@Zwei______
//<<Winston>>//Will do//
Can't tell until she's had a scan but it looks like a brain-bleed of some sort.
We're taking her to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, she's alive but she's not very responsive.
The one at the back kicked off a box of spare oxygen tubing off the passenger seat to make way for you and they continued to run their tests on your Mum; testing pupl dilation, response to verbal commands and pain stimuli.
She flinched a bit when nipped and the young paramedic nodded at you to indicate that was a good sign.
Closing the doors, the older one went round to the cab and reversed it out the way they'd come in.
You couldn't see much out of the one-way glass in the rear windows, but you weren't really interested anyway, your poor mum lay on the stretcher a shade of ashen grey, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth and an array of auto-givers and biomonitors trying to correct the haemorrhage and restore her blood chemistry to normality.
The young paramedic looked on at the array of readouts from AR from his harnessed seat at the rearmost position of the patient compartment and worked in silence, clearly focussing on the task in hand.
He barely looked up as you leaned over and took her hand, squeezing it to reassure her that you were with her.
@Saithor_____
The snow had lightened now, the tissue paper sized chunks reduced down to a mere dust-like size, whipping and spinning in the whorls of air currents as they changed between the built up tenement blocks of the south-east city. The mood was pretty vibrant as you headed down the street, the local kids had begun making snowballs and were pelting them at each other across the grid-locked traffic. You had to duck at one point as a badly aimed shot went awry but as you rounded the corner and headed down the stairs of the Southwark tube stop, normality returned; snow to slushy steps, slush to water, water to the ancient hard marble flooring of the 1900's construction of the jubilee line station.
Millions upon millions of feet had probably walked the same path as you over the century it had been running and they'd all breathed that same stale underground-air smell as you, only relieved by the incoming rush of wind that the trains brought with them onto the platforms.
Wet shoes squeaking on hard marble, you made your way through the ticket barriers with a swipe of your 'link and headed down to the north bound platform, boarding a busy service to stanmore.
You swayed and swung as you stood in the busy carriage before changing at Green Park for the Picaddily line and finally arriving into King's Cross station.
The route from the tube platform upto the main concourse was fairly torturous, heavily packed with january sales shoppers and the usual batch of tourists making the most of the cheaper hotel rates, it was hot and oppressive, suitcases clashing with suited city-slickers and everyone in the way of pretty much everyone else as they jostled for position on the escalators.
Finally the crowd thinned as you reached the top, swiping your link over the reader you headed across the concourse, conscious of the armed police patrolling the entrance to the adjacent St.Pancras international rail station.
You caught the AR signage for Left Luggage, but not before a patrol drone caught you and began scanning your SiN.
are you using a legit sin or a fake?
@Profgast_____
Bex smiled and shook your hand, pulling you into a pseudo-hug to maintain the friendly appearance of the conversation.
Call me when you get there ok? let me know how you're getting on
The snow had lightened a little now and it blew in finer chunks, whipping off the exposed pathways with each gust of wind and attacking the unprotected parts of skin through chinks in your scarf and jacket with its icy chill and the steady warmth of the tube was a welcome relief, even if it was absolutely packed with tourists, shoppers and the usual faces.
The train clattered down the short run between three stations and the hubbub of city life always brought a little smile to your face; the buskers, the charity-beggars and the kookily dressed natives all clashed with the visitors to give it a real sense of atmosphere and excitement. Heading up to the surface brought respite from the cramped and graffiti'd carriage though, and it was only a short walk to the superstore where you collected your reserved items. The satellite receiver was an absolute gem, it would be perfect for this job. You eyed a pop-up stand over by the door. Winter hats, gloves, scarves and umbrellas at 5 quid each or 15 for the bundle deal.
i'l need to run a SiN test for the purchase, fake sin rating or legit sin used?
