Arriving at the station at approximately 0600 UTC, the airbus landed with the grace of a bull falling out of a tree, its landing lights making it impossible for those on the ground to actually see what was descending. USMS Civilian Class Airbus 85, currently in service for the districts east of York’s DMZ, had started its shift not 30 minutes ago - an unusually quick return to base. The men and women on the tarmac, confused as they might be, acted as they would during any airbus unload and rushed forward, opening the nearly rusted shut rear doors. One patient. A 30 minute patrol that ended with one patient. A patient wearing a GUS military uniform.

The patient’s ailments were apparent even to those with no medical knowledge. Limbs were broken with exposed bone. The labored breathing indicated severe damage to the lungs. Sunken facial features from accelerated decay, one of the effects of the newest poison to come out of the East’s remaining laboratories. It would be a miracle the patient was still alive, were it not for the amount of machinery currently pumping life into him, taking up most of the space inside the airbus. He was cognizant enough to recognize the people surrounding him as USMS employees, but it didn’t matter. More likely than not, he would never speak again. What he saw East of the DMZ would die with him.