Ch. 5: Spiders and Wasps

It's surprising, I think, how short my excursion tonight actually was. Barely two hours in total, from the time I got into that rusty van to the time I left the video store. I walk a few blocks away, trying to stay calm, before calling Rogue Wave.

He picks up instantly, almost startling me with the speed. "Go fuck yourself, whoever this is." His voice is thick with resentment.

"Hello to you too, jackass," I joke.

There's a long pause on the other end. "Bullshit."

"For God's sake. Wave, you've been to my home. Tree needles? We had an awkward standoff when we first met?"

Another pause, this one much shorter. "Holy shit, it is you! How the hell did you get out of there?"

"Don't sound so surprised, I just did what he asked. Still owe him a lot of patched up gangsters, but its more of an 'as they come' thing."

"Christ... I thought you were doing a heroic sacrifice or something. Okay, do you need a ride?"

"Yes. I honestly have no idea where I am. Never been here before."

There's another short pause on his end. "I can go myself, or I can get Highway over there in half the time."

"The former. I haven't had nearly enough time to write all the insults I intend to deliver to him." I've had over an hour to spend thinking about the right words, but they still feel inadequate.

"Okay. Just send me the street address."

Wave's car isn't what I expected. It's a yellow, modern sedan, and clearly well taken care of. Another confusing addition to the man of incongruences. The guy who wears a clearly aquatic themed costume but controls inertia, hates my manner of speaking for being weird while he wears a diving helmet, and apparently drives a yellow car.

The inside, as expected, is a dark reflection of the outside. Fast food bags litter the floor, and there's something vaguely sticky about every surface in the car. I can't really fault him, knowing what my bedroom and lab look like.

Wave himself is dressed like a sane person. Plain t-shirt and jeans. It draws attention to his face and physique, I think. I wonder if its intentional.

"Drop you off a block away from your place?" he asks, looking me over.

"Wherever. Great choice of team, by the way."

He grunts as he starts driving. "I know you're being sarcastic, but honestly? How many lives did you save today?"

I try to complain, to find a counterargument, to be angry. Realistically, I saved five lives today. Six, if I count my own. They all might have been people who brought their near-deaths on themselves, but... still. The best I can come up with is a fleeting, "It's still a hassle to be indebted to a gang."

"There are worse gangs to be affiliated with. You have all the racial supremacist fucks scattered around the northern parts of Dudek, the Nightjars off to the east are scary as shit, you already met Kudzu in the south, and then there's the Heart in the center and western parts. Not to mention all the smaller ones. As far as these groups go, Kudzu really isn't that bad."

I've heard of Bleeding Heart and the Nightjars before. Especially the Nightjars. They're notably heavily armed, to the point the regular police typically avoid them entirely when they show up somewhere. Bleeding Heart is more like twenty smaller gangs under one banner. I have no idea how their boss keeps them from murdering each other.

The larger "gangs" in Dudek aren't what one would typically imagine. They're more like small governments, complete with their their own rules and laws with a force to back them up. On election nights, more people pay attention to Bleeding Heart's leadership changes than to the mayoral election. Dudek City is a long lost cause.

Kudzu is still a mystery to me. They're new, but that's all I know, besides three capes being a lot for such a small area.

Rogue Wave drops me off a couple blocks away. Damn it, I almost forgot. I awkwardly walk up to one of the houses, pressing a doorbell with my cane.

The same man from last night cracks opens the door, his dog softly whimpering while watching me through the open space.

I take off my hat, and hold it over my heart, respectfully lowering my head. "I must apologize for my intrusion this prior night, and have come to ensure you-"

"Wait. Vivian?"

"What? How did- god damn it."

Genuinely, I wonder how I have survived this long. It's been months, and I'm still making absurdly careless mistakes. I never turned my voice modulator back on.

"...huh. I suspected it, but that confirms it. So, you're running around at night taking dog blood?"

"Yes, I can explain, please listen. I-"

"Probably needed it for whatever the hell power you have."

I rub the back of my neck, a headache coming on. "Yeah. Power lets me create unique chemicals, including medicines."

"Damn. That sounds useful."

"It is... look, I have money, however much-"

"Nah. I'm not gonna blackmail you. I'm pretty sure extorting a doctor sends you straight to hell."

I sigh, partly with relief, mostly with resignation. "Thanks. Hux's blood saved a guy's life last night, by the way."

"No shit?" He starts scratching Hux behind the ears, then leans down to rub Hux's belly as the dog rolls over.

"Really."

