Ozzy was regretting his outburst at the pawn shop even more than before. In all the excitement he’d lost track of where he was going. The extremely understanding tailor he met earlier had been kind enough to give him a bunch of easy to follow directions that the druid dutifully jotted down. That was how he got to Rizby’s place and how he was supposed to find a hotel afterwards. The problem was that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere without realizing it. He spotted none of the landmarks or street names in the note, and couldn’t even find his way back to the goblin’s place. The only thing he could think to do was look around for anyone who could direct him to his destination. Well, either that or just sleep in some alley somewhere, but that was an absolute last resort.

Finding someone willing to assist a tall and heavyset stranger at three in the morning was proving to be just as difficult as it sounded. Vehicle traffic was nonexistent and the only pedestrian that Ozzy spotted basically ran for his life when the druid called out to him. The man was about to call it quits and find some crates to crawl under when he spotted something promising. A young man barely out of his teens was sitting on the hood of a pitch black car and enjoying a smoke. What really caught Ozzy’s attention were the big white letters on the side of the vehicle that spelled out a word that did not exist in Einhan, but was right there in Richard’s dictated directions.

‘Consider taking a taxi,’ it said.

Ozzy wasn’t quite sure what that meant but he figured it was worth finding out. He approached the youngster while being careful not to spook him. Their eyes met and the lad took a long, hard drag of his cigarette as if trying to finish the rest of it in one go. He stood, flicked the glowing butt onto the sidewalk, and straightened out his brown cap and jacket.

“Evening, sir,” he greeted the blond stranger with a nod. “Need a ride?”

“Hello there. I need to get to…” Ozzy paused to check his notes. “The Partisan Hotel, on 23rd Cogswell Boulevard.”

“Yeah, I know the place. Hop in and we’ll get going.”

“And, uh, how much will that cost me?”

It seemed as though this taxi would take him to where he wanted to go, but the man suspected this convenient service wasn’t free.

“It’s not too far from here, sir. About thirty, thirty-five sprocks.”

“Ah. Alright. Let’s get going, then.”

The druid followed the invitation and somewhat awkwardly climbed into the back of the vehicle. This was one of those roomier models that had a tent-like roof of canvas and metal pipes over the seats. Squeezing in there proved easier than Ozzy expected. It was more snug than cramped. His duffel bag was kind of in the way but he just set it down on the vacant seat next to him. He watched with mild interest as the taxi driver inserted what looked like a weird house key under the steering wheel. He gave it a bold ninety degree turn, flicked a few switches, pressed down on some pedals, and pulled a lever, all with practiced ease. The automobile’s engine sputtered to life and its headlights lit up, and they were off before the druid even knew it.

“I’ll take it a bit slow if you don’t mind, sir,” the driver spoke without turning around. “Dangerous to drive around this late at night.”

“Is it?” Ozzy raised an eyebrow. “Streets are so empty, though.”

“That sort of thinking is what makes it dangerous, sir. You never know when some drunk moron will leap at you from a side street and T-bone you. Next thing you know you’re in the hospital having surgeons glue your ribs together. The worst thing that’ll happen during the day is you get into a minor fender bender.”

“I’ll take your word for it. We don’t have cars back home.”

“Ah. So you’re from abroad after all, eh? Figured that might be. You neither look nor sound local. Uh, no offense.”

“Hah. I get that a lot.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation as the car wheeled around a sharp turn.

“Where are you from?” the driver resumed the chat.

“Oh, this little village on some mountains up north. You wouldn’t know it.”

“The mountains, is it? Never been but I bet it’s mighty pretty over there.”

“Yes… it is…” Ozzy’s words trailed off.

“What brings you to Last Flag, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m not too sure myself.”

“Ah. Trying to make something of yourself, are you? Start anew, maybe?”

“Look, I’d really rather not talk about it. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

The young man knew when he’d hit a nerve and clammed up, leaving Ozzy to stare blankly out the side of the car in silence. Well, relative silence. Even without the conversation he could barely hear himself think. The engine chugged, the undercarriage rattled, and the wheels screeched a tiny bit around some of the tighter corners. Maybe it was the stark contrast with the dead quiet of the night, but the racket this machine gave off seemed extra-loud. The worst part was that low whistle that had been going the entire time. It was really starting to get on Ozzie’s nerves.

