Lesson
Eleven: Proper Preparation And Planning Prevents Pathetic
Performance
“Preparation is survival. Once you are in the
fight there is little you can do except keep calm and remember your
training.”
-The Superhero Trainee Guide (Third edition),
Chapter Two.
“Death is just one mistake away. I’ve been to
a lot of funerals for people who forgot that.”
- Dark Fire , email to an unidentified
friend.
I wake up in the hospital with no idea of how
I got there.
My body is covered in bandages and casts, and
I have a killer headache. A nurse sitting by my bed looks up when I
try to move.
“Can you hear me, Red Five ?” he
asks.
I try to nod but can’t, so I settle for a
groan. He injects me with something and my arm start burning.
“I can hear you,” I say.
He gets up, leaves the room and comes back
with a second nurse. She’s much older than he is, and seems
surprised to see me.
“He’s awake,” says the younger nurse, “you
owe me ten dollars.”
“Do you know why you are here?” the older
nurse asks me, handing the other nurse a ten dollar bill.
“I… don’t. What happened? And can I have
something for my headache?”
The nurse shrugs.
“Sorry kid, you’re already on a lot of pain
meds. What’s the last thing you can remember?”
“I was out with Never Lies and her
team in the storm… and then we were on a saucer, right? Everything
is a bit hazy.”
It was a lot more than hazy; I could only
remember snatches of disparate memories that seemed to slip over
each other. Was I in Korea? Did I see Tenchi?
The senior nurse makes a worried humming
noise and takes a few notes on her tablet.
“Okay then. I’ve called the doctor. Stay
where you are.”
Both my legs are in casts, so I’m not going
anywhere,
I lie back and close my eyes. What happened
to me? I remember fire, and pain.
The door opens and a middle aged man with the
name Got Greedy written on his blue shirt walks in. He looks
sad, and says nothing as he checks me over. He must be the doctor,
because the older nurse walks in and starts assisting him as he
scans me with strange machines set next to my bed.
Got Greedy mutters something under his
breath, and the nurse wheels me out of the room and into a full
body MRI.
“This might hurt,” the nurse says.
It doesn’t, although my arm feels oddly warm.
They wheel me back into my room and start cutting the bandages off
my arm. The skin looks red. The doctor pokes it with a metal stick
and a long line opens up in my skin to show the muscle underneath.
He slides a metal probe right into the muscle.
“Hey! What the heck?” I shout.
The doctor ignores me and continues working,
but the nurse looks surprised.
“What? Oh right, you’ve never been conscious
when we’ve done that before. We did a lot of pre-emptive surgery
when you first arrived. Just the normal stuff, like the internal
tourniquets and extra spleen. And a pacemaker, too, and a valve in
your skull to limit swelling…”
I look away as the doctor pulls the probe out
of my arm. My skin closes up as good as new, but the whole
experience is pretty disturbing.
“…we also tightened some muscles while we
were in there, just tuning you up,” continues the nurse, “and added
sensors and access points, of course. We knew you’d be coming back
to us.”
“What the hell?” I demanded, “What gives you
the right?”
The doctor prods my neck and sighs
unhappily.
“You did,” the nurse says, “when you
volunteered.”
They keep me in bed for another whole day.
It’s boring, and my memories are still fragmented. My tat-a-gotchi
is sulking on my arm and refuses to even look at me; perhaps it
doesn’t like the MRI.
“Visitor,” says the nurse.
It’s Bad Day . He sits down, props his
feet on my bed and smiles at me.
“What happened?” I ask.
I expected him to still be in a wheelchair,
but he’s not even limping. I wonder how much times has passed since
our mission in the
Eleven: Proper Preparation And Planning Prevents Pathetic
Performance
“Preparation is survival. Once you are in the
fight there is little you can do except keep calm and remember your
training.”
-The Superhero Trainee Guide (Third edition),
Chapter Two.
“Death is just one mistake away. I’ve been to
a lot of funerals for people who forgot that.”
- Dark Fire , email to an unidentified
friend.
I wake up in the hospital with no idea of how
I got there.
My body is covered in bandages and casts, and
I have a killer headache. A nurse sitting by my bed looks up when I
try to move.
“Can you hear me, Red Five ?” he
asks.
I try to nod but can’t, so I settle for a
groan. He injects me with something and my arm start burning.
“I can hear you,” I say.
He gets up, leaves the room and comes back
with a second nurse. She’s much older than he is, and seems
surprised to see me.
“He’s awake,” says the younger nurse, “you
owe me ten dollars.”
“Do you know why you are here?” the older
nurse asks me, handing the other nurse a ten dollar bill.
“I… don’t. What happened? And can I have
something for my headache?”
The nurse shrugs.
“Sorry kid, you’re already on a lot of pain
meds. What’s the last thing you can remember?”
“I was out with Never Lies and her
team in the storm… and then we were on a saucer, right? Everything
is a bit hazy.”
It was a lot more than hazy; I could only
remember snatches of disparate memories that seemed to slip over
each other. Was I in Korea? Did I see Tenchi?
The senior nurse makes a worried humming
noise and takes a few notes on her tablet.
“Okay then. I’ve called the doctor. Stay
where you are.”
Both my legs are in casts, so I’m not going
anywhere,
I lie back and close my eyes. What happened
to me? I remember fire, and pain.
The door opens and a middle aged man with the
name Got Greedy written on his blue shirt walks in. He looks
sad, and says nothing as he checks me over. He must be the doctor,
because the older nurse walks in and starts assisting him as he
scans me with strange machines set next to my bed.
Got Greedy mutters something under his
breath, and the nurse wheels me out of the room and into a full
body MRI.
“This might hurt,” the nurse says.
It doesn’t, although my arm feels oddly warm.
They wheel me back into my room and start cutting the bandages off
my arm. The skin looks red. The doctor pokes it with a metal stick
and a long line opens up in my skin to show the muscle underneath.
He slides a metal probe right into the muscle.
“Hey! What the heck?” I shout.
The doctor ignores me and continues working,
but the nurse looks surprised.
“What? Oh right, you’ve never been conscious
when we’ve done that before. We did a lot of pre-emptive surgery
when you first arrived. Just the normal stuff, like the internal
tourniquets and extra spleen. And a pacemaker, too, and a valve in
your skull to limit swelling…”
I look away as the doctor pulls the probe out
of my arm. My skin closes up as good as new, but the whole
experience is pretty disturbing.
“…we also tightened some muscles while we
were in there, just tuning you up,” continues the nurse, “and added
sensors and access points, of course. We knew you’d be coming back
to us.”
“What the hell?” I demanded, “What gives you
the right?”
The doctor prods my neck and sighs
unhappily.
“You did,” the nurse says, “when you
volunteered.”
They keep me in bed for another whole day.
It’s boring, and my memories are still fragmented. My tat-a-gotchi
is sulking on my arm and refuses to even look at me; perhaps it
doesn’t like the MRI.
“Visitor,” says the nurse.
It’s Bad Day . He sits down, props his
feet on my bed and smiles at me.
“What happened?” I ask.
I expected him to still be in a wheelchair,
but he’s not even limping. I wonder how much times has passed since
our mission in the
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