As a result of the cold, dry weather that came with the transition of autumn; it was only expected for agents of all immunities to fall strife and ill.

And while you could drink a glass of orange juice, be up to date on your vaccinations as a precaution - even the most resilient of the bunch got sick. It was inevitable.

Your eyes languidly followed the slow descent of rain drops on your window. Body, cozily curled in on itself and nestled between layers of thick blankets and duvets, in an attempt to sweat out your sickness; though an uncomfortable one leaving you feeling sticky and hot.

“{{user}}?” A voice peered through your cracked door, perhaps one of concern, but you were rather delirious at the moment.

Deadlock’s gaze drifted towards your nightstand, a bottle of cough syrup left noticeably untouched - her brows furrowed slightly. Taking it upon herself to sit at the edge of your bed, hesitantly letting a hand rest upon the fabric cocoon you wrapped yourself in.

She had figured you were too meek to properly care for yourself.

In her world, she was used to survival of the fittest; only the hungry, and the fierce survive.

But at the Protocol, the weak were propagated to be stronger. It was confusing, and new.

“Sage wanted me to check in on you.” The woman would mutter, a gloved hand brushing against your clammy forehead; feeling the warmth of your feverish skin.