“Wait… whistle?” he murmured.

“Pardon, sir?” the driver called out.

“Stop the car.”

“Uh, did- Was it something I-”

“I said stop the car!” Ozzy demanded.

“Okay! Okay.”

It was a testament to that young man’s responsible nature that he managed to pull over safely instead of slamming on the brakes then and there. He was so shaken by this sudden turn of events that he didn’t even notice when his passenger had climbed out of his seat until he saw his golden beard hovering a bit too close to the hood of his car.

“S-sir?” he called out to him. “Is everything alright?”

“Shush!” Ozzy snapped at him, then immediately regretted it. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll pay you double, so just stand still and let me do my thing, okay? I’ll only be a minute.”

The cabbie let out a tired sigh while shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“… Fine. Just, don’t do anything weird to the car. It’s a company vehicle.”

He really needed to stop working night shifts. The money was good since the night rates were so high and competition was scarce. Very few cabbies were willing to work the graveyard shift, and with good reasons. Only weirdos needed taxis at this ungodly hour. The cabbie never knew when he’d pick up some psycho slasher that wanted to wear his liver as a glove or something. Then again, at least the job wasn’t boring. These early morning rides made for some interesting stories, and he had a hunch this mountain man in a suit would give him quite the riveting tale to tell.

So, he watched carefully as Ozzy loomed over the tar-colored hood of the car. He pressed his hand on the cylindrical boiler that poked out from the top, completely unperturbed by the sweltering heat it gave off. He then shut his eyes and tilted his head closer, as if trying to hear the bubbling steam within. He stood like that for a good minute before dragging his palm down the side. That particular motion creeped the cabbie out a bit. He desperately hoped this guy wasn’t one of those sickos that got turned on by cars. The poor lad had no idea what he’d do if he suddenly tried to hump the exhaust or something. Actually, he’d probably just run. That big guy was plenty scary when he wanted to be. Not only did he tower a full head above the cabbie, but he looked as if he could make his shirt and vest explode just by flexing too hard.

Thankfully what happened next was nothing kinky or improper, but it certainly was remarkable. The foreigner’s palm stopped on a seemingly random spot on the side of the car, closer to the bottom than the top. He pulled his entire arm back, tightened his hand into a fist, and then, much to the cabbie’s dismay, slammed it into the chassis. The impact produced a distressingly loud bang and made the vehicle rock a few times from side to side. The cabbie was about to ask just what in the hell this guy thought he was doing when a profoundly unpleasant grinding noise from the engine made him swallow his words. This lasted for several seconds before ending with an abrupt ‘clunk.’

And then the car that coughed and sputtered like an old miner with coal-lung suddenly started purring as if it were brand new. Its driver could do little but sit and stare at his hand on the steering wheel in utter amazement. It wasn’t just the sound of the engine that had smoothed out. The borderline painful vibrations transferred to his palms were lessened to barely perceptible tremors. The passenger then climbed back into the rear seat, causing the entire vehicle to rock under his weight once more and snapping the flabbergasted cabbie out of his stupor.

The young man couldn’t help but wheel his neck around and ask, “Just what in the hot rickety puff did you do?”

“You know how you sometimes get food stuck in your throat if you eat too fast?” Ozzy tried to explain with a smile. “And then you have to pound your chest to make it go down?”

“Uh…”

“Like that. But with a car.”

“Huh. Hah. Haha. Hahahaha!”

The driver couldn’t do anything but laugh. He’d heard jokes about this so-called ‘percussive maintenance’ from his mechanic buddy, but he never believed that was an actual thing until now. Though, that did beg a certain question.

“Hold on, how’d you know to do that?”

The foreigner himself had admitted he knew nothing about cars. Not even the cabbie himself could’ve pulled something like that off, and he fancied himself an automobile aficionado.

“I didn’t,” Ozzy said with a bemused shrug.

