The same night.
Centralshire State Capital, Central Medical Center.
In a standard four-bed ward on the sixth floor, the air was thick with the acrid, stale scent of cheap tobacco. Despite the hospital's strict no-smoking policy, three young men—thugs with tattoos peeking out from beneath their leather jackets—sat perched on the edges of the vacant beds. They were engrossed in a high-stakes game of poker, their voices a low, rhythmic drone of curses and bets.
In the center of the room, on the only occupied bed, lay a man who looked like he had been put through a meat grinder. l**t Ghost was a mess of bandages and plaster casts, his breathing shallow and assisted by an oxygen mask.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door swung open, and a female nurse entered. She moved with a silent, clinical ef
