Death Marked (Open)

Participants: Jane Foster /Open
Open/Closed: Open
Location(s): Temporary Treatment Centre, The Gulf of Mexico
Time of Day: Midday
Weather: Fair weather
Summary: Following a rebel insurgent attack on a small town located in Mexico's gulf, U.N. medics and heroes have been dispached to help deal with the threat and any resulting casualties. With no immediate end in sight to the crisis, a truck carrying more injured has arrived at the treatment centre. This could be driven by a hero, a hero could be among the hurt, or something more sinister could be close behind, tracked by one of the dispatched Avengers. I'm happy to discuss any ideas you might have!

“Put him over there!” Jane looked up from the side of the bed she stood at, gesturing across the large tent to the few empty cots that remained. All about her were scenes of chaos, U.N medics dashing to-and-fro, doing their utmost to treat the swathe of civilians being carried and dragged before them. Many of the patients were worn and tired, weeping and screaming with uncontrolled emotion. Others sat silent and unmoving, totally unresponsive, facing a state of absolute shock. Then there were those that had been injured – those whose skin had been torn by stray shrapnel, those that tried to conceal infected wounds for the benefit of others, those whose lungs had inhaled too much smoke... the list of ailments was near endless, as seemed to be the number of casualties.

An out-pouring of violence in a town on Mexico's gulf was the cause. Attacked out of the blue by insurgents, the area had become a warzone, and while the world's heroes had been dispatched to deal with the direct threat, the U.N had scrambled medics – doctors and nurses from regions close-by – to help treat those caught in the cross-fire. Jane Foster was one such medic, and had been more than willing to volunteer her services: she was used to working under pressure. That said, even she had been taken aback by the sheer scale of what greeted her – and she had been greeted by more than most.

A shroud of shadow, near-imperceptable, hung over the hastily erected treatment centre. A chill cut through the heat of the Mexican sun, and not even the sheer number of individuals cramped within the temporary sanctuary could bring warmth to the tent. In the corner of Jane's vision, little black spots danced – never fully visible but ever present – and colourless spectral butterflies fluttered around those most injured. Death was close, and as a Valkyrie, Jane was finely attuned to its coming. A ferrywoman between the realms of the living and the dead, she was tasked with escorting the spirits of those passed to lands beyond mortal understanding – their final resting places. It was an important task; a job which, if left undone, allowed restless, tormented spirits to wander where they shouldn't.

That didn't mean she had to allow unnecessary fatalities, however. As a nurse, and then doctor, she had spent her lifetime trying to stave off death: being a Valkyrie allowed her to give closure to those she couldn't help, but she had every intention of preserving as many lifes as she could. Taking the dead to Valhalla, to Hel – it was a last resort. She would much rather see people taken home to families and loved ones.

“Okay, press down on this,” she began, in a soft but commanding tone that left no room for argument. The woman at her side nodded, and leaned over the bed, pressing her palms against the thick bandages and gauzing Jane had applied to a young man's torso. He groaned in pain, and his mother near pulled her hands away, but Foster caught her eye and shook her head firmly. The mother relented, and reappled the pressure. “I'm going to go and get some water and ask one of the triage nurses to come and take a look at his wound. If the bleeding has stopped, we should be able to stitch your son up. He's going to have a pretty impressive scar...”

Jane's trailing off had clear meaning. 'But he'll live' was the implication, 'Unlike some of the others.' The middle-aged woman nodded, but offered no reply, and Foster turned on her heel, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand. She signalled one of the triage attendants, passed on all the information necessary, and then made her way toward the treatment centre's entrance, taking a bottle of water en route. Still people poured into the space, and the flow showed no signs of slowing.

Stepping out into the sun, Jane cast her eyes down the long line of people still waiting to be seen – until something caught her eye. Toward the rear of the line, a truck was rapidly approaching, and as it sped into view, people on board were shouting for help – pleas understandable in any language even without the gift of the All-Speech.