"Cool. No offense, but I really don't want to see your beak at my door again, okay? I wanna stay out of all that stuff."

"Completely reasonable. Modulator on." I hear the short burst of feedback as it reactivates. "I shall not tarry any longer. Have a fair night, sir." I back away from the door, and after take a brief detour to scour the ground for an ant I scoop up in a clean vial, I return to the bakery. God, I'm happy the night is finally over. I need sleep.

Except, as I enter the decontamination chamber, I see Emily, Fritillary, Whippersnapper, and a guy dressed normally who I can only assume is Highway all waiting for me.

I ignore them waving and trying to talk to me through the soundproof glass as I enter my lab, putting away my costume, and setting the dead ant aside, before finally entering my living room.

Immediately, Emily is hugging me, as the other three start barraging me with questions and apologies.

I hug Emily back, before leering at the capes in my basement. "Good. Just what I wanted to see at my house. How the hell did you get here? Never mind, I know it was Wave. Dumb bastard..."

Highway sighs, pushing back brown and gray streaked hair. Judging by the wrinkles on his lightly tanned face, he's maybe forty or fifty: pretty old for this kind of thing. "I owe you a bunch of apologies, and even more thank yous." I can tell standing up isn't comfortable for him. I silence the part of my brains saying he deserves it after tonight.

"Hold that thought for a minute, okay? Need to take care of something." I squeeze past him and the others, taking a box of baking soda and a nearly empty carton of milk. "Emily, do we have anything made of ABS plastic? I don't know anything about plastics."

"Uhh... lemme think." She closes her eyes, mentally running through my home. "Yeah," she says after a few short seconds. "The DNA model in your room."

Damn it. That was a gift from my dad. Still, he'd understand. I warily go to my room, selecting one of the less-noticeable small bricks that make up the model, and snap it off. I bring it over to my lab, and quickly mix it with the milk, baking soda, and the ant I captured before shaking the entire concoction. It turns into a faded orange liquid. I re-enter my living room, orange potion in hand.

I offer it to Highway. "Let me give you this, and I'll forgive you."

Highway takes a nervous step back, while Whippersnapper takes a step towards me. Emily defensively moves to intersperse herself.

"If she wanted to try something," Emily says, "this entire basement is rigged with something like five different gases that can be deployed by voice. I know, because I installed them myself."

Seeing her defending me like that, despite the situation being so far beyond her comfort zone... no, focus. "Highway, this will be more fun if its a surprise. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you. I mean, damn, I'm outnumbered."

He takes a few shuffling a steps forward, opening his mouth slightly and letting me pour the elixir down his throat. His pupils dilate a bit, and after a moment, he stands up a little straighter. He jumps up and down next, as Fritillary and Whippersnapper both move to support him.

Highway gingerly pushes his teammates aside, eyes brimming with a thousand emotions. "There's... there's no pain. Nothing. I'm just... fine. I haven't felt like this when not behind a wheel in... damn it, since I got my power, even! This is incredible!" The mutitude of emotions settle into one, revealing pure joy. A look I've seen enough to not be phased by, beyond a half-hearted smile.

"Doesn't last forever," I say. "'Anywhere from a couple hours to a few weeks, I don't know."

"How... why are you doing this? I almost get you killed, you saved our lives, and now you just... I can't believe it."

"Because it takes me sixty seconds, that's why. I'm angry as hell, but I'm not an asshole. You all owe me one, though. Got it?"

They race to agree. Good. Having some allies at my back, even as they are, is a nice failsafe. "Thanks. If you three would kindly leave, now, I'd appreciate it."

After a few more words of thanks, they eventually leave, and exit through the decontamination chamber. I slump into the couch, exhausted. "I hate everything about this."

Emily smiles reassuringly, wrapping her arm around me. "We'll get through it. Though, this place is hardly a secret to others at this point. It's basically an impregnable fortress, but still."

"Still," I say. "You were absolutely right about teams, though Rogue Wave said that if I wasn't there, they'd just be dead."

"That's... something? I don't know, I'm out of my depth here."

"Me too. Damn it, and I have work tomorrow. I'm going to get a few hours of sleep."

"Mind if I crash here to tonight? Only place my allergies don't suck."

"You know you don't have to ask." I fleetingly smile as I move to my bedroom, collapsing and falling asleep within a minute, far too tired to stay up and worry.

Another day, another ten or fifteen people cured of incurable disease. I step in tune to the music playing in my suit's internal speakers, not as tired as I expected to be after so little sleep. I nod at the security desk as I make my way to my office.

