Pushing into the crowd, Zeke found his way to the streets. He had gotten a message from Desirae’s father asking him to go pick her up from the hospital. He didn't show interest in what had happened and asked nothing to make sure Desirae was alright. And, to top it all off, when Zeke asked anything about where to leave her and if they had any first aid supplies at home, her father simply said: idk, at work. He wasn’t even sure how Mr. Abernathy got his number. Throughout her entire friendship, Zeke had never really interacted with him. The most he had seen him was when he ended up showing up to talk to Markus at the pizzeria. Other than that, her father was a relatively obscure and easy person to ignore. He didn’t have much time to figure out the hows about this situation, he just knew he needed to get to the hospital. His tie was loose and flapping over his shoulder as he shoved past people, ignoring the curses they threw at him when he paid little mind to his aggressiveness. As he arrived at the medical district, he walked to the John Williams Tower, the primary building to the hospitals that were connected by sky bridges. Cars hovered over the bridges, crossing between buildings as doctors and nurses scrambled to get to their patients. He entered the ground-level lobby, walking to the desk, and tapped his finger on the counter, waiting for the group of nurses to acknowledge him. When they did, they rolled their eyes at his urgency and mumbled the room he would have to find his way to. Rushing to the elevator, he slammed on the button repeatedly until the glass doors came to eye level and opened wide. Stepping inside, he pressed on the 8th floor and looked up at the camera that moved his way. It was a round, bulbous thing with a light illuminating each time he shuffled. “Scanning…” it announced, a red laser touching his forehead before the elevator began to move. “Scanning complete. Temperature recorded at 98.8 degrees, Fahrenheit. Access granted.” Rolling his eyes, he moved out of the elevator as soon as it arrived on the first floor, going through every security gate and filled any paperwork necessary to see his friend. Everything was so monitored, recorded, and analyzed it sometimes irked him, but it was the way life was right now. He wasn’t sure that would change by the time he died, even. As he walked by the room, he rubbed his fingers against each of the number templates and stopped outside of 806A. The curtain was pulled shut, a nurse standing outside writing some notes onto the computer stationed outside. He cleared his throat and pushed the fabric to the side, peering his head in. Desirae rested on the bed, her left eye gauzed and covered. The exposed side of her face was beaten and bruised. Along her arm was dark marks and bandages, cuts sealed shut with the dissolving stitches that healed any bacterial infections that may have entered during her care. He only knew this because he had gotten beaten pretty badly from a biking incident when he was younger. Cool technology, but hurt like a bitch while it's in your system. “Des?” he breathed out, his eyes raking over her. Her eye opened weakly, head turning towards him with a parted mouth. Her lips were red and peeling, her fingers latching onto the cheap cotton blanket they had placed over her. He moved next to her, kneeling down, and cringed at the sight of tubes entering her nose. Each breath had a whistle to it, her face marked with road rash, and her smile weak. Was her father really expecting her to come home like this? “Des, what happened?” Zeke asked and took her hand in his. Her palms were rough, and when he turned them over he noticed more road rash. He pursed his lips and looked at her, eyeing the gauze with care. When she spoke, it was but a whisper that left her chapped lips. “Stupid driver.” “You got hit by a car?” He asked with wide eyes, squeezing her hand before releasing at her wince. He apologized under his breath and snatched one of the guest chairs, placing it next to her so he could lean on his knees. “What do you mean you got hit by a car?” “I got hit,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know what else happened.” “Does your dad know? He messaged me as if he’s expecting you… home?” She shrugged, closing her exposed eye, and winced as she tried to adjust. His heart ached as he watched, pinching his palm so he didn’t jump up and help her move. Chances are, his touch would just cause her more pain, given the number of stitches. “How’d this happen?” He asked, reaching up and placing his hand back over hers and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. She hummed and hesitated. “I don’t want to talk about it, Zeke.” Her eye remained closed, her bottom lip puckering out into a pout as her eyebrow lifted up in a wrinkle. “Because, honestly, I don’t fucking know.” Zeke nodded, pulling the chair closer so he could rest on the back of it while keeping his hand on hers. “Understood, Des. I’ll stay here until the