[quote]"OH&S rules are written in blood," recited Brown.
"OH&S rules are written in blood," repeated Black. There was a chantlike quality to how they said that, and hearing a fully assembled November say that must be quite the thing.

They follow you inside, but they've both got their fucking geiger counters out every step of the way.[/quote]

She's got her own counter out, and just on the inside of the door there's a little airlock of sorts, a double-lock to keep any free-floating material that somehow happened from getting out. Also on the wall is a detailed breakdown, in both formal OH&S paperwork and annotated shorthand, of what was in the clinic and what was done to clear the hazards. Another sensor shows air quality inside. Elodie carefully, slowly, gets up out of the wheelchair, swaying far more than normal, and sticks a tentacle holding her counter past the sealing into the clinic proper.

No clicks.

She nods, satisfied, and goes inside. It's rather plain, inside. Everything's been cleared, there's a desk with a chair, a few shelves with boxes of files. There's a cot in another corner, a hotplate, bottles of water, and ramen on a folding card table. A den, a hole to lay low in for a few days, or more with some planning, even if it'd be unpleasant. But most importantly for the moment, a place where she can store all those things from her apartment she was keep to not have the cops take a look at.

One last thing is of note. One door is plastered with radioactive warning labels, sealed thoroughly with layers of airtight foam and radiation baffles. Again, there are the two (paper!) notices prominent on the door, detailing the contents and containment procedures, and a contact number to a burner phone of hers, in case something goes horribly wrong.

OH&S rules are written in blood. She knows this too.

"So. Tell me if this is none of my business, but the whole. Turn to ash thing. Pink doesn't do well with fucking up, does she?" She's setting papers on the desk to sort through as she speaks.