"Music off," I say, eye to eye with the waiting hospital director. "Here for your liver?"

Director Kinsey doesn't make eye contact while handing me a lunch pail. Inside are the ingredients I asked for on Friday, though it feels like a lifetime ago when I was last in the building. I open my bag, take out a clean vial, and mix the ingredients together. The assortment of ingredients soon meld into a thin, pale blue liquid.

"Stay still and drink."

Kinsey does so without hesitation, letting me pour it down his throat, not saying a word as his liver miraculously heals.

"How about a 'thanks, Dr. Amsel' or something?"

"Yeah. Thanks," he says. He starts to say something else, but can't manage to. He lazily walks out of the room, leaving just me and Ishfaq.

"Ishfaq, why is he such an ass?" I ask, mostly to myself.

"Because he gets paid to be an ass?" he offers. Ishfaq is maybe 20 or 21, so I have a good decade on him, if I had to estimate.

"Correct. He gets paid to 'increase efficiency,' mostly by cutting costs. That's his entire job. And apparently, I'm interfering in that somehow." I realize I'm dumping my complaints on my assistant. That's not his job, obviously, but he has a way of paying attention that makes me want to talk. "Sorry, and thanks for listening. Got my sheet today?"

"Yeah. Good luck today. Need me to pick up anything?"

"I'll ring you if I do, but hopefully I won't. I don't like making you run all over town on scavenger hunts."

'Scavenger hunts' are a large part of what Ishfaq does for me. If I need a weird reagent, he finds it. So far, he hasn't let me down, even when I needed him to find a pre-1942 penny for an Alzheimer's cure.

Ishfaq hands me my printout for the day. "Don't worry," he says, "I honestly enjoy them. It's fun to get out of the office."

I scan over the list. Nothing too interesting on the surface. "I'm glad. Keep up the good work."

He smiles politely, and goes back to writing reports for me. He really is a great assistant.

The day, fortunately, is pretty routine after that. My bag contains thirty or so of the most common components my potions ask for. Salt, sugar, human hair, water, boric acid, liquid soap, dried fruit, the drug 'crux', and so on. Usually it's enough, but I've noticed a correlation between rarer or more dangerous diseases and rarer ingredients. Today, though, the only ones not in my bag were items I could find lying around the hospital anyway, like a photograph, or a pigeon feather.

I'm out by noon again, and have the day to myself. First, though, I get a rideshare back home. The driver was a polite man with a thick accent I couldn't place, and not very talkative. That's my preferred experience with these apps. I don't have to answer questions if they don't ask.

I walk through the front door of the bakery with a smile. "Hey, Reggie." I nod to him. The store is unsurprisingly empty. If it weren't for the absurd half-rent half-hush money I pay, I doubt he'd stay in business.

"Yo. Not to get in your business, but the back's had pretty high traffic lately." He folds his arms, half-focusing on something in the industrial oven behind the counter. "I hope this is you making friends, and not shitting where you eat."

"Ehh... a mix of both. Had to get a guy to my lab, and it spiraled from there."

He huffs, pulling the bread from the oven with a pair of red oven mitts, and setting it down on a cooling rack. "I don't want too much cape stuff here, okay? This is just a bakery with an apartment below it."

Reggie's always been fair with me, and in return I try to be fair to him. Maybe I do need a different location, as impossible as that seems.

I feel my phone buzz, and pull it from my jean's pocket. There's a message from 'Scam Likely' reading '3 4 10min 22nd 16th'. No idea about the 3 and 4, but 22nd and 16th is just around the corner. Shit, in broad daylight, too?

"Speaking of, I have to go take a shit." I wink, hurrying downstairs to change. I half expected to see another group of people waiting for me in my house, but I've keyed it to only allow myself and Emily to open the doors.

"Do some harm," I say, revealing my Beaker suit as it's mannequin display rotates out of the wall. I quickly take off my day to day suit, and switch to the plague doctor costume. "I have the modulator, yeah, all good," I say, listening to the warped and deep-toned voice that comes back. As I take the cane, I feel my phone buzz again, now with another text from the same number.

'3 4 5'

What the hell are they doing, and what is that supposed to mean?

I take the back door, which leads into a corner of an alley. It sounds obvious, but the positioning of it means no one looks down it unless they're looking for something, or someone.

I put on my false bravado in advance. I'm Beaker, the warm but eccentric physician. I step into the light, strutting down the sidewalk while holding my cane in my right hand. I grip it tightly as I head to the corner, but take time to pose for a few photos a pair of passing teenagers take.

