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sexually assaulted as her long, flowing skirt of many beautiful colors is torn and askew, her tights shredded. Reagan cannot bring herself to look further at this area of her friend’s body. Her lovely, black eyes are staring lifelessly at nothing in particular. There is coagulated blood trickling from her mouth and down the side of her face, disappearing into her dark hairline. There are purple bruises against the creamy, mocha skin of her neck, suggesting she was also strangled as Reagan had been. She was just a young girl. She didn’t deserve to die like this. She was good and kind and would never harm another human being. She had been studying to be a doctor so that she could help people, for God’s sake. Reagan staggers into a nearby corner, gags and vomits, which causes her stomach wounds to pull painfully.
    Not wanting to, but knowing she has no choice, she goes back by Uma’s lifeless body and steps over her friend. Reagan’s stomach wounds are bleeding profusely, dripping all over the white marble floor in some kind of psychotic rip-off art of the late Jackson Pollock. She is literally creating a forensic scientist’s wet dream of a blood splatter study project in her current state. Reaching the glass cabinets again, she sees that they have already been broken, likely looted by the attackers. Pills are scattered on the floor and inside the cabinet. They obviously had been looking for something more than just everyday pain meds and antibiotics. She reaches through the broken glass, ironically careful not to cut herself, and pulls out a bottle of pain killer. Pushing aside pills for which she has no use, Reagan digs around until she finds a strong enough dose of antibiotics, a vial of morphine, and two shot vials of numbing solution for the stitches she knows she is going to have to give herself. She can’t even think right now about what possible blood borne diseases and pathogens her first would-be rapist had sprayed all over her. Luckily she’d been vaccinated for many of those known pathogens when she entered med school as an added precaution for dissections and blood draws. She also takes three bottles of pain and inflammation reducers. Her face feels like it is on fire, and her abdomen is finally starting to register that there is pain there.
    There is no way she can tend to herself in this darkness, so she moves past Uma again, but not before she closes her friend’s eyes and pulls down her skirt. As she passes Dr. Krue she absentmindedly comprehends that she will need his car keys. It feels wrong to steal his car, but she knows that she can’t think of it this way. In her condition and the obvious state of the university, she’ll never make it back to her own Jeep on the other side of her dorm building. His car is closest, packed and ready to go. It may just be her only hope of getting home. And so, as much as it sickens her, Reagan pulls Dr. Krue’s car keys from his front pants pocket and puts them in her own which are soaking, becoming saturated with her own blood down the front almost to the knees.
    Once back in the lab room, she is able to catch a bit more of the last of the day’s light, as well as light from the multiple fires outside. For what she intends to do, Reagan needs more light than what is coming through the windows alone. She sets the flashlight on one of the lower lab tables near the windows and pulls all of her medical loot from her hoodie pocket, tossing it on the table. Reagan realizes that she’s still unsafe and unprotected in the room and quickly crosses it to lock the door, not that it will probably do much should someone decide to force themselves inside. She rushes back to the makeshift surgical area and pulls off her hoodie. It is very wet with her blood, and she knows enough about infection to know to get it away from her skin. Her undershirt is also soaked, so she removes it, as well. Standing in her bra and pants, she can better see the damage that Cold Eyes has