That was the honest truth, though not the entirety of it. The druid genuinely hadn’t the foggiest what his strike had accomplished. All he did was follow the guidance of the elemental spirits within the vehicle’s boiler. They were weak and pathetic wisps that were utterly powerless and barely had wills of their own, but that was only individually. Whenever the vehicle was in motion, the steel, heat, and steam that made it move came together in an orchestrated harmony that gave form to something greater. An entity that was the sum of its parts, but also more. A machine spirit, of sorts, born of the elements that mankind had tamed.

Unlike its individual components, this compound presence had enough of a presence to hold wants and memories. More importantly, it also had a voice that only druids could hear. This was the source of those strange noises Ozzy had detected at the edges of his perception. The faint hiss was indeed coming from the parked cars he walked by, but it was no leakage or malfunction that caused it. To put it simply, that was the noise of the machine spirits snoring while the vehicles were at rest. But this taxi was wide awake, and did not hesitate to share its troubles when Ozzy silently offered to listen. That was how the man knew how and where to strike the boiler to get rid of some kind of blockage that was impeding its smooth operation.

It was the druid’s first time experiencing such a thing, but at the same time it answered an old question he’d had about the nature of the elements he communed with. He knew that grand natural formations such as mountains, canyons, and forests were enveloped by a single presence. He had spoken to quite a few of those, and convinced them to share their immense power, thereby granting Ozzy most of his druidic magic. The man had always wondered how such things came into being, and now he had an idea. Perhaps they were simply the coalesced presence of the lesser spirits that dwelled within those sites.

Having achieved such a revelation in this odd place was why the man found himself grinning ear to ear. Unfortunately, he couldn’t share the details of his mirth with a random taxi driver whose name he didn’t even know. He made a promise to his mother to only share the teachings of their order with those he deemed trustworthy. That was a very exclusive list, and this stranger wasn’t on it. Such things aside, Ozzy doubted this youngster wanted to hear some old guy drone on and on about things that really didn’t concern him, so he saved both of them a lot of trouble and told him a little white lie.

“I just had a hunch the car would feel better if I gave it a smack.”

“Hah! Alright then. Keep your secrets.”

The cabbie clearly wasn’t buying it, but he wasn’t going to pry either. This was as wild as he wanted this fare to get, and if his past experiences working this shift had taught him anything, it was to avoid provoking the nutcases that found themselves in need of a taxi at three in the morning. Unfortunately for the poor lad, his night was about to get much more eventful whether he liked it or not.

“Oi! Hold eeet!”

The cabbie was just about to resume his route when an orc in heavily stained overalls appeared out of a side street in a dead sprint. The pitch-black rooster-like crest of hair atop his head bobbed and swayed while the shaven sides of his scalp glistened with sweat. He stood in front of the parked vehicle and blocked off its path before either the driver or the passenger could do anything about it. The greenskin then proceeded to lean heavily against the hood of the taxi as he tried to catch his breath.

“Zeeeh! Zeeeh! Zeeeh!” he wheezed like a busted accordion. “You dere! Zeeeh! Zeeeh! Zeeeh! In da back! Zeeeh! Zeeeh! How dare you’z- Zeeh! Talk to da boss- Zeeh! Augh, me zerkin’ sides!”

The orc was trying his best to look tough and intimidating, but it just wasn’t working. He was so exhausted that he looked like he was about to either throw up or pass out, possibly both. Four more of his kin then slowly wobbled out of the same alley he emerged from, each of them in an even more pathetic state than the first one. They were falling over their own shaky legs and leaning against anything that would support their weight. The collective sounds of their belabored breathing and groaning curses was akin to a sawmill that was run and operated by a bunch of disgruntled gorillas.

The driver looked at the druid with a mix of apprehension and confusion, prompting the larger man to roll his eyes with a disappointed sigh. He had a pretty good hunch about what was going on, including the fact that it was his own fault. Judging by the sorry state these thugs were in, they’d been chasing after the taxi for a while, probably ever since it took off. It was also fairly obvious who this ‘boss’ of theirs was and what ‘message’ they wanted to deliver. This was far from the first time that Ozzy’s big mouth had riled up some shady sleazebag with dumb muscle at his beck and call. That and he recognized one of the orcs as the same guy that stood besides the goblin from earlier.