Jericho had been airlifted out of New Orleans and was being flown, escorted by U.N agents, into Mexico near the Gulf. He had almost insisted that they let him travel via his own means but Jericho knew the importance of being fully briefed on the situation. They had found him running clinicals in New Orleans and quickly whisked him away with the news that a sudden attack had been launched on their neighbors on the south. Mexico and Louisiana both shared the Gulf and if an attack had been enacted upon them it stood reasonable that neighboring places could be struck soon thereafter. Jericho wished to learn more about this attack but for the time being the United Nations needed the aid from Dr. Drumm, not yet the abilities of Doctor Voodoo.

Drumm had been on site for over two hours now. He worked betwixt numerous emergency medical tents, working feverishly to get aids, nurses, and other doctors organized enough to tackle the sheer number of wounded that seemed to be climbing at an alarming rate. Keeping them all orderly and spread enough to cut down on infection was hard enough, they also had to work on these victims with limited supplies. The medical equipment they needed seemed to fly in a lot slower than the personnel, which was going to cause them to hit a wall at some point.

A quick huff escaped Jericho's lips as he stepped into the sunlight, the warmth hitting him was welcomed, but there was no time to relish as there were still injured to tend to. "Bed 62 needs new dressings on his leg wounds. Any more saline we have left divert it all to tents 2 and 5. Make sure anyone waiting, with less life threatening injuries, has water."

No one had put him in charge and he was not so pompous enough that he would think himself as calling the shots for all these doctors from different parts of the world, but he had noticed those needs and addressed them. Jericho moved forward through a herd of people, leaving one tent and briskly walking into another. Many bloodied bandages were overflowing a small waste basket. It was clear that this small area they had set up, though it was doing good for the moment, was not going to be sustainable much longer. Drumm approached the patient on the cot and carefully examined her head. She was one of the more gravely injured, a head wound was no joke in the best equipped hospitals, it could certainly be a death sentence in a hastily thrown together workshop like the one they were operating. Jericho muttered a short incantation and a low glow began to surround the bandages around the woman's head. He then looked to the woman seated beside her cot, gave her a smile and moved on to the next bed.

Before Jericho could lay eyes on his next patient shouts filled the air accompanied by the shout of a blaring horn. Jericho snatched off his white coat and rushed outside, his dark eyes narrowed on the incoming vehicle. These were clearly people in need, whoever was driving the truck too seemed to be injured, and it did not look like the truck was going to be stopping any time soon.

"Everyone get back!" Jericho shouted at the helpless people lined before the clustered tenets. His feet left the ground as he began to float and his arms were cast in violet light. "Beyond dimensions and across the land, Cyttorak's servant heed my command!" A swrling portal opened in the clear blue sky and out fell a crimson figure that seemed to be made of spherical armor.

"Cye..."

"Stop that truck!"

Voodoo's words sliced into the servant's own and the magic which brought it into our dimension spurred the creature to act. It dashed forward, incredibly fast for its bulky shape and armored makeup. The creature ran between civilians and the truck, throwing up its powerful arms to suddenly stop the vehicle dead in its tracks. The people onboard shouted more as they all lurched from the abrupt stop, but none sounded too worse for wear. "Cye..toe.."

"Return at once, through the rift...blah blah blah." Jericho waved his hand at the Cyttorak servant, sending it on its way back through the portal as he stormed the truck that had unceremoniously arrived to the medical site. Those onboard had been screaming for help but Jericho wanted to handle this as cautiously as possible so as he drew closer to the truck he held up a hand to hold any of the other medical personnel at bay. "Those able to, step out of the truck. Those with head injuries or any other significant wounds remain inside as we coordinate how to best assist you."

The number of injuries were piling up. It was going to be a long day, and hopefully things wouldn't get any worse.

