Mi5 medical evaluation bay
Holy guacamole he was so bored. And speaking of guacamole, was he more green today? He squinted at the mottled back of his hand. Yeah. He was less sallow and more avocado.
”Great...now I need to get new foundation...”
Simon grumbled to himself more than the two orderlies escorting him in the evaluation center. He was, by Russo’s dictatorial suggestions, supposed to get a full new physical and evaluation for his abilities. If only the staff didn’t treat him like the walking dead. Hadn’t they heard that you shouldn’t just judge a book by its cover?
Without being bidden, the mutant went to the exam table and sat on it, slipping his shirt off and exposing his old gang tattoos. Poor, faded bull terrier. It needed fresh ink, because dying hadn’t been good for the art. The female orderly was casting a mighty strong side eye at him, which he returned with interest. Enjoy it whole you can, toots. The nurse looked like a youngster, so maybe heckling her was a bad idea. She had two files edged in black, it looked like, and she was distracted. Being an ass would only serve to amuse him, not do anything useful or get any info, or so Simon thought. It would be better to shut up and put up with the exam.
And what an exam it was! Listening to a heartbeat that wasn’t there, listening to his lungs as he optionally breathed, measuring his blood pressure (a solid and normal 0/0), take the room temperature by measuring him, listening to his stomach not gurgle and work, watch the doctors bang on his reflex points and his limbs not react, an evaluation of his cataracts, and then a pronouncement that he was as fit as a fiddle. That had been buried with its owner. Twenty years ago.
He looked up when the door opened, showing more life with his interest than he had with any of the people interactions so far in the day. Some other dude was coming in, escorted with orderlies, and followed with a file...edged in black just like Simon’s. The mutant flashed a cocky grin and greeted the other man.
”Hiya. What’s your gig? I’ve been dead for two years. Name’s Simon.”
One of the male orderlies told him to shut up, but what was he gonna do, give him a wrist slap? Simon was more interested in the other potential mutant than he was in the mook escorting him.