However, unlike before, he didn’t have Cassie or Happy to defuse the situation with words. Though, if these orcs were anything like the ones back home, then they were perfectly fluent in the language of violence. This suited Ozzy just fine, as he had quite the extensive ‘vocabulary’ himself. On the topic of suits, the druid realized he was a bit overdressed for the occasion. He really didn’t want to ruin his brand new threads this soon after he got them, especially after all the trouble Richard went through to adjust them. That would be an insult to the tailor’s skill, patience, and efforts. Thankfully the orcs were in no shape to throw down right away, giving Ozzy ample time to get out of his seat and calmly take off his vest and shirt. The cabbie wasn’t even surprised when he saw the big burly bloke in the back suddenly start stripping, as he also had a decent idea where this was going. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be in this situation, but was nevertheless grateful that the weirdo he was wheeling around had the common decency to not get him involved.

Now completely topless, Ozzy took slow, measured steps away from the vehicle and closer to the wheezing gang of orcs. He crossed his arms and waited patiently as they rose to their feet, having already regained a good deal of energy thanks to their people’s heightened metabolism - another trait the druid was familiar with. All five of them fanned out to surround the man, with the orc in the overalls stepping right up to his face. This one looked like the biggest and toughest of the lot, which typically meant he was in charge.

“You’z gonna pay for makin’ me run around, ‘umie,” he snarled. “That and for mouthin’ off to yer bettahz. I’z gonna rip out yer arms and smash yer-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Ozzy cut him off. “I’ve heard this a hundred times so just come at me already.”

The orc took the invitation with an abrupt headbutt, only to have his intended victim instantly counter with a swing of his arm. The man clotheslined the orc’s throat and forced his back into the pavement with a mighty heave. He then lunged at the next greenskin with a front kick that caught the thug in the belly and knocked the wind right out of him, forcing him to double over. The druid immediately followed up with a two-fisted overhead smash to the cranium that introduced the orc’s face to the ground.

The druid whipped his head around just in time to face down the third and fourth assailant. The two of them came at him simultaneously. He wasn’t quick enough to dodge the heavy punch coming at him from the left and took it square in the jaw. The hit made him stumble back and left him wide open for the pipe swing coming at him from the right. The metal tube cracked him across the temple and dazed him further. The fifth orc used this chance to come at the druid from behind, thrusting his arms under Ozzy’s and wrapping them around his shoulders. The man reflexively struggled to break free, but couldn’t. The hold was too tight and the greenskin was both bigger and stronger than him. Not by much, but enough to keep Ozzy from throwing him off. The other two then laid into him with a series of body blows that left the druid gasping for air. Meanwhile the first couple of orcs he sucker-punched were already back on their feet and pissed off as all hell.

Fighting five-on-one proved too much for the veteran adventurer. Though he had more than enough fighting experience to overcome the difference in raw physical power, that only mattered in head-to-head combat. Things would have probably played out the same even if he had his axes with him. The only thing that could help the druid overcome the severe numerical disadvantage was his wild magic. He would have mopped the sidewalk with these morons’ thick skulls if he could transform into one of his bestial shapes. Unfortunately, he didn’t have access to that power at the moment, so there was no way he’d win this fight that easily.

“You’z got spunk, ‘umie,” the orc in the overalls grinned viciously. “I ain’t been hit like dat in a while. You sure you ain’t a halfie?”

“As if,” the pipe wielder interjected. “Look at dat face! No true orc woulda had a bastard that ugly and not ripped dey face right off!”

A round of malicious laughter echoed lightly through the deserted streets.

“So, what do we do with ‘im, Khug?” the one holding the man asked.

“Boss sayz this ‘umie needz a lesson in manners,” the leader snarled. “Meanz we can ruff ‘im up good an’ proppa, so long as we’z don’t put ‘im in da ground.”