Jane Foster

Jane had already started running toward the speeding truck as the crimson behemoth fell from the sky. On her wrist, her vambrace hummed with energy, responding to the possible danger the vehicle posed, and she readied herself to change – to take on the appearance and mantle of the Valkyrie in order to stop the civilian-ladened transport if necessary. However, a hulking brute clad in spherical armour appeared in her peripheral vision, and she skidded to a rather abrupt stop as it charged forth, far faster than Jane's mortal legs had carried her. It used its sheer bulk to erect a living wall between the truck and the mass of waiting injured, an immovable pillar of strength.

The vehicle was halted rather suddenly. It hit the outstretched arms of the crimson colossus with a jolt and then lay still. Foster blinked, looking between the giant and the civilians, assessing the situation; just because it had stopped the transport didn't mean it had good intentions. She knew of far too many beings from other realms that meant humans ill, and so wasn't quick to trust one she wasn't familiar with.

However, any concern was allayed when a dreadlocked individual, still slightly glowing with arcane power, jogged past the dome-headed hulk, giving it commands as he went. The summoned beast heeded the man's words, and with loping steps, it turned on its heel and stomped away from the incident, toward a tear in the fabric of reality – a portal from which it had no doubt appeared. “Huh...” mouthed Jane, tilting her head in mild surprise, before continuing her journey toward the halted vehicle.

She arrived as some of the passangers had begun to disembark, stepping down from the truck on shaky legs, looking about them and offering repeated thanks to the man who had been the first to arrive. He stood close by the vehicle, hands outstretched to stop any civilians or medical assistance approaching the transport, dealing with those who could move under their own power first and foremost. Foster drew up alongside him, making sure not to advance beyond the perimeter his arm had set, and cast her eyes over those shambling toward the already winding line of people waiting to be treated.

She made mental notes of any obvious wounds as they walked, trying to keep a track of what the centre might need in coming hours and days – extra gauze, an increased load of bandages and infinitely more suture kits.
“That was an interesting application of medical science,” Jane murmured as the area cleared, directing the statement at the man she believed to be Jericho Drumm. While she hadn't worked extensively with Doctor Voodoo, her time as an Avenger meant she recognised his white-streaked dreadlocks and the 'v' marking he bore on his forehead, little more notable than a scar at first. Those striking features aside, any suspicions she may have had were confirmed when he banished an extra-dimensional servant through a swirling portal.

Turning, Jane offered a smile, sipped from her water bottle, and then extended a hand toward him. “Jane Foster,” she began, all too aware that though she was reasonably sure of his identity, he was unlikely to recognise her. After all, as Thor, she had been incredibly guarded – protecting her identity fiercely. Broad shouldered, blonde and never out of her steel helm, the Thunder Goddess she once was differed greatly from the Jane of present. “Thanks for calling in the cavalry.”

Jericho Drumm

Jericho moved aside slightly, making room for those that could remove themselves from the truck. He placed a hand on his forehead, the Mexico heat and the circumstance both beginning to get to him alike. Mentally, Jericho began to ascertain their number of new patients and categorize them by the severity of injury. It was a monumental pressure to put on such a place as the one they'd constructed out of necessity and emergency. While the tents they had gotten up and the doctors that were helping out were doing a great job of treating patients, the place was still no hospital. They were operating well above their means and capabilities no matter the skill and goodwill of those working. But Jericho knew he couldn't let that weigh him down or cloud his mind, not when he was a medical professional who's skillset was deeply needed.

Once the truck was full of only the most gravely injured the rest of the aids and nurses began to approach, helping to administer whatever treatments they could without moving the injured. In the midst, those who rallied to provide care came a woman who made it her point to speak with Jericho. He offered her a smile, finding some distant familiarity about her. "Yes, well I studied at a number of interesting institutes." Clearly he was recognized. Unlike a number of his fellow heroes, Jericho Drumm did not operate with a secret identity. His look was a stand out one anyway, after all, it would be hard to divorce his identity of Jericho Drumm from that of Doctor Voodoo. He looked down at the woman's hand and accepted it with a firm shake. "Jericho Drumm...but you already knew that." The smile remained.


