[Teaser] Meanwhile...

[Narrator]

The pounding in his head was something unreal, as he sat there, hacking and coughing on the floor.

"Woah, man, are you alright?" his coworker asked, bending over to help him back up.

"Nnn...yeah. Yeah, just...give me a minute," he said, leaning on his desk as he regained his footing. He grabbed his little bottle of advil; never too far away; and swallowed some down. "Just a migraine. I get them from time to time, but this time was...louder. Different, somehow. A bad one."

"Well, uh, get some rest, then?" his coworker asked, uncertainly.

He nodded. Samuel Clayton wasn't the kind of guy to take unnecessary risks or anything. He sat back down behind his desk, and continued to go through his paperwork.

[Narrator]

That evening, Samuel Clayton looked at himself in the mirror, pulling one eye down.

"Yup. Bloodshot. I knew it. Of course it is. People don't just spontaneously get woozy. An aneurism, maybe? A hematoma somewhere deep in the brain? Or Parker's Syndrome? I bet it's Parker's Syndrome."

Not for the first time, he wished he knew his birth parents, so his doctors would know what sort of hereditary risk factors he may have. He knew; he just knew he was at risk for some kind of neurological disease, doctors be damned.

He sighed, as he went to check the other eye, blinking as the light irritated it. "I guess it's just one of those things..."

Ḯ̷̠̭̱̳͐̐ ̶̮̻̇͒͆͠ͅͅg̶͈͔͝ư̸̮̣̑̌̅͋͜e̴̡̗͙̩̲͐̅͋̎̕s̶͓̜̹̺̀s̷͕͔̄̋̕͜͝ ̴̧̠͙̪́͛̂i̷̹̲̬̬̾t̵̛̫̺͗̈́̓'̸̩̎͐s̴̢͓̮͘͘ͅ ̷̣̭̹̬̱͂̈̂j̶̱̱̙͌͋̂ų̷͕̳͍̯̾̂̚ş̷̝̥͚͎̀̅̏͘t̶̙̞̝̄̌ ̷͉͇̠̉̍̽͝͠o̴͙̟̠͌̆n̵͕̳͎̗̍͗̉͂ȩ̶͖̬͍̃̎̒̏͗ ̷̗̍̈́̅o̴̘͚̓̋̕f̸̻̫̟̹̅ ̶̰͑͝ṯ̶̺̣͇̝̂͝ḧ̵͙́o̴͉̼̿͠s̷͓͌͂̍̅͘è̷͈̝̹̐̓͝͝ͅ ̷̧̑̎̆t̶̢̨̜̖̙̓̇͂̏̚h̵̻͍́̂͛̚ì̴̞̦͑n̷̨̡̞̹̺̐g̸̯̫̪̎̚s̵̖͉͈̩̬̃.̸̼̈́͌̽̐̀.̵̡̳̝̼̉͘.̶̺̝̹͋̃̃

"...just one of those things," Rock Svalholt said, blinking as the flashbulbs went off around him. He turned his head to one side; the reflection of the flashbulbs in the mirrors of the locker room made things seem far, far too bright for a man with a head injury. "I felt a little woozy, and so I checked myself out of the game. The medical staff said there's nothing wrong with me; it might just be a delayed reaction to the headshot from the Autor's left half from the second quarter."

Rock paused for a moment, as the reporters all shouted questions at him, and waved his hands to try to get some silence.

"Look, flashball is a full contact sport; you can't legislate these sorts of hits out of the game. I'm going to be in the protocol for a few days, but I'm feeling good, I'm feeling fresh, I'm feeling ready. I'll be in the starting lineup against Zeeton, no worries - they'd have to cut my arm off to keep me out," he joked. "This is just one of the hazards of my occupation..."

H̴̻͂̀͝ͅà̵͉̠̩͂̅ͅẕ̴̡̭̻͖̆͑̀̄̕a̵̱͕̬͆́̀͝r̷̘̠̞̗͑d̸͙͐͊͝s̵̡̏̎̽͘ ̷̣͕͛͜ö̸̟̬͙̀̓̿̇f̸̡͖̟̈́̐̚̕ ̷̲̼̀ẗ̵̤͉̯̆́͐͝h̸̭̪̝̘͗͜e̴͈͋͂͆͝͠ ̵̫̾o̶͉̩̰̺͙͐̅c̸̬͎̫̪̬̈̊̇̍͘c̷̹͔̰̳͇͗u̶̳͖̜͕̍̓̉p̴̧̧̛͔̳â̷̘̱̱͘͝t̵̡̲̞̠̀̔̚͘ǐ̴͉̃̽̚ŏ̷͉̾̋͝n̸̖̮̑̎̇̓

"...hazards of my occupation," Barrera said, as she checked her reflection in the looking glass. The griffon had left a nasty scratch down the left side of her face, right over the eye -- that was going to scar; the newest of many.

She tuned out Ceclia's frantic yammerings of concern, as she checked out the injury. It was just her luck that her head had started spinning right in the middle of the griffon's attack; the half-second of stagger was all it had needed to get a blow in before she could parry it away. "Hrrm," she grunted. Ceclia was one thing. When Vanderbrook saw her, he was going to have words.

Nothing to do about that right now, though. Barrera turned away from the glass and returned to her table in the tavern. Until her client got here with payment, there was nothing to do but wait.

"Anyone up for a game of cards?" she asked the wary onlookers.