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(all good) CALEB, VIVA CIRCUIT, DENS 1 HOUR UNTIL RACE START "Alrighty then, spread out, get as much info as possible. Write it down, if you must." The captain explained, already stalking off to a den. MONTY, REDBULL DEN Monty glanced up, seeing a large team of medical staff walking into dens, checking on people or catching riders outside. He'd already changed into his suit, the top half hanging around his waist with a black tank underneath. The man pushed open the door, walking out and making his way to the edge of the track, breath starting to come shorter as his hands shook, the pre-race nerves getting to him. |
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She walked over to the racer she was assigned to interveiw for symptoms. " Monty Hackmore " - "Hello!! Im Aurora and ill be checking for any symptoms today.." she greeted, a smile. - "Any headaches, Or Sicknesses?" |
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Monty flinched slightly when she spoke, having been absorbed in his own thoughts. "No just. . . nevermind."
He murmured, running a hand through his hair as the sun beat down on them. The man glanced back at the track, heat rising in visble waves, making it look more menacing than welcoming. Monty sighed softly, flicking his gaze back to her. "Only thing i've got is anxiety, work myself up too much, just makes everything worse." -Damnit Monty, see? Now you're stumbling through your words and making everything sound as though you're made of nothing. Great job. Now she's probably wondering why the hell you're acting so weird.- He cleared his throat, looking back at the medic. "Is that all?" The man asked, wanting to get out of the awkward tension he'd already created. |
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" yes, it is." She nods, moving away from the racer. - - that Hackmore racer is... interesting- - She returned her sheet too the captain. She goes into her bag, shifting out her iPad which has.all of the info about each racer and their symptoms - ' All of these are anxiety.. ' She noted towards the other medics. - ' Can someone please send me the recent picture of #49872? " The number was the Symptom number of A racer named Doug Xhane. |
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(here we go lol) "Bloody hell," He muttered under his breath, the signal for five minutes before start being called. Monty pulled the rest of his suit on, zipping it up before buttoning the top, slipping his helmet on and slipping instantly into shaky focus. The bike roared to life underneath him, the engine humming low and menacingly as he drove over to the start, sliding into position. The lights flashed, red, red, -GREEN.- At the sight of the green, Monty pushed off the asphalt, pushing the gas before slipping into a steady fourth position, entering the first turn. - Lean, clutch, release, straighten.- He thought, the movements muscle memory at that point. He studied the track all at the same time, noting it'd be hard to pass the three other racers infront of him. - Lean, clutch, release, straighten.- Wait, how was he even supposed to pass the ones infront of him without wrecking? He couldn't do anything on turns without risking falling and having to pull out of the race, out of his only chance to prove he was worthy of the league--and his contract to RedBull. -Lean, clutch, release, straighten.- How was anything supposed to even be possible on this track?! Who had designed it?! Monty glared at the rider in first, jealous for a moment before snapping out of it, bike wobbling for a moment as he lost his focus, the man immediately straightening back out, but at a cost. The fifth place rider zipped infront of him, almost pushing him off the track. Great. -Lean, clutch, release, straighten, that's all Monty. No biggie. Just lean, clutch, release, and straighten out-- Monty held down the gas, quickly zipping infront of the fourth place rider, putting him back in his original position. The turn came up fast, the man almost missing it. -SHI- LEAN CLUTCH RELEASE AND STRAIGHTEN OUT!!- He thought, almost psyching himself out as he focused back in, pushing everything down. "Holy..." He breathed, breath shaky as everything seemed to be back to fine. That didn't last long. The rider in first position was leading confidently, until his axle snapped, something nobody could've predicted, leaving no time for the second rider to stop, the two bikes twisting into an ugly, hunk of metal as the two riders were thrown off. The rider in third took the only path out of the wreck, a skinny, complex one, as the bikes couldn't slow down quick enough. Monty had no time, figuring he was fine before his tires hit slick--oil, gas, fluid, who knew--leaking from one of the bikes and covering the asphalt. His bike was underneath him, until it was just, gone. Going from almost 200mph to 0mph within a second flung the man to the ground, sliding without choice. -Breathe, you're fine--nope, NOPE NOT AT ALL WHY DOES MY LEG HAVE A HEARTBEAT--what the hell happened why am I sliding--this is it, career over--no, my LIFE is over, i'm dead, I have to be, there's no way, otherwise i'd feel everything--WHY CAN'T I FEEL ANYTHING?