8

Sterile white lights blind me.

I hope this isn’t heaven.

Something soft brushes across my face.

Is that an angel’s wing?

Wait, it’s blue. Angles are blue?

Nope, just a paramedic.

Shit. Still alive.

…

“Owwwwwwwwwwwww,” I breath, tilting my head back in pain. That only makes it worse. “Shit… jeez… bitch bastard, don’t touch me!” I swat away a gloved hand.

“Stop moving, you’re going to hurt yourself,” the doctor says.

“I don’t… why is it so bright?” I demand. “Shades! Where are my goddamn shades?”

“You haven’t got any,” she responds.

I hear the woosh of curtains, and the room darkens drastically. My eyes unscrunch at last.

The room isn’t pristine and ugly, but darker, woodier, and a tad bit more lively. Real potted flowers line the window, and the furniture isn’t entirely white. My eyes glide across the scape, until they stop abruptly. A few feet away from me, is another bed, with a big form resting on it, mostly covered in thin hospital sheets.

“Your brother’s alright,” she reassures.

I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but instead I say, “Of course he is.” Turning my neck even the slightest bit sends a sting of pain down my left side.

She shakes her head vigorously. “No. We nearly lost him. And you too.”

“Why? What…” the violence barges back into my memory. “Ah shit.”

She nods. “The bullet tore through the side of your neck. You would’ve bled out in less than a minute if he wasn’t there.”

I close my eyes and grimace.

“He was shot too,” the doctor continues. “Once in the leg, and then in the back.”

“Through his spine?” I ask, scared shitless.

“No.”

I exhale like an elephant.

“But he lost a kidney. We’re looking for a replacement.”

“Wait, I got shot through the neck?”

“Well, it was more of a graze.”

“How did I not bleed out?”

“You did. You lost enough blood to kill someone of your… weight category.”

“So then? I’m an AB negative, how’d you find a donor fast enough?”

She nods at Kaloaan again. “He gave you everything you needed.”

I’m speechless. “Wh… ha…” I stutter, but no words can force themselves through then knot in my throat.

The doctor winces at my expression, then swiftly turns as a knock on the door echoes through the room. Before she goes to let the visitor in, the door opens. She quickly steps out of the way as his unharmed form stalks in. Zorikan. “You’re brother’s an idiot.”

I cough. A stinging itch sears in my neck. “A noble one.”

From my immovable vision, I can see far too many chairs than necessary. Zorikan sits in none. I want to ask how in the hell he’s in a hospital, but I feel like I should already know.

As usual, his pale, unwavering gaze tears directly through nonexistent façade. “It’s my hospital,” he says, as if he’s talking about a car.

“Since when do you have a hospital?”

“I’ve told you many times, I have a lot of allies, and a lot more power than your brother might think. But that’s besides the point,” he glances at Kaloaan.

“Have you given any reassurance to the police force that Kaloaan’s alive? They’ll come looking for him.”

He nods once. “I sent the detective. Told him to tell them that he’d come back in due time.”

“Tash is alive?”

“Broke his femur in half. I don’t think he’ll be walking without crutches for a while, but yeah. Now sleep, I’ve got a lot of news to tell you when your brother wakes up.” With that, he leaves, shutting the door swiftly behind him.

I exhale, long and soft through my nose. My neck feels like a collection of thumbtacks have been stuck in it. “Kaloaan. Kaloaan,” I call.

There’s no response whatsoever. His muscular form beneath the hospital gown could just as well have been dead, and there’d be no difference.

I chew on my cheeks.

One day he will be, if I keep getting myself into shit like this.

~

When I awake, Kaloaan’s holding an impossibly thin tablet a few inches from his face and attacking it with a flurry of taps and swipes with his other hand.

“Morning,” I mutter, scratching crust from my eyes.

“It’s late afternoon,” he responds, not taking his eyes off his tablet.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to find out where we are.”

“We’re in Zorikan’s hospital.”

“What?” he sets the tablet down. “Zorikan’s what?”

“I told you. He’s got a lot more allies than you think. And yes, he did save our asses.” I instantly wince as I remember the blood Kaloaan gave me.

He lies back and folds his arms. “So what? We’re his prisoners now?”

I shrug. “What difference does it make? Tash’s been sent back to the force to explain what’s happened. I think…”

I trail off as the door opens and Zorikan steps in. He addresses Kaloaan, without acknowledgement of my existence. “Javvak Targavrika. Ever heard of him?”

Kaloaan narrows his eyes. “I might’ve. He was a mercenary for Tuurig Viscas wasn’t he?”

“Assassin,” Zorikan corrects. “But when he got a different offer, he killed Tuurig and went to work for his new boss.”

