“Can I ride along?” I asked one, the second they were done.
That would be a good way to soothe the paranoia.
And also to take us, the readers, to the hospital to see more consequences of the Shattering.
He looked at me, then grabbed something large, black and irregularly shaped from a pocket beneath the stretcher. Holding it in one hand, he put one hand on my shoulder and led me a short distance away. My heart rate tripled.
Um.
Ummm.
My gut was telling me they weren’t normal paramedics, and this was the moment I found out just how.
“Here,” he pressed a bundle into my hands. It was large, bulky, and there were hard bits beneath the cloth. “You don’t want to leave this behind.”
…Is it her mask?
Where did she put that again… she didn’t say, but it seems she might’ve dropped it outside the back door, or right inside it.
I peeked at the contents of the bundle, then swallowed hard. It was my mask and the back sheath of my armor with the stuff inside.
Yep.
I like the implication that the paramedic is totally cool with this and helping to keep her secret. They’re probably trained as such, since this sort of situation probably happens from time to time.
In my haste, I’d torn them off and left them where they fell.
“You’re with Coil?” I asked. I felt a quiet horror at the realization that Coil would now know who my dad was, and who I was by proxy.
It might be the case, but I think what I just said works too.
Of course, if I’m onto something, there might be differences in how they’re supposed to treat heroes and villains, but no one can be expected to recognize every mask or armor piece and identify whether or not the wearer is a villain. That’s not the paramedic’s job.
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