Other than the unconscious Titan, Cavalon stood alone in the medbay. Mesa and Emery had taken the pyramid elsewhere to continue their study. Rake had been reluctantly pulled from Griffith’s side by a concerned Jackin, insisting she needed to eat, sleep, shower, and she’d feel better in no time. From her ashen, haunted expression, Cavalon doubted she’d feel any different until Griffith woke up.
Cavalon picked up a biotool and checked the Titan’s vitals again. Though he didn’t know what to consider “normal” for a two-meter-tall man as burly as Griffith, the green blips next to the numbers indicated they were within healthy ranges.
He had no idea what to deduce from the man’s symptoms. When they brought him in, he seemed to be suffering some kind of seizure, but according to Rake’s account, he’d also exhibited symptoms of a stroke.
Cavalon’s eyes flickered to the diagnostic machine processing the blood sample he’d drawn earlier. It’d give more in-depth information than the biotool could alone, but it took its sweet time delivering the results.
Though his pre-genetic engineering stint in pre-med afforded him a degree of familiarity with medical biology, he would still only have a limited understanding of the findings. Sure, he was technically a doctor—two of his three degrees had been doctoral level. But a doctor of genetic engineering and astromechanical engineering. Not a doctor of trying to save the EX’s objectively good-looking Titan pal.
Though, Griffith appeared quite a bit older than Cavalon thought he’d be. Rake said he was forty-two—forty-five, technically, but forty-two biologically. His hair had already gone to ash at the temples, and a fair amount of gray and white flecked his thick beard. The wrinkles lining his face, however, had a depth to them Cavalon wouldn’t have expected for just over forty. He’d attribute it to the hard life of a Titan, but that didn’t seem to have done Rake the same disservice.
The diagnostic machine beeped, and Cavalon walked over to check the status. It only listed about half the results, none of which appeared particularly alarming, so he closed the display and shuffled to an empty cot beside the worktable. He tossed the biotool down, then cradled his bruised, aching midsection as he sat.
He gritted his teeth and wiped moisture from the corner of his eye. His body still throbbed horribly from Snyder’s attack, and all the unhindered movement and panic of the last hour hadn’t helped in the least.
He couldn’t keep working like this, walking around acting like nothing was wrong. The bottle of banal painkillers Emery had given him sat on the edge of the table, and he palmed it open. He tossed three tabs down his throat and swallowed them dry, too sore to consider getting up again to find a water bottle. He didn’t have high hopes it’d do much for his pain.
Then he remembered—Rake had come back earlier with burn scars all along one side of her face. Jackin had similar, if not far worse burns, though where his looked hours old, Rake’s seemed to have been healing for days. Cavalon’s royal Imprints had often helped heal a stray cut or soothe a strained muscle, but never anything like that. Then again, he’d never suffered an injury that bad before. Rake had already proved his Imprints were capable of a lot more than he realized. Maybe they could help with this too.
He took a breath and tried to task them with healing his bruised guts, but the second they kicked into motion, he immediately regretted it. The way they clawed across his skin and dug into his sore muscles only made him feel worse. Though he gained a bit of relief in seeing some proof that the volatile interfacing hadn’t completely broken them.
He looked over at the stack of cartridges sitting atop one of the unopened cases of medical supplies, and bit his lip in contemplation. One option remained that he hadn’t tried yet.
It’d been over three months, what could one dose hurt? Even when he’d first started on apex, he didn’t get hooked for at least a week or two. He thought. Maybe. He couldn’t really remember that time very clearly. It’d taken a few days, at the very least. He could take a small dose to get his pain under control, and not become addicted. He definitely could.