In typical fashion, Alistaire made a spectacle. A convoy of black SUVs escorting an ambulance pulled up to the front of the building... only a minute before a helicopter landed atop it. A medical attendant and a heavily armed guard escorted Alistaire across the roof, while the personnel from the automobiles ensured no-one entered the building meanwhile.

Alistaire looked terrible. Where a normal person being without proper hair care or cosmetics would be just that, with Alistaire's usual obsession over appearances, it looked like he was at death's door. Not that he was feeling particularly spry, anyway. Still, something in his eyes had changed. In the way he set his shoulder. Like every edge had been ground to sharpness in a way it had never experienced before.

He's moved directly to bed once in the master suite, the medic rattling off specific instructions for the rest of his recovery period.