"We got it here," one of the Peacekeepers says, picking up the fragment and holding it. Jason's blood is red and already staining the chalky edge of the ceramic. The 'evidence' gets bagged in something with a seal-top, but it probably won't be used for anything.

The medic tells Jason to hold still while they examine the cut, muttering something like 'four stitches', while Jason treats the responder with nearly as much hostility as he did Linden. He hates doctors and physicians and EMTs and all sorts of providers, seeing them as no better than charlatans leeching his family dry, and worse, fearing them to have some sort of extrasensory power to sniff out the sickness that must run in the Compson bloodline, the rotten, pungent pheromone of Compson men that woos them into psychosis and tempts the Compson women to bitchery and sluttishness.

"Well, you sure drew blood," one of the Peacekeepers huffs as he directs Linden towards the elevator.

"No, I don't want to press charges, do I look like I have the time to press charges?" Jason says in the background, shoving the medic's hand away. "Don't write me a prescription, I see you trying to put me on antibiotics, I say I don't want any, does it look like I want to run around to a pharmacy for you to give me some placebo bullshit..."

The doors to the elevator close.