Three incarnations of Neas, the Gladiator of Gallifrey, come together to protect two others. A teenage version of Neas's original life has somehow been ripped out of her timeline and into a post-Time War Gallifrey where she meets Al-Lee Kirsch, a lo...
Waiting for Jefferson Reed to wake out of his coma was as tedious as it was unnecessary in Carrie's eyes. She stood out in the hallway and watched Alexis sit at his bedside with persevering anticipation for several hours. All of this because of romantic feelings she built for the high school music teacher, while under the influence of the chameleon arch. It was a risky procedure for a Time Lord, mainly for situations like this.
The monotony of it all eventually wore on Carrie, prompting her to go to the nearest vending machine reserved for soft drinks. Not having the proper change for purchase, she furtively used her sonic screwdriver to hack into the machine and force it to dispose a can of Dr. Pepper, her favorite drink.
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A sense of peace in the form of a carbonated beverage flowed down her.
Aw, man! That definitely hit the spot!
Her peace was soon disrupted just as she heard a child crying from a short distance. She turned to see a doctor wheel up a little African American boy in a wheelchair. The boy appeared to be only six years old with a small afro and light brown skin. His condition was notable from the missing right leg he wept over.
The doctor, a scruffy Caucasian male in his early forties, abandoned any attempt to ease the child's grief; instead, he just parked the boy a couple of feet from where Carrie stood and went for the soda machine.
Carrie tried not to stare at the boy; the last thing she wanted was to get involved.
She wasn't supposed to have been at that hospital anyway.
She and the others were supposed to be halfway across the multiverse, protecting Alexis and getting away from Everett.
The boy's wailing got louder across the hall.
Other medical personnel crossed by, paying him no mind any more than Carrie bothered to; quite an unsettling sight for her to witness in a hospital of all places.
"This kid, I tell ya," she heard the boy's doctor mumble.
"Was it an accident?" she asked, deciding there and then to get involved.
"Worst: diabetes," the doctor flaccidly diagnosed.
Carrie's hearts sank. "Poor little fella."
"Really? Him?" the doctor scoffed, his patronizing tone not at all amusing to Carrie. "How 'bout 'Poor us'? Every single day, having these people waltz right in and begging for our help."
Carrie glared over his words, particularly his usage of the phrase "these people."
"And what exactly are you implying?" she questioned his rant.
"What am I implying? I'll tell ya. Kid comes in, complaining about pain in his leg, and it turns out his folks have let him on a diet of candy and soul food. I tell ya, if it isn't the bullets that are killing these people, it's the chitlins and hog maws!"
