Prescott couldn’t sleep. Hell, she was having trouble breathing. Her roommate had finally given up trying to console her and had gone to spend the night in her own boy friend’s room. Beth had cried herself sick then sore. Her ribs, legs, arms, even her cheek, were covered in bruises and hurt from a day of sparring gone bad. She, Jensen and Patersen, along with other students till the last hour or so, had had a good night. The last hour had been a nightmare, in hindsight. The trouble was, at the time, it had merely been a bit more annoying than usual.

So here it was, shortly after 0100 and she was stepping into medical in her work out gear. In loose fitting sweat pants and a crop top hoodie, she had her arms crossed and looked around to see who was on duty. Visible were the shiner on her left cheek and eye, blatant finger prints around her wrist and several strike mark bruises on her arm. She was limping slightly, favoring her left side and she had obviously been crying so hard she looked almost gaunt. Eyes, normally bright and cheerful, were shallow and dark. Whatever had occurred, it had taken its horrible toll on her.

Lt Elizabeth Prescott
Security (formally Intel)