As odd as it seemed, this news made Ozzy respect Rizby a tiny bit bit more. Ideally the goblin would’ve just overlooked the spiteful remarks the druid made regarding his kind in the heat of the moment, but that clearly was too much to ask for. At least he wasn’t petty enough to try to have him killed over a bad attitude. Rizby’s goons weren’t here to rob him, either, otherwise they would’ve gone for the luggage in the passenger seat of the taxi. They were similarly unconcerned with the innocent bystander cowering behind the steering wheel. By all accounts it seemed as though this entire matter would be settled if Ozzy just quietly took his lumps and left it at that.

However, that was far from what the druid had in mind when he first stepped up to these hooligans. Did he deserve a beating? Probably. He would be the first to admit it was wrong of him to berate Rizby purely because of his race, and the druid himself wouldn’t hesitate to pummel anyone who showed his friends similar disrespect. But that didn’t mean he’d just let a bunch of thugs work him over. What sort of idiot walked into a fight they intended to lose? Not Ozzy, that was for sure. He also wasn’t stupid enough to think he could take on five adult orcs with just his fists. He was hopelessly outnumbered, but he did have a trick up his sleeve that would give him a fighting chance.

While the orcs were busy arguing over which of his kneecaps to break first, the druid took a moment to steady his breathing and muster his will. Though he couldn’t morph into some majestic and terrifying creature, he still had the ability to call upon the lesser version of that skill, albeit with some difficulty. Instead of fully taking on the shape of a beast, the druid’s body adopted only certain aspects of their nature. This technique drastically augmented the user’s physical appearance and abilities without forcing them to temporarily relinquish their humanity. Granted, it wasn’t as powerful as the full transformation, but the boost it provided would hopefully be sufficient for Ozzy’s needs.

Thus did the towering human’s heavy frame start to shrink in every direction. Within the blink of an eye he became so thin and short that he was the same size as the meek young man in the taxi car. His muscles lost none of their definition despite the drastic loss of mass and his bare chest and arms got hairy to the point of resembling fur. The golden strands on his scalp, chin, and sideburn similarly grew outward and the face they surrounded became a little bit plumper around the cheeks, though it was unquestionably Ozzy’s.

The orc holding the druid hadn’t been paying him much attention since he had stopped struggling, but the thug was quick to realize something was up with his captive. He looked down and was utterly bewildered to find that a steel-toed boot was flying towards his face. Ozzy’s overhead kick found its mark, and he followed it up with one more from his other leg. The hulking hooligan stumbled backwards while howling in pain, releasing the druid. The others had no idea what the hell just happened, but that didn’t stop them from rapidly resuming the assault on the man. Two of them came at him with fists, the third one with the brass pipe started swinging, and the leader thrust at him with a knife so big it might as well have been a shortsword.

Unlike before, however, Ozzy gracefully dodged and weaved their rushed attacks while making weird faces at them. This seemed to infuriate the pipe wielder in particular. He roared and went for a huge vertical swing that aimed to knock the weird pink-skin’s head clean off. He instead accidentally decked his friend in the teeth after Ozzy ducked under it. The druid then proceeded to grab onto the orc’s outstretched arm before he could pull it back and swung from it like a branch to knee the greenskin in the ribs. The sharp pain and odd angle it was delivered at made the brute loosen his grip on his weapon enough for Ozzy to yank it out and claim it for himself.

The druid then hopped out of the circle of meatheads with a double backflip that even circus acrobats would struggle to pull off. His boots flew off of his now much smaller feet, but that didn’t seem to bother Ozzy as his bare soles slapped against the cold and rough pavement of the sidewalk. He lightly bounced in place while tapping his newly acquired brass rod against his shoulder and daring the orcs to come at him with his free hand, all while sporting a mischievous grin.

This was the second form of the Feral Aspect technique, also known as Monkey With No Tail. It sacrificed muscle mass and durability for greatly enhanced dexterity, flexibility, and agility. Ozzy could no longer contest the orcs in terms of raw strength and would likely pass out if even one of them managed to deck him. However, that was a big ‘if.’ The common hoodlum was a bumbling brute that attacked directly and without thinking, and these orcs were no different. They were easy to read, but the druid’s usual self was too heavyset to adequately avoid their attacks. Just as he suspected when this scuffle started, however, they couldn’t hope to even touch him once he let his simian side come out to play.