I wouldn't say I'm famous, far from it, but there are some niche places people recognize me in. They're fairly used to my antics, mostly seeing me as little more than a harmless lunatic. Just as intended, and frankly, it's pretty accurate.

I lean against the side of a building, tipping my wide-brimmed hat at a passing man, who laughs and tips his baseball cap in return.

early stage hyperthyroidism, salt +

I ignore the recipe in my head, but stop the man with the hook of my cane, snagging the back of his shirt. He seems a little scared by me initiating actual conversation, but curiosity outweighs his nerves. He hesitantly stops, and turns to face me.

"Good sir, have you been feeling some malaise as of late?" I ask, unhooking him and leaning on the cane.

"Malaise? I mean, I feel kinda crappy, if that's what your asking. Some kind of cold. Why, are you gonna get the leeches?"

I laugh into my suit, half-genuinely. "Hardly. I say, though, you have developed some flavor of hyperthyroidism. I would suggest having a blood test run."

"You're shitting me." He raises a thick eyebrow, but doesn't walk away.

"Au contraire, my friend. 'Tis my work to know such things. You need not make haste to see your physician, but do not dawdle either. Perhaps within a fortnight?"

"Uhh... how long is that?"

Even idiots need help. Especially idiots. "Two weeks. See your doctor within two weeks."

"Huh... is it bad?"

"Potentially, should it remain uncontrolled. With prompt action, there is little to fear."

"Wow. Uhh... thanks. Beaky, right?"

"Hah! Beaker, if you will, though Beaky is an amusing alternative." I see a car slowly pull up to the sidewalk. "I believe my escort has arrived. Good day, sir, stay well." I tip my hat again, and enter the back seat of the car.

I don't recognize the thin, boney man in the seat next to me. Friendly, tired eyes and brown hair neatly pinned down with a series of interlaced bobby pins give him an almost tender feeling, like he'd get bruised if I poked him too hard. The driver, though, was in the video store. I recognize the distinctive long scar that leaves a pink gash along pale skin, bisecting his throat. It's almost as noticeable as the garish pink and white Hawaiian shirt.

The man next to me clears his throat. "Hey. I'm Gil. Guy up front is our driver, who remains nameless for the time being. I'm your point of contact." Gil's phone buzzes, and he grimaces as he puts it away. "God damn. Four now. What the hell is Ji-Won's problem today..."

"An unfamiliar name, Sir Gil. Elucidate what you know of said person for me?"

He smiles, warmly and soft, like a father watching his child's first steps. "Of course. Ji-Won is the leader of a small rival gang called Kamakiri to our south, putting Kudzu between them and Bleeding Heart territory. We haven't had issues with Heart yet, but Kamakiri's been a bitch and a half. Apparently, there was a shootout. Our driver here will take us there, and you'll be our medic. According to Kingfisher, your ability sometimes has requirements. Myself and our driver will get whatever you need."

They're prepared, thorough, and helpful. As far as hostage taking goes, this one is fairly pleasant. Kudzu is more helpful than most people at my actual job, even. Is it one of the perks of not having layers of bureaucracy, the gang being extremely well run, or just the hospital's crappiness? Regardless, it's appreciated.

The ride is quiet, the driver not saying a word, and Gil not making conversation beyond a few idle notes about the buildings we're passing. He does keep watching me, entertained just by my presence. I don't blame him, if I was sitting next to someone dressed like this five years back, I'd probably be the same way.

The faint popping of either gunshots or backfiring cars marks our approach south, as we snake through back ways to avoid the bigger arteries in this part of the city. Given the reason for me being here, I'm preparing for the first.

Gil glances out the window as the car starts to move closer to the source. We're deep into the half-abandoned manufacturing section of the city, long since lost to technical advances and . "Okay, Beaker. It's still going on, three injured. I'm not going to force you into this since the agreement was you not dying, but it would definitely win you some favor with Kingfisher."

Win favor? Is he joking?

"Good sir, perhaps you are unaware of my nature as a hostage. Any esteem Sir Kingfisher would deem me of matters naught. I shall pay my pound of flesh, and be rid of your strangling vines."

The car stops at the side of the road, Gil chewing on his lip. "Yeah. I get that... to be honest, we're in a bind here, Beaker. Ji-Won's had one of her lieutenants backing our-"

"Bah! I do not care for Kudzu's squabbles, nor your facsimile of politics. Regardless, I am willing to advance with this specific action if only to cleanse near half my debt in one swoop. I assume I shall be sallying forth to the sound of flying ammunition." I open the car door, and step out. "Good day."

