The the medication was actually a shot, and it came three days later, via an orderly who had shown exceptional kindness to Prascher during the time that he had been there.
Eventually, when the orderly got to explaining what to expect from the puzzling medication, he learned that he would only be receiving this one shot, possibly only this one time. This confused Prascher, to which the orderly only could give him a sympathetic shrug, admitting to the fact that he didn''t know much more about the mysterious medication, outside of what he had been told about it. After a beat, the orderly readied the package the shot came in, and Prascher, feeling a sense of panic, asked him if he had any way of knowing why it was that the drug had not yet passed the finish line to become patented. The orderly shrugged, offering his earlier excuse, that he was just supposed to give him the shot today, and that he did not know its history.
The orderly handed Prascher a syringe, wrapped in a thin plastic and filled with clear liquid, and stared expectantly at him, his eyes locked onto Prascher's hands, onto the syringe.
“So.. I guess I should do it now, right?”
The orderly shrugged noncommittally, which Prascher took to mean that he should.
Unwrapping the plastic, Prascher pulled the syringe free from the packaging, and begin to roll up his left arm sleeve, readying to stick the needle in the muscle that he had been shown on his arm. Wincing, Prascher quickly sank the needle in, and slammed the plunger into the bottom of the syringe casing. As he took the needle out, the nameless orderly give him a bland congratulation, and directed Prascher to the nearby biohazardous waste disposal bin.
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