And indeed, ‘play’ was perhaps the most accurate way to describe Ozzy’s intentions. Since he last got out of bed, he’s had to spend hours fighting up a cursed tower filled with traps and undead only to lose to the puny lich at the top because of some stupid pink goo. As if that disgrace wasn’t enough, he was then hurled into a strange world that smelled like a dragon’s asshole and forced to wander around like some stray mutt. In some ways, he was glad these witless thugs came after him. He desperately needed to blow off steam, and smacking a bunch of green sandbags around would certainly do the trick.

To nobody’s surprise the orcs responded to Ozzy’s blatant taunt by charging at him like a bunch of mad bulls. Usually pissing off their kind was a really bad idea. The orcs of Einhan could tap into a primal bloodrage that numbed their sense of pain and heightened their reflexes for a short while, but would render them sluggish and vulnerable once it wore off. However, this wasn’t Einhan, and these orcs clearly did not have that ability. The only thing that riling them up accomplished was to make them even dumber and more careless. It was a far more mundane reaction than what the monkey-man expected, but it was one he could work with.

The ensuing scuffle was something closer to a comedy skit than a street brawl. Ozzy goaded the orcs into hitting each other, constantly tripped them up, and otherwise made absolute fools out of them. On one occasion he hopped on top of one, sitting on his shoulders and wrapping his legs around his neck. He then rhythmically slapped on the orc’s scalp as if playing a drum. The eneraged brute took a wild swing at him but only ended up slamming his fist into his own temple. Another highlight was when Ozzy slammed his pipe into its previous owner’s family jewels. The low blow made the poor bastard double over in pain, which provided the druid with the perfect opportunity to shove the tip of his brass baton between his victim’s rear cheeks.

Ozzy would have never believed that orcs could squeal like that if he hadn’t heard it with his own two ears.

That said, the man didn’t just monkey around the whole time. He needed to beat these guys down while he still had energy to maintain the Feral Aspect. Between the extra effort this world demanded of him and the fact that he hadn’t fully recovered after dying in the fight with the lich, the druid could only keep this up for three, maybe four minutes. So, while he had his fun, he also made sure to really put the hurt on the orcs. He primarily had to rely on the brass pipe he ‘borrowed’ for that since the Monkey With No Tail didn’t have much of a bite to its flashy moves. He was stronger than he looked, but still weaker than his usual self, and his opponents were too tough to be done in without the force multiplier of a weapon.

The first orc to be incapacitated was the recepient of the aforementioned groinal assault. The second brute took a bit of extra work and refused to stay down until Ozzy had knocked out almost all of his front teeth with repeated knee strikes to the face. The third one tried to charge the semi-simian only to get tripped up by a pipe sweep and crash into a nearby lamp post, breaking his arm in the process. The fourth thug caught on that it was probably best for him to leave while he could and ran off. He must have been the brains of the operation.

The final orc standing was the leader in the overalls and, much as Ozzy had estimated, also the toughest and meanest of the bunch. The druid worked him over thoroughly with the brass pipe, striking whatever vital body part he could get at while avoiding that nasty blade of his. However, hitting this guy felt like beating up a bag of bricks. At some point the metal tube was so bent out of shape that it looked like a herd of rhinos had stampeded over it. However, either the druid or the orc would run out of stamina eventually, and Ozzy did his darndest to make sure it wasn’t going to be him.

He did not succeed, but neither did he fail. After holding out for as long as he could, the Feral Aspect was released and the druid’s body ballooned to its original proportions while shedding the extra hair. Ozzy somehow remained on his feet, but at this point it was only pride holding him up. The orc opposite him didn’t even have that going for him. He was on the ground on his ass and wheezing even harder than when they first met. He was just as tapped out as Ozzy, as demonstrated by how he needed to lean back on both arms lest he fall over on the spot. It was obviously a draw, though that was no different from a loss to an orc, and this one certainly wasn’t going to accept it.

“Zeeeh, zeeeh, zeeeh,” the orc breathed heavily. “I finally, zeeeh, gotz ya where, zeeeeeh, I wantz ya!”

“Huff, huff, huff, give it up,” the druid demanded. “Huff, huff, you can’t even stand on your feet.”

