If Memo were inclined to remember things any longer that he did, he would have worried about what the kid was talking about for longer than he did. Which was rather comparable to a stereotyped goldfish. Or maybe a guppy. Their brains were smaller, right? So they'd have less brain space and therefore less memory space, since they didn't store their memories as widely spread as he seemed to these days.

Eh, mutation changes were confusing enough to people who could keep track of minor details like what and when and how. Memo was more inclined to focus on what he was doing right now. Which was...

Leaning against a wall by himself in a part of time he didn't recognize one bit, at the apparent place he had been heading? At least according to his phone. He poked at the screen. It was broken? That was a pain. Literally; he just sliced his finger. Okay. He was at.... a school. For gifted- OH this was that mutant place. Huh. Why was he -

there was a kid dragging himself towards the main entrance of the school. A rather hurt looking kid, who seemed a little bit familiar.

Memo abruptly remembered the fight, a curving band on his right palm gleaming white under the dark fingerless gloves that let him run without accidentally, oh, spurting blood, but which also let him use his phone. And cut his fingertips on it (a dozen slices opened in that skin as he thought about it).

But the fight. The kid surrounded by a bunch of bruisers. Why was he back here and the kid up there - where'd the kid go? Memo jogged up the path, exhaustion and pain and cut fingertips all forgotten as he tried to figure out where the kid had gone. Inside? The door was open.

Kid was on the ground. Some old guy was coming out. Memo came to a halt, scratching his scalp. Er. "Uh, hi! I came across this kid getting mobbed in an alley. I heard somewhere'r'other that this place has healers around, so I brought him here. Can you help him?"

Okay, so old guy went outside like he was told, and Alex was left on his own in the giant mansion. He heard talking outside, probably the old man and his new charge, but it was too close. Did the rainbow guy recover from everything this quickly.

The old guy was coming back inside the mansion. He must have realized who needed his help more. Getting down on his knees, the elderly man placed his hands on a laceration on Alex's chest and closed his eyes. Golden light came out from his palms accompanied a soothing warmth. Alex blacked out again.

Doc Prof witnessed the entire alley showdown. From the colorful jogger's approach to his death and rejuvenation. From Alex's transformation to his defeat. he saw the long trek from that dark alley to the door of this school.

Then he started to mend Alex's wounds starting with his chest cut and reaching out to his sprained leg and concussion. All the different parts of Alex's body wove themselves back together in their appointed spots. Doc Prof 's hands stopped glowing as he stood up from his kneeling position and he turned away from Alex towards the other man to enter the mansion today.

Oh cool, this old dude seemed to have things under control, and didn't even seem fazed by the whole strangers-showing-up-at-the-front-door-covered-in-blood-and-vomit dealio. That was good. It was much easier to get people help when other people weren't freaking out instead of working. Freaking out and panicking just got more people more hurt, ye?

Oooooh pretty gold light. Memo watched the glow for a while, borderline hypnotized and definitely sinking into a mental state that didn't involve nearly as much mental chatter as normally occupied his brain, and almost pouted when the light faded. The shifter kid seemed to be breathing more easily now, which was good. Not being able to breathe was super nasty. Not the worst, in Memo's experience, but definitely nasty. Was the healer guy looking at him now? Why him? He wasn't hurt!

Well, he had been before, but that was a simple matter of forgetting details. He raised his hands to fend off the healer with his palms. "I'm okay, I'm okay! It takes more than murder to stop me."

That seemed like a really bad thing to say to a healer. He should fix the situation. He raised a mostly gloved hand to point to the dark markings gleaming on his face. "Mutant of airhead proportions. Er. Airhead of mutant proportions. I've already forgotten everything they did away, so you can do whatever it is you do for the kid. Can you do more than heal? The guys who went after him might go after him again."

It hurt. Less so than before. But it still hurt. Whatever the old man did to him it definitely fixed something inside, but it didn't seem to help his headache. Alex kept his eyes closed. He didn't have the strength to open his eyelids.

He could still hear the old man and the other guy talking. The other guy kept rambling on and the old man answered him. By saying, "We can keep him in one of the rooms near the med room. We should be able to move him down there, but I'll need your help. I'm not the young man I used to be." 

Alex decided to add something eloquent to the conversation to let them know that he was okay. "I still feel like crap." He then decided to further his skills as a public speaker by making another intelligent comment, "Where are we? This isn't Detroit." Just in case they didn't already think he was a great speaker he concluded articulately, "I'm gonna shut up now."

Haul someone around? Sure, why not! He hadn't done all that much today, had he? Nah, and he wasn't going to stop to think about it because that might make him tired. Who needed to remember what they'd done recently? Not him, that's who not! Was that too many negatives? Also, wasn't he supposed to be doing something?

