It was a cacophony of noise but it was like it was coming from the far end of a long tunnel. There was loud, insensible babbling, there was calm, soothing tones, there was the inaudible chatter over a PA system, and none of it meant anything to Ryah. There was the familiar scent that all hospitals seemed to have, antiseptic sterility, masking the underlying scent of death.<br/><br/>The next thing Ryah was aware of was the lumpy, hard bed beneath him and the lack of weapons and real clothes on his person.  The memories came flooding back and his eyes jerked open. Rolling over, the brunet got out of bed, feeling his side pull. Stitches, then. And probably a transfusion, given how much blood he remembered losing. Across the room, he spied a familiar face. Rushing over, he grabbed his sister's hand, quietly calling her name.<br/><br/>Why wasn't she waking up? He felt panic bubbling up inside of him. She wasn't responding, she wasn't moving. She was just lying there, pale as lifeless doll or--or a corpse. The only thing that belied that was the slow rise and fall of her chest.