It strikes me that the name Javvak was the same as one of the two that had attacked Zorikan and I in the sewers. Javvak and Blitz.

“Qiara, I assume,” Kaloaan murmers.

“Correct. Sources say he’s killed six people on her list, and nearly fourteen off it.”

“Yeah, I know him. He’s nearing the top of our blacklist.”

“Well then you’d be pleased to learn that we’ve captured him.”

Kaloaan meets Zorikans gaze. A difficult feat for a normal man, but Kaloaan is much more than that.

“And tortured him.” Zorikan lets the crude word roll roughly out of his mouth. He knows it’s a word that every police would react to. Even when delivering news, he’s trying to pry Kaloaan open.

But the chief remains rigid.

“Would you like to come see him? It’s quite an interesting thing to behold.”

“We’re fine as we are, thank you.”

Kaloaan’s aggressive formality clashes against Zorikan’s collected metal words.

“What did you find?”

“The exact location of Qiara’s base… and how many guards there are.”

“Well?”

“Ramli Vvickander Enasrus?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I repeat the odd name tentatively, and it unfurls over my tongue like gnarled spores in damp soil. “What about him?”

“Qiara’s headquarters are in his office building. We know exactly where it is. Now it’s only a matter of when we’re ready.”

“Now,” Kaloaan grunts, attempting in vain to sit up. “Tomorrow, whenever’s fastest.”

Zorikan sighs like a teacher whose student repeatedly fails to understand the simplest of concepts. “Once your brother grows some braincells,” he says to me, “then perhaps we can discuss further.” He turns elegantly and strides towards the door.

I snicker at his pale eyed arrogance.

“Hey!” Kaloaan shouts. “Hey wait! I need to get back! When can I go back?”

Zorikan pauses at the threshold, about to ease through the slightly ajar door. A soft, rare, shark-like smile crawls onto his face, of which I can only see the side profile. “I’m glad you’ve finally learnt to ask permission from me.”

~

I run my calloused hand over the thick bandage on my neck. Pain runs into my shoulder as if the plaster is nailed to my flesh. Kaloaan’s blacked out again from blood loss, and his snoring sounds like a drummer with a gong. Screw this.

I lace a finger over the plastic tube stuck into the back of my hand, following it up to the clear bag of translucent fluid, dangling from a coat hanger on wheels. Or whatever it is. Plasma, or something, is what’s in the bag. I don’t know. Don’t care either.

Screw it.

I tear the drip from my hand, wincing as a flap of skin wilts off side of my palm. Like a wolf, I lick my wound. The metallic taste spritzes life into my psyche.

I amble out of the room, leaving the door ajar and drift down the hallway. It’s nothing like the massive skyscraper Sekera had been stuck in for so long. I can see actual wood. Real wood. I’m in East Side.

This is Zorikan’s hospital? What?

I wonder as I wander, leaving a breadcrumb-trail of blood behind me.

I’ve seen his base, how few Swifters he has left, and how wavery their loyalty is. How’s it possible that he owns an entire hospital? It’s not like he bought it. He couldn’t just legally purchase it. It’s not like he just captured it, that’s an idiotic move, plus it would be swarming with police. Who’s the chief here? Adrikar, yeah, that bastard. The one who couldn’t put down the Raven’s Nest. Ah, shit, that’s still a thing. Seems small compared to all this. Gotta go back there one day, with an actual team. Actually no, screw that, Adrikar can do it himself. Not getting myself killed over some dumbass bansilin.

A wave of lightheadedness splashes into me as I climb a second flight of stairs. I groan, gripping the banister and widening my stance. I’d much rather be hungover. Through slightly bleary vision, I read that I’ve reached the sixth and final floor. This hospital’s miniature compared to the West Side ones. Why don’t I live here again?

As I make it up the last stairs, I see that this is no medical ward. There’s one of those walk-through metal detectors, but nobody around to check me. I squeeze past it. My bare feet go icy against the glossy synthetic granite floor. The hallway is short, with only two doors, one at each end. Left. Always left. Not sure why, just always.

I move to the door and run my hand over its wooden façade. It’s fake as well. I press my ear to it, but there’s no noise. Slowly, I turn the metal handle and push it open. There’s nothing but a large, over the top round table, several tall backed wheeled chairs and a projector. Boring.

I walk back across to the other room, and my interest sparkles as soon as the muffled murmurs tickle my ears. This ones in use. I press my ear to the door, trying to catch something of what’s being said.

“… spreading across the bridge? At your current state? That seems unwise.”

“Are you even recruiting anymore?”

“We still need to discuss the issue of percentages. Last month wasn’t favorable for any of us.”

The distinct, stone dagger of a voice cuts above the others. “I need to deal with Qiara first, all other concerns are secondary,” Zorikan says.

Oh, shit I need to see this.

