - curling slipping into the open chest cavity, fingers curling between the slick ribs and pulling. "Or overall?"

He had to put his weight behind it, even with the saw doing the brunt of the work for him, but the bone shield finally gave and the wet insides of Finnick Odair came into view.

Fortunately for Carlos, Wesker takes his intent as such. In the little he knows of the man, Wesker was already well aware that he had no guile where it came to 'science.'

"Victory Hannibal presented at the clinic with fever, bloody expectorate, intestinal distress, and nosebleed. Far different symptoms, you'll agree, than TB." He shifted the folder from under his arm and flipped it open. "To further, blood tests revealed an increase in white cell production in tandem with a platelet decrease and the presence of Salmonella typhi."

He looked up, the high lights of the lab slashing across the dark lenses of his glasses.

"I'm still awaiting the results of urine and stool cultures, but they're little more than formalities. I am confident Ms. Hannibal has managed to contract Typhoid."

Carlos frowns, perfect brow furrowing. "Tuberculosis and typhoid..." he murmurs. "Why are they showing up now? There haven't been any recorded cases of tuberculosis for the last hundred years. I looked it up myself -- it was practically eradicated before this outbreak." He pulls up the tablet again and begins typing, then scrolling, the light of the screen illuminating his handsome but troubled features. "It's the same for typhoid. The records only go back to the formation of Panem, but in all that time, there have been less than a handful of cases of either disease, in the Capitol and in the Districts."

He looks back up at Wesker. "Of course," Carlos says, "there are many people in the city right now who are not from Panem. Do you think the disease was reintroduced by a Tribute?"

"I meant about Finnick," Carlos admitted. "but if you'd like to share your other findings, I'd be very interested in hearing them."

He didn't look away from the body. Carlos had seen the insides of people he knew, before. Many times. It had been about six months since the last time, though.

"While there are a number of tributes--" himself included, "--carrying planet killers, the Capitol took steps before they were introduced into the population to either cure or bring them into a state of managed control."

The blond head tipped, a thoughtful tilt, eyebrows twitching downward over his glasses.

"It's possible one might have slipped through the screening, but for two would mean a massive failing in--" Wesker broke off, the pieces suddenly going flush. The picture coming clear before him.

Perhaps Ms. McCready hadn't been that far off.

"...There is, however, precedent for the Capitol biting off more than it can chew in the pursuit of entertainment," he continued, the words slow and calculating. "They brought so many visitors, and there would have been little time to check them all before getting them into place to surprise the tributes..."

Wesker set the rib plate aside, bone clicking against steel, making a mental note for himself to consider digging out a sample of marrow for testing.

"There are no outward signs of trauma to the body," he said without preamble. "Whatever killed him either burned through before it could manifest secondary symptoms or it's entirely internal."

Both interesting possibilities.

"Regardless, chances are fair he won't be alone here long."

"Carlos! Just the sentient I was hoping to see."

Lyle had been almost at his wits end. There was only so long that he could spend familiarizing himself with this antique-style equipment, and he only knew what the labels on the samples were of because he'd paid very careful attention to the other scientists in the room.

But Carlos is an ally, he's in on Lyle's biggest secret here; letting him in on a smaller one is...well, it's not ideal, but it's certainly better than letting someone else in on it.

He moves toward Carlos, flapping a computer print-out. "Take a look at this and tell me what you think," he says. Then as he moves in closer so both of them can look at the print-out at the same time, he lowers his voice to a whisper. "And if you can tell me what the fuck it says, that'd be great, because this is beyond my English vocabulary."

"I know," said Carlos. "I mean, now that we know this disease is fatal, if we don't identify it soon, there are going to be more deaths -- that's just scientific fact." He took a breath, looking down at Finnick's chest cavity. "I'm close to a diagnosis, I know it. I just wish there were some way to speed up skin tests. It'll be another day before I know for sure."

"Of course," breathed Carlos. "The visitors were from so many worlds and so many times -- I can name three at least from nineteenth-century France who could easily have been carrying tuberculosis bacteria."

He glanced around, at the other scientists -- and at Penny, if she was there, looking for confirmation.

"We need to find out whether anyone on the security team responsible for disinfection let anyone through without checking them."

Hoof-beats and horses.

The most logical solution was usually the correct one and even without confirmation, Wesker's confidence in the answer swept through him like a warm wave. A smug sort of pride in arriving at the end of a mystery.

"I can tell you there was at least one confirmed carrier," Wesker told him, seeming somehow to grow taller, shoulders wider. "A Mr. John Holliday. For those familiar with 19th century Earth history, he was an famous victim of tuberculosis, and he was brought here for Mr. Earp. Whether or not he was treated before being released into the population...."

His tongue clucked, head tipping as well to seek out the Capitol officials in the audience.

"Ever performed a biopsy, Mr...Carlos?" Wesker asked, picking up a scapel again and reaching into Finnick's chest, tapping the red stained blade against a fleshy lung. "I'd like to start here, but I intend to check the other organs as well, it'll go faster if we both know what we're doing."

He nodded. "Just Carlos is fine," he says. "And yes, to answer your question, I have. I can take some of the other organs -- if I find anything unusual, I'll let you know."

Turning to look through the tools at their disposal, Carlos went on: "Is there a record of what his symptoms were while he was alive?"

Wesker was already cutting, his voice distant, Carlos all but dismissed, only a small corner of his attention still on the man.

"Similar to some of the others: persistent cough, fluctuating fever and chills, fatigue..."

Setting the scalpel aside with a soft clatter, he reached in with both hands and lifted the left lung free, turning to slip it into a metal dish for weighing.

"I have my suspicions, as I'm sure you do as well, but there's only one way to know for certain."

"Oh," says Carlos, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. "Oh, that? That's a list of safety procedures, and those are instructions for using the tissue replicator." He pointed at each page in turn.

Carlos nodded. He pulled out a painful-looking tool, and got to work taking tissue samples. He placed them into labeled, sterile dishes, to be observed closely under a microscope and submitted to all sorts of tests that would take much too long to describe.

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Patient Zero Scientists Mingle

OPEN - mingling

Wesker OTA

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PRESENTATION OF RESULTS -- also open

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cw: swearing

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want to wrap the thread up here?