I slam the door shut, pulling my cape over my coat fairly snugly. This might be stupid, but I'd rather clear my slate as soon as possible. The longer this drags on, the more likely I am to slip up, or worse, have Kudzu slip up and expose me at work or the bakery.

The gunfire is fairly close, and loud. "Speaker on, set speaker volume to one point five." That should keep me loud enough to hear over the noise. Still... "Set suit volume to zero point seven." I don't need to get disoriented by loud gunfire.

The shots are still loud despite the dampened sound, but far more manageable. The fighting seems to be taking place between a large outside force raiding a dilapidated auto plant, and however many are inside the plant. Judging by the lack of green on the outside force, I can only assume I have to get inside the building. It seems unlikely. For some reason I can't figure out, they haven't spread to encircle it, only remaining by the front door. There has to be a second way in, but why aren't they using it?

There's a series of broken windows along the barren side I'm looking at, along with a lack of cover. That would explain it... Damn it. I'm not certain they were told I would be coming.

Then again, they've been more than capable so far.

Pulling my cape tight, I run as fast as I can to the back of the building. I don't think anyone started shooting at me from either side, as I hug the wall to the rear. Sure enough, there's a back door, and no windows besides the high ones that once must have curved gently along the corner of the roof. Now, they're just iron skeletons with bits of glassy flesh yet to decompose.

I jiggle the back doorknob. It's locked. Damn it. I pound hard on the door, hoping someone will hear me.

Unfortunately, someone did. The door flies open, and a sharp knife lunges out to me. I'm not well trained in hand to hand combat, but I know the basics. I know just enough to tell that the knife is absolute going to hit me.

It tears into my coat, barely being stopped by the multiple layers of material it's made of, protecting the comparatively fragile environmental suit beneath.

Keep composure, you're alive, and unharmed. "Kingfisher sent me, hooligan!" I say, my cane primed to release the toxin within if needed.

The person, a broad man with fawn skin and narrowed almond-shaped eyes, withdraws the knife. He allows me a moment to check if my suit was ruptured. No, not so much as a scratch, thankfully.

"Shit. You're the medic?" he asks, looking appalled by the knife in his hand.

"Gaze upon my visage, untamed cur! I am the physician known as Beaker. I shan't bow to you, now stand aside!" I push past, appraising the situation.

The factory floor is covered in bullet casings, both new and old. Some large machines cover much of the back wall, for a purpose I can't identify. I quickly walk through the abandoned factory floor, avoiding conveyor belts and tables, careful not to stand within sight of the thin slit windows.

My HUD has four people in an office near the back of the building. Most likely, those would be the wounded. I stride over, cane in hand, intentionally making my presence known with loud insults directed at the one who stabbed me. Last thing I need is more friendly fire.

The office room isn't spacious, and has forced the four of them to squeeze in like a tangram square. I take quick stock of them visually first.

One shot in the arm, an incorrectly applied tourniquet doing nothing to halt the bleeding.

Another clipped in the ear. A bleeder, but it'll stop soon.

The third is shot in the abdomen, definitely been there a while too.

The fourth is unconscious for a reason I can't discern. Or dead. Hopefully the former.

Triage is done by weighing the urgency of need with the severity of need. In this case, its pretty straightforward.

I go to the guy with the tourniquet, who looks at me with a pallid smile. "Death?"

I ignore him, and retie the tourniquet tightly, and in the correct position. "Do not touch that yet." I say.

The ear bleeding guy is curled up in a corner, panicking. "You. The one struck upon the ear. Inhale these soothing vapors." He looks up as I loom over him, letting a tiny puff of sleeping gas out of a vial from my coat, putting him to sleep immediately. Solved.

I check the unconscious one next. My power doesn't always work right away, but I'm in a time crunch. I give it fifteen seconds, before moving to the gut-shot victim.

stomach and spleen severe injury, remove foreign body + salt + patient's blood + chromium-

I shake it away. No shot of a one and done. I'd have to do actual surgery. I check the arm wound next.

through and through puncture wound, water + paper + any insect

Insect? Damn it. He can wait. Worst case scenario, he doesn't need two arms.

I attend to the one who was shot in the stomach. No time for carefully removing the bullet. I stick my hand in, and follow the path of the bullet until I can just barely feel it. I pinch it, twisting it out. I can almost hear every other surgeon in the world crying out in agony as I pull it free.

