Hope {z nation - 10k}

3x6

"Warren!"Doc's voice echoed through the dry, crackling grass beneath his boots. Each step sounded like bones snapping underfoot. He kept moving, his voice growing louder with each passing second"Warren! Addy! Anybody! Where'd everybody go? Hector! It's me, Doc!" 

Now spinning like a lost weathervane, he shouted in every direction, hoping his voice would travel faster than his frustration.

"Oh, come on guys! Sure, keep ol' Doc around when you need something stronger than a baby aspirin. But I take five minutes to take care of business and..."

A gust of air whipped past him, followed by a blur. Doc froze, blinking.

"Warren!" he muttered, narrowing his eyes in the direction of some snapping twigs. His confusion deepened."Elvis?"

Suddenly, a man decked out in a sequined Elvis jumpsuit, pompadour and all, stepped forward—and smacked Doc across the head with a guitar.

The blow sent Doc to the ground, but not completely out of the fight. His vision swam, but in the blurry haze, he could still make out Elvis.

"He's still standing."

A woman, dressed in a nurse's uniform that looked far too clean for the apocalypse, stepped into view. She raised an eyebrow. "Hit him again. Harder."

With a dramatic nod, 'Elvis' hoisted the guitar above his head and brought it down, smashing it over Doc's skull once more. This time, the world went black.

...

Doc jolts awake, disoriented, his limbs constrained by the cold, restrictive grip of a straitjacket. As his eyes adjust to the harsh fluorescent lights, the reality of his situation dawns on him—he's in a psych ward. Not exactly the place you'd expect to find yourself on a regular Tuesday.

After some convincing—because apparently, you need proof to claim you're a "doctor" nowadays—the patients decide to help Doc out of his bind. They seem a little off, but who isn't these days?

The nurse, leaning forward in her chair with an expression that suggests she's seen it all, says, "There's just two last patients I'd like you to take a look at. Our newest patients. A special case.Foundlings."

Doc raises an eyebrow, intrigued. The nurse stands, her face growing serious. "He's too insane to be let in with the other patients. And she is just...odd." She gestures for Doc to follow her. "Follow me."

Her voice trails off as they approach a window reflecting blinding white light from the padded room inside."Normally, I don't feel the need to ask for a second opinion. But this one has exceeded my level of knowledge." The two approach a window white reflecting from the inside of the room. "I'll be curious to hear your thoughts."

Doc peers through the glass, squinting to make out the figure within the room. The details are blurry, distorted by the bright light."Well, what are his symptoms?"Doc asks, already sensing something unusual.

"Hallucinations. Psychosis. Delusions of grandeur." The nurse steps back from the window, allowing Doc a closer look through the small food slot in the door. "He keeps mumbling to himself about blue men and a mission to the planet Zona." 

A chill crawls up Doc's spine. Something about the words rings too familiar. His heart beats faster.

With a sudden urgency, Doc pushes open the door and steps into the padded room. The figure lying on the floor rolls over, revealing a face he knows all too well.

"10K?"Doc whispers, barely believing his eyes. His friend's greasy hair sticks up in wild points, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal, unable to focus on anything. Bound in his straitjacket, he rolls helplessly on the padded floor.