As their hands fell back to their respective sides Jericho gestured for them to move away from the area where the truck now rested. "Let's get out of the sun, shall we?" His footsteps directed them toward the clerical tent, where the workers tried their hardest to get files made for each of these sudden patients. "No thanks needed at all, I merely did what I could, just like everyone else pitching in around here. Thank you for being here by the way. Every able body we have is integral to healing these folks." Jericho spoke as he grabbed a small paper cup and filled it to its brim with water from one of the few coolers on site. He offered the cup of water to Jane and neglected to fetch himself a cup. They were running low on everything. His free hand soon found a chart, he aimed to keep busy and there were still injured that he had not seen yet. "Has anyone been able to tell you anything about the attacks that caused all of," Jericho glanced up to look around their surroundings before turning his eyes back to Jane, "this?"

Jane Foster

As the pair shook hands, Drumm confirmed his identity – not that he’d really needed to – and suggested the pair get out of the sun. Jane nodded her agreement, assuming that ‘get out of the sun’ was code for ‘assess the situation and see to the wounded’. Medical professionals had a way with words, and could make near anything a euphemism for treating patients. Offering a final few instructions to the doctors and nurses that tended to the injured littered about the truck, she accompanied Voodoo back toward the treatment centre, taking another sip from her bottle.

Foster waved away his thanks just as he’d waved away hers. “It’s my job,” she replied simply, though her words carried dual meaning. As a medical practitioner, she did her utmost to prolong life, and thus travelled to places where lives needed saving. As Valkyrie, she ferried the dead, and thus travelled to those locales where patients couldn’t be saved. Both would have brought her to Mexico to ‘pitch in.’

As they entered the tent, Drumm filled up a paper cup with chilled water, and offered it to Jane, who raised her half-full bottle by way of reply, shaking it side to side, making the clear liquid slosh softly against the plastic. The mystic then moved straight to stored charts, leafing through hastily written pages of information, spending longer examining the files of those with more fatal injuries – those infinitely harder to treat.

"Has anyone been able to tell you anything about the attacks that caused all of this?”

Foster shook her head. “Honestly, I’ve not really asked. Other than checking the news feeds occasionally, we’ve not heard much about the rebel attacks or how the Avengers are responding. I suppose it isn’t a priority when you’re dealing with...well…” Gesturing to the room about her, she figured her point was made. Jane then folded her arms across her middle and tilted her head. “I’m surprised you’re here though. I’d have thought all able sorcerers would be on hand to combat rocket-toting insurgents.”

Jericho Drumm

Jericho nodded slowly to her response of the task at hand and all she'd done to help out as just a part of the job. He completely understood, as physicians they did what they did not to be praised and thanked but to ensure safety and survival of the injured. Once inside of the tent the degrees shifted barely noticeably. Oscillating fans took up position in each corner of the maze of tents that wasn't already preoccupied by medical equipment. The cool air they supplied was incredibly short lived making room for the dry air once more whenever the fans were turned from directly blowing in one given direction.

Drumm smiled at the bottle Dr. Foster held up at him, unsure how he had missed it in the first place. As he wasn't particularly thirsty himself Jericho passed off the cup of water to a waiting patient. Eyes settled on Jane once again, he said "I suppose that's fair." Perhaps it was his inquisitive nature or just his lifestyle as a superhero when out of the white coat, but Jericho was very interested in knowing about the attack that would see so many wounded show up to their treatment center. It was obviously worst than projected if Jericho had to be flown in to help out.

"Hm?" He had returned his attention to the files but Jane's words captured his attention immediately. Voodoo supposed what she said made sense but he wasn't just an Avenger, he had other responsibilities that often he placed more value on.

"Too political, unfortunately." While that didn't bar heroes from interjecting in such attacks all the time, sometimes there was political pressure placed on them to not make things worse. Did Jericho agree with that assessment? It was difficult to say, he and most of his allies were all about stopping attacks on innocents, but also he recognized the optics of American based super-persons seemingly picking sides. It sometimes made for escalation.

"So for the time being I help in a way that no one can object to."

Jane Foster