Post by Bane Fonteyne on Nov 29, 2014 16:20:09 GMT -5
Bane was on his way to the Cafeteria. He'd been taking his time exploring the parts of the Pediatric Hospital he had access to. Apparently, he was going to be there for a while. He'd already been there for a while, actually. Three months, in a coma. He'd woken up finally with amnesia and was now being treated for PTSD as well. No one really had any information on him and he'd never had any visitors. The Peace Corps had paid for his stay until they'd been able to locate a bank account in his name. He was wealthy apparently and they'd taken the payments from his account without much fuss. Other than that, no one really knew who Bane Fonteyne was or where he had come from.
He'd reached out to the Peace Corps, requesting his file and the information they had on him. They'd only returned with the name of a town, a small little place outside of Crystal Bay and his age. He was 18. The dog tags that always hung around his neck had been his first clues after he'd woken up. They'd given him his name and a link to the Peace Corps. A bullet wound straight through his chest was what had sent him back to the States and straight into a coma. Apparently, he'd been sent into a pretty nasty part of the world to give aide to starving and oppressed people. No one had really told him where yet. He'd seen some awful things, not that he remembered.
His memories occasionally bubbled up in the form of his PTSD flashbacks. He didn't understand any of them but they came with intense visions and frightening emotions. The memories were always powerful but fleeting, nothing he could hang on to. He still had no idea who he was after they hit.
Now, he was sitting comfortably down on a table, with a plate full of food. It was the first bites of actual food he had tasted in three months, getting everything else from an IV in his arm. He glanced up when he heard another patient walking into the cafeteria, giving the kid a hesitant smile.
He'd reached out to the Peace Corps, requesting his file and the information they had on him. They'd only returned with the name of a town, a small little place outside of Crystal Bay and his age. He was 18. The dog tags that always hung around his neck had been his first clues after he'd woken up. They'd given him his name and a link to the Peace Corps. A bullet wound straight through his chest was what had sent him back to the States and straight into a coma. Apparently, he'd been sent into a pretty nasty part of the world to give aide to starving and oppressed people. No one had really told him where yet. He'd seen some awful things, not that he remembered.
His memories occasionally bubbled up in the form of his PTSD flashbacks. He didn't understand any of them but they came with intense visions and frightening emotions. The memories were always powerful but fleeting, nothing he could hang on to. He still had no idea who he was after they hit.
Now, he was sitting comfortably down on a table, with a plate full of food. It was the first bites of actual food he had tasted in three months, getting everything else from an IV in his arm. He glanced up when he heard another patient walking into the cafeteria, giving the kid a hesitant smile.