Memo put the pieces together again, courtesy of the very clear evidence and a few absent flecks of memory, and flashed the old dude a thumbs up. And then -

ahem. Then he crouched down beside the kid (was it this kid who had vomited on him at some point? Seemed a bit familiar that way. Whatever. More important things!) and poked his maybe-vaguely-awake shoulder. "This would be... somewhere in New York. Planes and buses are pretty memorable, after all. And don't worry about chattering, I won't remember how long you've been talking anyway." So, so true. "Up we go!"

Attempt number one to initiate hauling-around-of-kid-who-maybe-threw-up-on-him-and-possibly-got-him-killed, go!

The two men lifted Alex at his shoulders and carried him down the hallways of the mansion. They passed rooms that looked like they were occupied by every type of person imaginable. Continuing down the mansion wing they arrived at a white room that had all kinds of medical devices and supplies.

Lifting Alex up and placing him across the sterile surface of the exam table. Alex rested his weary shoulders against the slightly more comfortable surface the table offered. He looked about the room. Syringes, bandages, cabinets, and other medical supplies were all placed carefully around the immaculate room.

The  elderly man walked over to the nearest cabinet and took out a wrap of linen bandages. Walking back over to the table, he started to dress the wound on Alex's shoulder. Doc Prof looked up at the man who had helped him save this boy. "So, you guys got names, or did you forget those too?"

As he waited for an answer he moved on to Alex's leg wound. He took out a pair of scissors and delicately cut away Alex's pant leg at the knee and dressing the wound similarly to his shoulder.

Alex bit his tongue to keep from crying out while the elderly man bandaged his wounds. He figured the other guy might be hesitant to go telling random strangers about himself (especially when they had puked on him) so Alex answered the elderly man's question first, "Call me Alex."

Oh wow, attempt number one was successful. Score. The walk was just long enough for Memo to almost-forget everything leading up to it, and he blinked at the doctor-healer-guy with a start.

"Oh, I'm Memo," he said after the kid they were carrying answered. "Things that are really ingrained are harder to forget. Recent things, little things tend to get overwritten, though. So that stuff doesn't stick around. Or sometimes it does, and I'm never all that sure why."

Why was he talking about his mutation so much? Eh, didn't matter. It wasn't like they could probably actually kill him if they turned out to be violently anti-mutant.

The other guy, Memo apparently, started talking about something that sounded a lot like amnesia but with more chaos. Maybe that was a mutant ability. Great the guy that saved his life could forget stuff at will and couldn't keep a single thought running.

If they were going to talk about mutations though Alex might as well through out his. He started to explain it but before he could say anything he choked. He hadn't told anyone about it before. It was his secret and he wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know about it. However, Doc Prof had saved his life and if Alex was right, he was also a mutant healer.

But what about the other guy? He too had saved his life, but is memory loss a mutant ability? Eh, he probably forget what Alex said anyway, "If we're talking about powers, I might as well let the cat out of the bag." Stupid pun you idiot. "I can morph." He said it like it explained everything, but even he didn't know to what extent. "So far only into big cats like leopards, but I don't know."

It actually felt really good to get that off his chest. He had two people who knew (at least until one forgot) and could hopefully help him. To his amazement however, Doc Prof responded calmly, "I know. Welcome to the Mansion."

Memo gasped in amazement. "Cats are soooo cool," he said in awe, hands plastered to his face. "Does big cat fur feel like house cat fur? So fluffyyyyyyy!" Awww now he was all excited. Cats! Fluffy cats! Fluffy cats were awesome!

Wait, huh? Mansion? That's where this was? He hadn't been here before. Why would he be here? It was probably pretty late, and it didn't seem like a huge amount was going on here anymore. He looked around, face contorted surprisingly little as he sorted through over-bright flecks of memory that didn't help, like how it felt to help carry someone through literally every fibre of his body. Or maybe it did help, because it connected to how it felt to carry someone alone, again through literally every fibre of his body. Which also lay claim to being pummelled, but not at the same time? Was it really comparable? One, er two were drawn out and the other had been super brief with a fuzzy end.

He'd probably died. Whatever. But that chain ended up here, and right now no one was injured really, or dead. No one seemed to be dead, at any rate, so he should probably be heading home.

Memo's phone vibrated, and a little message popped up. Warning: battery low. Estimated time to home, by foot, is ten minutes before 0% estimate.

He had awesome programming friends, even if he could never remember who on the internet had made him this awesome thing.

"Apparently I should start heading home," he mused aloud.