Chapter98 Drugged
At the hospital, in the VIP ward.
When Miranda returned to the ward, the nurse was just bringing in dinner.
“Mom, the doctor says all your readings are slowly recovering. All you need is rest,” Miranda said softly as she helped her mother sit up.
Arabella looked at her daughter's slightly pale face and said tenderly, “Don’t just worry about me. You haven't eaten either, have you? Go eat something.”
Miranda was about to speak when the ward door was gently tapped twice.
A young nurse, wearing a mask, poked her head in, holding a single sheet of paper.
“Are you Miranda?”
Miranda straightened up: “I am.”
“The lead doctor just adjusted the medication based on the latest results. They’ve added a new imported specialty drug that is very good for recovery.”
The nurse held up the paper, sounding a little awkward.
“But the stock is low. The pharmacy just called and said the system is down, so they can't send it up. A family member needs to go to the warehouse to sign for it and pick it up personally.”
Miranda didn't think much of it and nodded: “Okay, I’ll go with you now.”
She turned to the nurse setting up dinner and instructed, “Please help Mom eat first. I’ll go pick up the medicine and be right back.”
“Yes, Miranda, don’t worry, go ahead.”
Miranda picked up her phone and followed the young nurse out of the ward.
The hospital hallway was busy, and the smell of disinfectant hung in the air.
The young nurse walked quickly, leading her to another building and down to the basement on the freight elevator.
When the elevator doors opened, a cold, damp chill hit them.
Unlike the floors above, the lighting was dim, and the area was quiet. All Miranda could hear was the echo of their footsteps.
Miranda felt a strange unease and involuntarily slowed her pace.
“Why is the pharmacy warehouse down here?”
The nurse didn’t turn around, her voice muffled by the mask: “The main pharmacy upstairs is undergoing renovation and expansion, so the temporary warehouse was moved here. Miranda, it’s just ahead; we’re almost there.”
Miranda frowned, tightening her grip on her phone and looking around warily.
Ahead was a rusty iron door, half-open, leading into darkness.
“Here we are.” The nurse stopped and stepped aside. “Miranda, you just need to go in and sign. The administrator is inside.”
Miranda stood at the door and didn't move.
“If it's just signing a paper, why is it so dark inside?”
The nurse seemed surprised by her wariness, hesitated for a second, then smiled and reached for the door: “Maybe the light is broken. I’ll go in first and check…”
In that instant, everything changed.
The nurse suddenly spun around, and a damp white cloth appeared in her hand, which she clamped violently over Miranda’s mouth and nose.
“Mmmph—!”
Miranda’s pupils constricted. She instinctively struggled, trying to hold her breath.
But the scent was overpowering, a sweet, chemical smell that rushed straight into her head.
In just a few seconds, her limbs went limp, and the room began to spin.
Her phone hit the floor with a “smack” and slid into a dark corner.
In the last moment before her consciousness faded, she only saw the heavy iron door slowly closing in front of her, cutting off the last sliver of light.
At the Special Forces Base, in the lounge.
The team had just finished a high-intensity simulated combat drill, and the members were sprawled out, exhausted.
In the single armchair in the corner, Clifton sat silently.
He held a cigarette, the scarlet ember flickering in the dim light, the smoke blurring his hard, sculpted face.
The atmosphere in the lounge was suffocatingly tense.
Everyone had noticed the captain's foul mood over the past few days.
Training intensity had doubled, and any slight mistake was met with a freezing-cold reprimand.
“What’s up with the captain?” a new team member whispered to the veteran next to him. “He’s like a powder keg.”
The veteran glanced at the figure in the corner and whispered back, “Do you even need to ask? He’s clearly fighting with his wife.”
“What? The wife is so beautiful, and the captain still fights with her?”
“Matters of the heart are hard to say.” The veteran sighed and gathered the courage to approach.
“Captain, stop smoking. How many is that now?”
Clifton didn't speak, just lifted his eyes and gave him a chilling glare.
The veteran felt goosebumps rise but bravely continued to advise: “Captain, given our job, we don’t have much time for our partners. It’s not easy for the Madam either. If there’s a misunderstanding, as the man, why don’t you just swallow your pride and apologize?”
“Yeah, Captain,” another teammate chimed in, “If there’s a misunderstanding, don’t keep it bottled up. Go explain things clearly.”
“Misunderstanding?”
A cold laugh escaped Clifton’s throat, his voice ragged.
He ground the cigarette butt viciously into the ashtray, the force almost crushing the filter.
“That’s enough. You all have too much free time, don’t you?” Clifton suddenly stood up, radiating an aura of aggression. “Five-kilometer weighted run. Now! Move out!”
The team members groaned but obeyed.
Clifton looked out at the darkening sky, but the frustration in his heart refused to subside.
Just then, his heart unexpectedly contracted violently.
It was a strange feeling, like an invisible hand had brutally squeezed his heart, bringing a sharp, chilling pain and an inexplicable sense of dread.
Clifton frowned, instinctively pressing his hand against his chest.
For some reason, Miranda’s pale, tired face flashed through his mind.
“Captain?” The veteran stopped, seeing his unusual expression. “Are you okay?”
Clifton took a deep breath. The uneasy feeling not only didn't disappear but grew stronger.
“I need to go out.”
Clifton tossed the words out, snatched his car keys, and rushed out of the lounge without looking back.
The black SUV tore out of the base gates, speeding toward the downtown hospital.