I don't like the Clinic. I'm not too fussy about the whole Compound in general, honestly, but there are answers we need -- sooner, rather than later. I rely on Ellen to get us there in one piece, still disoriented enough from the events of the past few days, real or dreamt up, to get a good grip on my surroundings. My hand rests on her elbow, the other tucked against my chest, hastily wrapped to stop the bleeding from my altercation with the floor. I stop us once we're inside, the familiar stench of antiseptic clogging my nose.

I just hope whoever's in knows what the hell they're doing.

"We need a doctor."