- His mind raced, thoughts getting cut off as he colided with the concrete barrier head first, his side slamming into it right after, making his ribs start throbbing, coming to a still as his helmet became way too tight, way too much, if you will. His fingers fumbled for the chin strap, quickly yanking it apart before pulling his helmet off, attempting to draw in a breath but failing--his lungs didn't work, why coudn't he breathe? Why couldn't he think straight? Also, why couldn't he feel anything? He tried to move his hand, yet it stayed still. Was he dying? Was he dead? What was. . . what was. . . His eyes slipped shut, consciousness slowly slipping through his fingers as his eyes rolled back. |
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Aurora had been watching the sector from pit wall medical, headset pressed tight against her ear. “Sector three clear—” Static. Then shouting over comms. “MULTI-BIKE DOWN. Oil on track. Barrier impact. Rider not moving.” She was already running. Boots pounded against asphalt as red flags waved overhead. Marshals sprinted in from both sides, but she reached him first. Twisted bikes lay scattered behind her, the sharp scent of fuel hanging in the air. Monty was on his side near the concrete barrier, helmet off, eyes rolled back. She dropped to her knees beside him. “Don’t move him! Spine protocol!” Her hands were steady as she stabilized his head. “Monty, can you hear me? Stay with me.” No response. Airway first. His chest wasn’t rising properly. “Bag and collar!” she called. She checked quickly for obstruction—none visible. Her fingers found his carotid pulse. “Pulse present. Rapid.” A cervical collar was snapped into her hand. She maintained manual stabilization while it was secured in place. The mask sealed over his face as she began ventilations. “One… two… three…” His chest rose weakly. “Good. That’s it.” She assessed his pupils—uneven reaction. “Possible concussion. Prep backboard.” Her eyes briefly scanned his leg, noting the unnatural angle beneath the suit. “On my count. Log roll ready. One. Two. Three.” They moved him together, controlled and precise, securing him to the board. “Ambulance en route. Clear the lane!” As they lifted him onto the stretcher, she stayed at his head, continuing steady breaths through the bag valve mask. “You’re not done yet. Stay with me.” The sirens started, and she kept her focus locked on him as they loaded him into the ambulance. |
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Monty's eyes flickered open, seeing doubles of everything through a hazy gaze. His breath hitched, feeling a mask be put on his face, delivering oxygen uselessly as his lungs refused to work properly. The man paled slightly, reaching up shakily and yanking the mask off, turning onto his side and hurling. "Seems somebody got rocked a bit too. . ." Caleb trailed off, the laughter draining out of his voice as he saw it was red. Dark red. Thick and sticky, it immediately clocking to him. Blood. "Possible internal bleeding, we need to get him to that hospital ASAP." Caleb called out, the rider hurling another time before laying back on his back. As he was loaded a heavy tiredness fell, heart rate starting to drop concerningly low as his body slowly started to run out of energy, having used it all to keep him alive during the crash. Monty broke out in a cold sweat, shivering as the collar of his suit became dark with the stuff, his hair damp. The team captain reached over and placed two fingers on the rider's neck, noting his pulse. Tha-thump.....tha....thump.... He snatched a syringe out of a fresh packet, unlocking a cabinet and grabbing a bottle of fluid, sticking in the needle before pushing Monty's head to the side, access to administer a stim to keep his heart up. "Administering stim one," He called, inserting the liquid. Almost instantly Monty's heart picked up rate, adrenaline quickly running out as pain replaced it. His jaw clenched hard enough you could hear his teeth squeak, a nerve in his neck sticking out boldly as he did so, breathing still coming in short, shallow breaths. |
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Aurora reacted the second his eyes flickered open. “Easy— easy, Monty—” The oxygen mask had barely settled over his face when he ripped it off and rolled sharply onto his side, vomiting hard onto the asphalt. She moved with him instantly, keeping one hand stabilizing his neck while supporting his shoulder so he wouldn’t twist his spine. “Turn with me— keep him aligned!” Then she saw it. Dark. Thick. Red. Her jaw tightened. “That’s blood. Possible internal bleed.” He heaved again before going slack as they carefully rolled him back onto his spine, collar still secure. His skin had gone pale beneath the sheen of sweat, lips losing color. She pressed two fingers to his carotid. The pulse was slowing. “Heart rate dropping,” she said evenly. “He’s crashing.” Cold sweat soaked into the collar of his suit. His