doctor says you’re good to go.” Her pout still trembled, but he could have sworn her lip twitched into the smallest smile before he closed his eyes, resting his head onto his own shoulder. ⟨ᴠᴀɢʀᴀɴᴛ⟩ DeVile leaned against the pole of the rooftop club Vesna owned, watching the passerby eye him up and down as they walked around, some looking at him with disgust while the others looked at him with a certain yearning. It was always so jarring, seeing the stark contrast between those who favored fire, and those who favored normality. As for DeVile, he always had a thing for fire. His trip here was unannounced, and he was nowhere near as dressed up as he was the first time. He pressed his index finger against the button on his wrist, his augmented eyes scanning the room and illuminating anything that was out of the ordinary. Some of the inhabitants carried pistols shoved into the back of their pants, some carried the gift of augmentation, and some had remnants of cocaine coating the tip of their nose. Each of these things was highlighted, a signal of who to avoid and who was safe. Across on the other side of the room was a woman, with her vibrant hair and eyes that stared at him even from where she stood, was Vesna. She lifted her hand up in a wave, her entire arm lighting up before he turned his electric eye off. He approached her, politely moving around the crowds of people before standing in front of her. “Vesna,” he greeted. “Always a pleasure.” He was lying. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “I can’t just come by and say hello?” DeVile felt nauseated with this banter, he had to remind himself to appear interested. She wore a red dress with a slit on her right leg, her chest exposed as it always was. She was one to tease, it was the only way she could lure people into following her around like lost puppy dogs. “You can,” she said and stepped closer to him, her hips swaying with each step. She reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, her lips tugging into a smirk. “But that’s never the case.” “I suppose I could say the same about you, but that’s not the point. We have an issue.” She led her fingernails down his chest, hooking him by the belt loop and smiling. “Surely, any issue can be resolved with a little conversation. Come, come. Let us go into the office where we have private chat.” She released him, wagging her finger as a gesture to follow. Sighing, he walked after her and entered her office. It was on the second story, away from the music. She closed the door after them and latched it shut, resting her back flush against the door, and looked at him through her eyelashes. Her lips were puckered, her fingers trailing up and down her thigh before she whimpered. “You’re always so serious, DeVile. When was the last time we had some fun?” DeVile chuckled and looked away, walking to the alcohol cart and poured some whiskey into two glasses. “Sometimes, fun isn’t an option.” “Alright, I can accommodate. Are we feeling feisty? Angry?” “Worried, is the correct term.” Vesna pushed herself off the wall lazily, accepting the glass from him, and took a sip, making sure her eyes did not leave him as she drank. “What is it we are worried about?” We. He snickered, moving away from the aggravating temptation that was her, and took a seat, swirling the drink around idly. “I have a… friend. I can see her as a good connection to my network, but something happened to her. I might scratch it off and say it was a pure accident, but something doesn’t sit well with me.” “I’m listening?” He sighed. “She was hit by a car shortly after giving me a list of contacts. She asked about something before leaving, too, something about an old flame that I figured was gone for good. Or, who I assume is an old flame. Wherever she went, chaos followed; I am worried it’s the following that same trend I had grown used to not existing.” “An old flame, hmm?” Vesna said, leaning down as she placed her augmented hand onto his shoulder. She leaned down, her lip grazing his ear. “You’re making a girl jealous, you know?” He moved away and shook his head, biting his tongue to avoid saying something stupid. “Vesna, I am gonna need your help with something. I need you to get your best surgeon ‘round, cause from the looks of it, something is going to be broken after a hit like that.” “I see. I think I can get you that help, but at what cost?” He closed his eyes at the question, gripping onto the glass tightly before nodding. “What’s your price?” “I need you to go to the Chinese district, and grab an old friend of mine.” “Grab?” DeVile asked and looked up at her. He doubted it was that simple. She nodded, walking over, and set her glass down on the coffee table. Sitting on the edge of his knee, she leaned forward and pulled the bottom of his lip down with her finger, a giggle escaping her lips as he moved away. “I want you to grab him…” She leaned forward so she could whisper in his ear. “And put a fucking bullet in his head.”