Hmmm...
She hummed happily to herself, going through the files on the computer in front of her and flipping through her notebook to input data. âThat was an interesting exercise, more tests are necessary though.â She mutters, shifting through notes on the G virus, she had no desire to try it herself, not yet anyway. Turning to the other person in the room she looked to them, notebook and pen at the ready. âHow are you feeling right now, can you describe it?â She asks, fake kindly smile plastered ever over her face.Â
{She feels sick. When she had been fueled by the Virus, Phoebe had felt so strong. Her prosthetic arm had almost felt as if had really been fused to her body. Her strength had been incomparable. But now, in comparison, she feels so disgustingly weak. She is covered in a cold sweat, her good hand flexing testily as she looks at the ground. Knight had told her to report her symptoms to the Hargrove girl, and though she didn't have much trust in the other woman, Phoebe never questioned Knight's orders.} Like I'm two inches tall when I used to be ten foot. I'm sick. And cold. And weak. I need another shot of that Virus. It -- It's not the same without it.









