When she's sitting in a sterile white room -probably a hospital- she thinks vaguely. Andrea doesn't really remember getting there. She remembers some blurry thing about somebody saying something about shock.
But she's just sitting there, picking glass out of her feet with a pair of tweezers - they'd wanted to do it, but she'd insisted. Being self-reliant and all that.
So she was wincing at the blood and digging the slivers out of her flesh when she saw a man leaning against the doorframe. She stopped.
And then he spoke. "I'd like to recruit you."
"What?" She asks, bewildered.
"I'd like to recruit you, Andrea Nancy Carlson. Your sisters' names are Anna and Rosemary, you were born in Charity Hospital, New Orleans." The man - Mortician, she realizes - has an almost blank look on his face, his mouth set.
"Your questions will be answered if you choose to come with us."
She considers for a moment, looking serious despite the crimson shards scattered on the floor.
One word leaves her mouth, and she knows that it's a decision that's going to make or break her.