“Ha! Like I need feet to kick yer arse!”

“Then come get me.”

The orc grit his teeth, clearly intending to take that challenge head on. Drawing upon the last reserves of his aching body, he tried to hoist himself up from his kneeling position, but his left leg buckled and he fell to one knee. His torso leaned forward, prompting the orc to prop it up with his left arm while the other clutched his hip. Or so it appeared. With a practiced motion the thug plunged his right hand into his overalls and pulled out something Ozzy had never seen before. It looked eerily similar to a compact one-handed crossbow from his world, except that it had a thick steel tube on top instead of a bolt-throwing mechanism. That, combined with the way the orc was holding and pointing the thing, was enough for the seasoned adventurer to identify it as a ranged weapon of some sort. However, while Ozzy’s split second analysis was on the nose, he could not avoid what happened next.

The orc pulled the trigger. The hand cannon in his grip let out a plume of flame and smoke alongside a thunderous boom that echoed through the quiet streets. Ozzy felt a piercing pain in his abdomen, almost as if he’d been skewered by a spear. Looking down, he was definitely bleeding. Quite heavily, at that. So much so that when the thought to howl in pain finally occurred to him he was already falling over.

“Hah-ha! Dat’z wut ya get for messin’ wif me an’ my boyz!”

That taunt was the only thing the shooter said before he started hobbling away. Ozzy groaned and growled as he tried to cope with the burning agony radiating from his gut. He was no expert on anatomy or medicine, but he’d been wounded enough times to tell there was a foreign object stuck in there. In his already exhausted and weakened state, the odds of him surviving this injury without treatment were rather slim.

“Mister? Mister! Are- are you alright?!”

Ozzy opened his clenched eyes to see the cabbie driver looming over him, his face as pale as a sheet and his voice quivering like a thread in the wind. Any semblance of composure the young lad might’ve had disappeared when he realized that the man curled up on the ground was not, in fact, alright.

“Oh, fuck! You’ve been shot! Shit!”

“Healer!” the druid growled through gritted teeth. “Bring me to a healer!”

“Ahh! Uhm! R-right. Yeah. Okay. Uh. Healer? Oh! Hospital! Yeah, there’s one on- Shit, no, that’s too far. Urk. Sweet mama that’s a lot of blood.”

The cabbie fumbled around in his jacket and took out a less-than-sanitary rag. He fidgeted like crazy as he tried to put pressure on the wound, but was shivering too much to do it right. Ozzy then grabbed the young man’s hand with his own, pressing both it and the cloth against his bleeding belly. He then reached up with the other arm and firmly grasped the panicking lad’s shoulder.

“Son. Son!” he shook him lightly. “What’s your, nnngh, name?”

“Name? Uh, B-ben. Benjamin! Sir.”

“Ben, listen to me. I need you to pull yourself together, and help me into the car. Then, you’re going to have to get me to the nearest healer like my life depended on it. Hnnng! Because it does. You understand?”

“Shit. Fuck! Okay. Okay! I can do this!”

His courage returning to him, the young driver pulled the much larger man’s arm over his shoulder and put everything he had into hoisting him onto his feet. Together they somehow managed to get Ozzy to the taxi cab. The druid collapsed on the back seats while clutching his wound. Benjamin hopped in the front and took a moment to collect his thoughts and figure out where he needed to go. A hospital was the safest bet. They’d have medical professionals on duty that would get the guy currently bleeding all over his car patched up lickety-split. The only issue was the route there had a lot of twists and turns that he had no way of rushing through. It was a gamble whether he’d get there in time. Alternatively, the cabbie also knew this back-alley surgeon that was just three blocks away, but that drunkard had probably killed as many people as he’d saved.

“Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.”

A cycle of profanity escaped Ben’s lips as he struggled with this dilemma. He then realized that if he took his wounded passenger to the hospital, he’d have to explain to the police what in the hell he had just witnessed.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening,” he mumbled, then sped off towards Old Man Crabb’s place.

It was undoubtedly irresponsible of him to make a life-or-death decision so arbitrarily, but Ben’s mama didn’t raise no snitch.