Fast as a rat I make for the window at the end of the hall and swing it open. Lightheadedness crashes into me, more like a wave that a playful splash this time. Might not be the best idea to go climbing right now. Too bad I’m built on bad ideas.

Thankfully, there’s an odd, eccentric fake-wood design on the outside of the hospital, providing me dozens of easy hand holds. I become a cockroach and scuttle out, quickly finding one of the many massive windows illuminating the conference room. I can’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder to behold the scattered and balanced beauty that is East Side. A tiny dog throws a fit at me from the road.

Also, thankfully, the glass isn’t soundproof.

“How many of your… Swifter’s… has Qiara already killed?” asks a stout man with a thick mustache and a brown suit.

“That’s besides the point,” Zorikan responds quickly.

To my astonishment, he’s not sitting at the head of the table. Instead, there’s a tall, greying, vulture-like woman in a pinstripe suite. He looks so sickly and kempt that I grow nauseous.

Zorikan is next, sitting across from the brown suited man. After them are a hefty, bearded man in constructors clothes, and a woman who might as well be a librarian.

“Oh I think it very much is the point,” Librarian presses. “We can’t let you take these matters into your own hands if you haven’t got the matter. And if you lose men, then it’s only fit that I reduce the food shipments we’ve been sending you.”

“I just told you. We haven’t lost many Swifters, and all those we’ve lost will soon be replaced.”

“So, then you need to tell me how I am to help you,” mustache demands. His small, round form shows no fear to the shark king. “I can get information about this Vvickander character, but I need specifics.”

“I already told you, I have it under control. You all just need to keep doing your part and I assure you that once she’s dealt with, your spoils will increase.”

“You told us that last month as well,” Vulture sneers, leaning forwards on her chair. “I’ve had twelve patients of yours now, and there will be questions about the chief being in my hospital. Who again is the boy?”

“It’s unimportant,” he shoots, through gritted teeth. “Your job is to get my injured back on their feet. You’ve been doing it well, so don’t stop.”

“Perhaps, but the fees are outweighing what I’m getting from you. This is to be profitable, remember?”

Zorikan shoots her with a stare that would disintegrate a child.

“And the weapons?” asks Constructor. “I’ve no problem going a month without pay, so long as the next is doubled.”

Zorikan nods. “I assure you,” he says, extensively slowly. “But I’ll need more guns.”

Constructor raises an eyebrow. “Then I’ll have to reduce another section.”

“All of them,” Zorikan responds.

“Don’t let him push you around,” Librarian hisses.

Zorikan snarls.

“I want the pay, now. You’re in no position to take out Qiara. I’ll revoke my shipments to you.”

“Will you now?” Zorikan asks, pushing back his chair.

“Yes,” Librarian says, defiantly.

“You’ve given us no choice,” Vulture says, “I might need to halt the supply shipments as well.”

“Alright then.” He calmly stands up and cracks his knuckles. “Corgal, I trust we’re fine?” he asks Constructor.

He nods gruffly.

“Visichen?”

Mustache grumbles for a moment. “Yes, but if this prolongs a day beyond our agreed time, you’re on your own.”

“And Birlissia?”

Vulture’s beady eyes flit through the others. “I may need some time to decide.”

“Very well,” Zorikan nods.

“I’ve told you…” Librarian starts again.

She doesn’t reach the end of her sentence.

Zorikan is behind her in half a second, slammed her head onto the table and presses a knife to her jugular. She shrieks in terror.

Vulture jolts in her seat, and Constructor stands, his hands flying behind his head. Mustache seems unphased.

“I’m sorry!” Librarian cries. “We can extend a month! I’m sure I can figure something out! Guaranteed!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! I swear! I swear on my life!”

Zorikan slices through her neck like he’s chopping vegetables for dinner. No sound escapes her torn throat as her eyes glaze over and blood erupts onto the table. He releases the back of her head, letting her body crumple to the ground, then proceeds to clean his knife with a grey handkerchief.

I’m so startled I nearly lose my grip. Dizziness washes over me again and I force my fingers to clamp down on the wooden grooves. I’m tired.

“Have you… reconsidered, Ms. Birlissa?” he asks Vulture.

“People will ask questions,” she sighs.

Zorikan lets a brief, hellish smile flicker on his face for a moment. “Then give them answers.” He makes for the door.

“You’ve made a mistake, King Shark,” Constructor calls.

Zorikan pauses, and looks over his shoulder, just like he did to Kaloaan in the hospital room. “Perhaps, but I don’t need food, I need guns. Increase the shipment to the required barrel count. We’ll discuss further in a months time… when Qiara’s dead.”

And with that, he’s gone, and the door swings closed behind him.

Oh, and I also lose my grip and fall.