lazarusrisen

Quarantine, regulations, cautionary precautions. These certainly weren't words that were unfamiliar to Adam. He'd heard them before during pretty much any outbreak that he had suffered through, but this... This was far worse than he had ever imagined. Every time before, most people had come together, working to help those that were ill, dying, or working to keep those that weren't ill together. But it seemed as though those days were long past as he sat at the dingy bar in the 'safety zone' of New York City, ignoring the suspicious glances that he was getting from anyone who was close enough to him to pick up on his accent.

Yes. He was a Brit. He was a Brit that wasn't being deported, and everyone should just shut the hell up about it since this identity had long since been naturalized. Even if this identity was also supposed to be a good seventy years old by now. That didn't matter to him anymore. It didn't matter to anyone that he could bribe, and he had a commodity more valuable than gold.

He had guaranteed immunity, and that was more than enough to make anyone turn a blind eye to his presence or the inconsistencies in his record. Taking another drag off of the scotch that he'd ordered, he leaned forward on the bar, dropping his hand into his hand as he worked to fight off the rising guilt as the bouncer dragged someone who had descended into a coughing fit out of the bar by their collar. The gunshot that sounded a second later tensed his nerves. The poor bugger had probably just choked on his beer.

But nobody could be too careful nowadays.