Locke moans, closing his eyes again. "Is this Heaven, oh lord, have I died...?"

He rolls his head on the pillow, surprised by its comfortable plushiness and cold fabric.

"You're not supposed to wake up in Heaven, shithead. And neither am I."

Alfendi itches for a cigarette, glancing around their assigned room. "If anything's supposed to make sense, you'd be plunged into Hell and forced to work at an office."

Two recognizable faces drenched in infamy, laying in hospital beds like as if they're dilly-dallying and bantering on a normal day. Both were already established as big-names amongst the underground and the surface world, having outstanding reputations such as gambling, loan-sharking, and most of all - murder. 

It's highly unlikely that a meat-eater would've passed up on immediately arresting and locking them behind iron bars. Stumbling upon an Ingannamorte and Picard would've been the pig equivalent to gold, any hog would find worth in 'honor and glory' when it came to imprisoning the goodfellas.

Even in London.

The problem is, they're not hand-cuffed to a sink and this obviously isn't London. 

When Alfendi examines the room, it's spotless. Cleaner than anything he's seen at his back-alley doctor's shithole. In fact, there has to be professional medical stuff running the hospital considering how he hadn't heard anyone scream bloody murder at the top of their lungs. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, aside from the advanced technology that's reasonable enough to understand and the various medical trinkets that signaled to him that the hospital's a safe place to be.

".... Mmmm, Picard?"

Locke stops gazing outside of the window, turning to face Alfendi. He's a tad confused, even more so - dumbfounded by what he's apparently seen outside.

"What's it, Al? Spit it out, before I slit your throat."

"You're the only one whose bed's closer to the window. May you look outside again and describe what you're looking at?"

"Only if it's for you, Alfendi dearest.", he spat. Locke doesn't have any time or energy for his nonsense, but takes a gander and looks outside again.

What does he see?

Outside of his hospital window, located on the third floor, Locke is able to make out people that aren't quite... human. 

Walking, talking animals moving their muzzles in an uncanny fashion and he's able to understand them, comprehend whatever alien language they're discussing in. They're muffled from a distance, but Locke figures out a few words they're saying.

He doesn't have much context for the conversation, but he's able to deduce that something's happened regarding their sudden appearance at the hospital.

"... A parking lot with cars, animals walking on twos, wearing clothes despite having fur, having a discussion about something I can't possibly make out. All I heard is, 'unidentified species' and 'males.'"

Locke clasps his hands together, sighing. "I'm assuming, we're the talk of the town."

"Great, great! We have the worst thing that could ever happen to us. Unwanted fucking attention."

Alfendi digs his fingers into his scalp, resisting the urge to scream. He's whisper-yelling, instead. "And what was the other thing? What the fuck was that?"

"The parking lot?"

"Don't humor me, you arrogant fuck—! Ugh."

Alfendi groans, sitting up in his bed to glare at Locke. "Talking animals? You're not kidding, that one's obvious. I'm assuming that we're the..."

"... Only humans in this approximate area? Are you ninety-nine percent certain this is the case, Ingannamorte?"

"It's the only logical conclusion I'm able to come to, Picard. Now, shut up."

The room's door swings open, revealing a short and stout anteater in a nurse's garb. She's cautiously holding a clipboard in her hands, trotting her way towards the two.

She takes a stool, dragging it over and sits down between their beds. Somehow, she's talking with a long, trunk-like mouth that didn't strike fear into the two humans. Only curiosity.

"Aheem, aheem! Sorry about the wait, sirs. Legal discussion amongst medical staff is tedious, but necessary."

Her lower eyelids slightly lift to indicate a smile. "How're we feeling?"

"Like trash."

"Garbage."

"Oh, uhm!" 

The anteater taps her ballpoint pen against paper, making sure she doesn't dot the paperwork with black ink. "You'll feel better soon, after taking a proper rest! Since, you're probably wondering... I'm here to fill out some paperwork in your behalf."

"We don't know anything regarding who you are or your species - in order to qualify for legal identification and furthermore, healthcare examinations & the like. I'll need your information to send to the higher-ups, ASAP!"