The tiny robots continued to rush to relieve pressure from internal bleeding on Gus’ brain. In doing so they had to close off more bleeders and metabolize the fluids that were building up and putting pressure on the brain, making it hard for blood to flow freely and oxygenate the delicate organ.

Electrical stimulation had to occur as the effects of the field suppressed the cells ability to work on their own. They fairly crackled as they worked, firing neurons along the way. Plunging Gus deep into memories he forced himself to never revisit.

____________________________________________________________________

8 years ago...

Gus had pulled into the shopping center, scooting his little VW bug into a parking spot. He needed to get some parts for his car, and try to fix one of its myriad problems. Despite this, he still felt lucky grandpa had given him the car on his fifteenth birthday, most people used public transport these days, but Gus relished the freedom his own car offered.

“It will need a tons of work Gus, but these Fuscas are designed so that they can be easily repaired. You’ll learn a lot, Gus, and being self-sufficient does a lot for a man.”

Gus smiled at the memory and how his grandpa always called them that, ‘foo-skuhs’. Today’s project was changing the belts. He headed across the parking lot to the AutoMaxx. It must have been the first of the month because the parking lot was crowded, with people swarming the Grocertopia next door. It was always busy when allotments were distributed. Luckily for Gus, the allotments only accounted for food, so the AutoMaxx shouldn’t be crowded.

After picking up what he needed, he headed back to his car. An elderly African-American lady was in the process of loading her groceries into her car which was parked next to his, and a teenager about Gus’ age was prowling around, speaking harshly to the woman while she silently tried to put her groceries in her car as fast as she could. Gus couldn’t make out what was being said, but assumed it was threatening with how the teen was waving his hands around, almost like he was going to slap the poor woman at any moment. She cringed away, shrinking in on herself as she tried to hurry.

Gus noticed the punk’s friends standing in a circle about fifty feet away, laughing and watching the scene. Was this some kind of initiation ritual for a gang or something? One of the things that pissed Gus off in this district was the prevailing thought that might made right. Sure, you could call the enforcers, but they would calmly listen to your story and then politely tell you that they didn’t have the resources to chase after everyone who was a little aggressive. It was survival of the fittest at its worst. A tenet of the Purple Faction had that tacitly influenced local law enforcement, and the regs mirrored it, whether consciously or not.

As he got closer, he could hear the teen saying how hungry he was in mock sarcasm.

“C’mon grammy, can’t you see I’m too skinny? A growing boy needs food and you don’t need all of that…”

Gus passed them and opened his car door. He threw his bag into the front seat and looked amid the trash in the backseat for the tire iron he had left there when changing a tire recently. It had been raining, of course, so he hadn’t stowed everything back like he should. Still, Gus was a typical teenager, and papers, fast food cartons, and other trash covered the floor of the backseat.

The woman let out a yelp, which brought Gus out of his search. “OK man, that’s enough, why don’t you leave the woman alone?” As he stood up, he saw the teen had grabbed one of the bags the woman was holding, and was attempting to wrench it out of her hands.

The woman cowered in fear, but still clung to the bag. Gus knew how much people on allotments needed the food. She probably was supporting people at home to have what seemed a larger than average allotment. Plus, it said something that she was out here alone getting the food and not someone younger.

In an instant, the teenager was next to Gus. He could see the puckered red acne scars and greasy skin. “Did you just say something?” he said, leaning in, right into Gus’ face. He was so close his wet lip touched Gus’ own, which grossed him out on a whole new level.

Gus pushed the teen away, trying to establish a more comfortable personal space.

“Oh, so now you trying to push me man? Gonna regret that…” Gus could see the kid’s friends start moving towards him in his peripheral vision. He also saw the old woman, pulling out of her parking spot, giving him a glance that said, “I’m sorry” as she sped away. Gus tried to bolt for his car, really wishing he had found that tire iron, but the teen pushed him against his car and gave him a sucker punch.

Gus was winded as the blow hit him right in the solar plexus. He dropped to one knee gasping for breath. By then his buddies came in, kicking savagely. The only thing Gus managed to gasp out when he got some of his breath back was, “Don’t do this, you don’t know who I am, my father’s a super…”

“Sure he is, and guess what? You don’t know who we are, so good luck trying to find us superboy!” The kicking commenced again and at some point Gus lost consciousness.

When he came to, Gus not only felt terrible, his spirits dropped even more when he saw the state of his poor little Fusca. It had dents all over it where the gang took out their aggression on it after they had gotten tired of kicking him. Mirrors were ripped off, as well as the antenna. They even took his crappy cassette player, leaving a gaping maw of wires. Luckily they hadn’t found the tire iron either or he might not still be alive.

Getting to his feet, Gus was in more pain than he had ever been in his life. His back was killing him, and he was covered in bruises. He had to lean against his car as a wave of nausea hit him from standing too quickly. Getting inside, Gus put his thumb on the ignition scan, the only modern thing in the old car. It rumbled to life, and Gus slowly made his way home. It hurt to turn his head too much to the left, so he took his time, waiting at more lights than he normally would since he didn’t want to chance going through an intersection at the last minute. He had to crouch awkwardly to see through the only part of the windshield that wasn’t cracked from the damage, so it was slow going.

When he got home, Tempest was there in the kitchen and barely looked up when Gus entered. Gus threw his keys in a bowl and went to the sink to splash some cold water on himself and clean up.

“What happened to you?” Tempest asked, still reading his newspaper.

“I got jumped helping an old lady with her food.”

“Against how many people?”

“Well it was the one guy, but he had a bunch of his cronies watching the whole thing. They all jumped me,”

“Well, it sounds like you learned a valuable lesson, then. Never engage a superior force, especially without the resources to defend your position. I’ll bet you don’t make that mistake again.” He said all this without even making eye contact. Whatever is in that newspaper must be damn interesting, Gus thought angrily.

“Yeah, sure. How dumb of me, trying to help someone…”

“It was stupid. I’m glad you see that. You’re lucky they didn’t hurt you more. Sometimes I think your common sense was burned out when your mother left…”

Left? That was new. That part of the conversation had never occurred to Gus. The memory faded as Gus thought about this new information. He must have been so angry and in pain that his brain didn’t register it. From what Gus had remembered after his illness, he always got the impression that mom had died in some battle with other supers, not that she left. Did they get a divorce? Gus couldn’t blame her for divorcing Tempest. He was cold and only had time for his job. Did they get a divorce because of him? The more he thought about it, he did get the feeling Tempest blamed him for his mom’s absence. Were his medical bills a strain on their relationship? Was it something else lost in the amnesia that surrounded his illness?

The nanobots finished repairing the area in Gus’ brain and moved on, and the memory winked out, and Gus drowsily sunk back into unconsciousness.