Stomach acid is the next concern. I take a potion from my coat, dumping it into the hole. It's a powerful base, designed to neutralize acids without damaging tissue. He'll be on a liquid diet for a while, but its better than his own stomach acid digesting his abdominal cavity.

I hear the unconscious guy start to stir, and eventually stand, holding his head. Unconscious for that long from head trauma? Not ideal, but he can move. "You. Head trauma. I require an insect."

He looks at me in confusion. "Who the fuck-"

"Beaker, your attending physician. I require an insect for my power! Go, or your friend may die!"

He blinks hard and slow, but obeys. Good. Saves me from using my singular hypnosis potion, especially on someone who's already dealing with head trauma.

I return to my work. I clean an area with an alcohol wipe and inject him with two vials next, one a general healing potion, the other slowing his heart rate significantly for a few minutes to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

I start suturing the spleen first, playing fast and loose with best practices in the hope that the healing elixir will handle the rest.

My hud shows someone coming back, and I turn to see the concussion guy holding an insect. Except, its a spider.

"That is an arachnid, I need specifically an insect! A fly, ant, grasshopper, bee, anything!"

"Its the same shit, just use-"

No time to argue. I splash him with the hypnosis potion, repeating my command as he staggers off. What a waste.

Next, I suture the stomach. The spleen already seems to be healing itself, so I hope the stomach follows the same process.

Outside, I hear sudden screaming, loud enough to hear over the gunfire. Fortunately, that means it's not Kudzu's screaming.

I sew together the skin. No doubt it'll be a hell of a scar based on my patchy job. I picture my doctorate throwing itself off a bridge as I look at the rough line. Still, it'll hold.

The concussion guy comes back, now holding a very angry wasp that has been repeatedly stinging his thumb.

I take a vial of water from my pocket as I stand, looking through disused filing cabinets, eventually finding an ancient brown paper to take a scrap from. I drop it into the water vial, and quickly shove the wasp in with it as I cap it off. I shake it as I withdraw a scalpel from my coat, slicing through the tourniquet as my potion glows a yellowish green. I take my last clean syringe, injecting it into his arm, and watch as the flesh propagates back into place. It will also stimulate blood production as well, hopefully, though that aspect can be hit or miss.

I stand up, looking into the eyes of the concussed man.

severe concussion, gasoline + human brain tissue + moss

Fuck. That's a tough one. Maybe there are some corpses I could rob from? Or maybe just let the concussion be...

My train of thought is interrupted by a seven foot tall bipedal alligator ripping the office door off its hinges, hissing menacingly.

I freeze, not sure what to do.

It hisses again, pointing to a series of bullet wounds.

Yeah. That I can do, at least.

When the last of the gunfire was concluded, there were two deaths on the Kudzu side, five on Ji-Won's side. An absurdly high death toll for what are usually just shots exchanged over cover as bluster.

At least one of Ji-Won's people was shot through the skull, which allowed me to crouch down and take a loose smear of brain.

dead, gas from Saturn + any sauropod blood + antimatter +

I, of course, cut it off. Every time I look at someone dead, it starts listing a half dozen impossible things. It's almost funny, especially since it changes with each corpse.

With the last potion made and all five of my patients recovered enough to walk out of the building on their own, I take their example and return to where Gil's car was parked. Surprisingly, it was still there, and upon seeing me Gil leapt out to open the door for me.

"All of my gratitude, Gil." I say, sliding into my seat and ignoring whatever blood and organs I'm covered in.

He stays silent for a moment as he sits in the car, until breaking out in hysteric laughter. "Oh my god, your gratitude? Yours? Are you actually insane beneath that mask? You saved five of our guys, one of which was the only reason we made it out of that fight. The drone footage was miserable until then."

He seemed like the kind of guy to watch a fight from a laptop, instead of being there himself. I would be, too, if I wasn't so useful.

"I appreciate your acknowledgement, allied acquaintance. I must ask, the fifth will be counted towards my debt, yes?"

"Counted towards- look, you need to talk to Kingfisher. Ethan will take us to him now."

I sigh into the mask, remembering my volume setting. "Set all to default. Ahh, much more appropriate. Is this meeting required? It could still be resolved with a mere message."

"I'm going to say it's required, because you don't get why it should be."

He's right. I don't. Kingfisher doesn't seem like the type to let me go early after seeing my obvious value. Still... better not piss him off.

"If you insist, sir, then I acquiesce."