breathing came shallow, uneven, barely lifting his chest. “IV access. Large bore. Now.” She stayed at his head, monitoring airway and breathing as the line was established. His pulse faltered beneath her fingers. “Administering stim,” she called as the injection was pushed. A second passed. Then his pulse strengthened abruptly under her touch. “There. Heart rate climbing.” Monty’s body reacted as circulation improved. His jaw clamped down hard, teeth grinding audibly as pain flooded back in. A tendon stood out sharply along his neck as his muscles tensed. “That’s okay,” Aurora said firmly. “Pain means blood’s moving. Stay still.” His breathing remained short and shallow. She repositioned the oxygen mask, this time holding it securely in place. “Slow breaths. Don’t fight it.” Her eyes flicked quickly over him— unequal pupils, unstable vitals, blood loss. “Load him. Trauma alert. Possible internal hemorrhage, head injury, femur fracture.” As they lifted him into the ambulance, she climbed in beside him without hesitation, one hand returning to his pulse while the other adjusted the bag valve mask to assist his breathing. “Stay with me,” she said, voice low but unwavering. “You’re not done yet.” |
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The ambulance sped down the interstate, cutting through multi lane traffic before finally, after what felt like years, reached the hospital. Doctors already awaited at the door, their hands replacing the paramedics, starting to wheel him into a trauma bay. "Male, early twenties, high speed motorcycle collison with a concrete barrier, was unconscious when we arrived, possible internal bleeding and fractured leg, possible collarbone or shoulder injury, stim already has been administered." Caleb explained to one of them, the doctor nodding as they lifted him onto the bed, Monty wincing before one of the doctors curiously put a hand to his forehead, instantly feeling the heat coming off his skin, even though he was shivering still. "This needs to come off, now," She commanded, gesturing to his racing jacket. Quickly they got it off--leaving him in a pair of shorts and a tank, the earlier injuries Caleb was talking about much more visible. MONTY -Holy shit, this is it, can't kill me off that easi--HOLY- His thoughts cut off as somebody went to assess his leg, straightening it out with a sickening sound. "Good Lord almighty," He breathed through gritted teeth, attempting to shift his shoulder before his breath caught in his throat, deciding to abandon the idea as most of the people walked out, leaving two paramedics, a doctor discussing something with another, and the steady beep of the heart moniter they'd hooked up. -Where's my phone at? It was in my pocket..- Monty thought, glancing around before seeing it in his suit, reaching over and grabbing it with a wince, seeing twenty-three stacked missed calls from both of his parents. They'd seen it all. They'd been forced to watch as their son went slack. They'd been forced to watch him do nothing but fail. Nothing but absolutely obliterate his promise to them. Nothing but get himself removed from his contract. Nothing bu- He blinked, zoning back in as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes empty now as his expression remained unreadable, the man clicking on his dad's contact, the phone ringing before picking up. "What the hell happened out there?" |
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(Guess whos roping in their studies into a roleplay!!) - The trauma bay doors swung shut behind the incoming stretcher, sealing the room off from the noise of the hallway. Aurora remained at the head of the bed while the hospital team moved with quick, practiced efficiency around him. “Vitals?” the attending physician asked. “Heart rate elevated but responsive. BP trending low earlier, stabilized after field intervention,” Aurora answered calmly. Monitors were connected within seconds, cables draped across his chest as the steady rhythm filled the room. “Let’s get another pressure.” A cuff tightened around his arm. A nurse drew blood swiftly from the IV line. “He vomited blood en route,” Aurora added. “Concern for internal bleed.” “Noted. Prep for imaging.” As they worked, she kept her focus on his breathing—counting the rise and fall, watching for asymmetry. “Breath sounds diminished on the right,” she reported after a quick listen with a stethoscope handed to her. The physician nodded. “Portable chest X-ray first.” The team shifted positions, controlled and deliberate. No wasted movement. No panic. “Temperature’s climbing,” a nurse noted. “Start fluids wide open.” Aurora stepped back half a pace as hospital staff assumed full control, but she didn’t leave. She watched the monitor. Watched the numbers. Watched for any drop. “CT is ready,” someone called from the doorway. “Alright. Let’s move.” The bed unlocked, wheels clicking as they guided him out under bright lights toward imaging, the steady beep of the monitor continuing as they disappeared down the hall. |
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Sunny and Warmer
