The reason I walk in the light

Chapter #8 Day

I wake up in a flimsy hospital bed with multiple IV's in my arm injecting me with God-knows-what and my leg is in bandages. Well, at least it's remained whole which is more than I can say for my splintered ego. The outmoded version of myself that grew up on the streets would've been profoundly disappointed.

I can't remember how I ended up here but I was with June in her apartment, shot and her tongue was working wonders. It was everything and nothing at all. Where's June now?

I get a sudden urge to pull out the needles meddled in my arms but instead focus on regaining my composure. I absorb my surroundings, coming to the conclusion that this pathetic excuse of a hospital is not up to par to treat even the most wretched of criminals. To my right, a rusted mayo stand presents what I can only assume to be surgical utensils.  Dust stretches a mile high, covering most of the visible surfaces and I stifle a sneeze, not yet in the mood to alert the indignant ward of my consciousness anew. Cob webs hang over every corner of the room where spiders could latch on and I release an involuntary snort of disgust. Not exactly sanitary.

A minute and three extra snorts later, it occurs to me that the windowless box has only one entrance- and exit. Planing an escapade will require some effort then. Proceeding to sift through all of the information in my drowsy mind perpetually dulled my lingering instincts to run like hell.

The door into the grade z suite croaks and a female in a lab suit with curly, ruby red hair strides in. A familiar pang of anxiety hits me cold-heartedly as my previous hospital inquires quickly resurface. Racing through my notably limited options, I quell my thumping heartbeat and fall into a mock-up sleeping fit.

The women- not a day over 21- fails to notice I've already awoken as her riveting eyes, the same shade of her vermilion hair, busily scan the clipboard in her hands. She stealthily replaces the IVs, her nimble fingers moving to the beat of a silent rhythm acquired with years of practice, draining more poison into my bloodstream.

The feeling in my gut that I don't belong in this asylum swells, anxiety swirling out of my control. My breathing gets progressively heavier and that seems to grab the attention of the unwelcome visitor. I drop my useless facade.

She quickly examines my face, her slick brows ever so slightly furrowed, as she takes in the bullet wound on my leg. Her appearance is rather well kept in comparison my conditions, not at all what I expected in this cheap package. I got to admit that she is mighty fine and don't bother hiding the bemused grin that's spreading, falling back to one of my most favorable qualities.

"How you doin'?" I slur. The intoxicating effects of whatever drug they used on me still prominent due to my lack of flirting abilities.

Her curls fall into her eyes as she give me an innocent smile and I'm just about to say something else when she abruptly pivots on her heel and calls out, "Он только что проснулся. Пришло время начать второй этап."

Foreign language, that rang an alarm in my head.

Not particularly inclined to manners, my time in this goddy room has come to an end. Preparing my muscles for abrupt use, I single handedly rip out my IVs and jump into a fighting stance. Knees slightly bent, elbows tucked in, and knuckles protecting my face- John's face.

Without wasting a second more to ponder, I swing my fist, withdrawing power from a small reservoir of energy that remained despite my intoxication. It makes contact in the delicate spot between the shoulder and neck and knocks my alluring doctor unconscious. Strangely enough, she didn't put up a fight.

Adrenaline takes the wheel as I sprint out of the doorway, muscles whining in protest. My vision a blur, muscle memory leads me through the hall and out the back. Fools, to leave me on the first floor. I scan the environment around me, a few buildings littering the otherwise empty street. The trees, barely hanging on to a wisp of life, whistle and sway in the breeze. I tune into the nature and sprint like hell this time around.

That is until my leg began throbbing. At first, dull tendrils of pain wrap around my bones and suddenly they began pulsing. Wave after wave of pain consumes my limb and I'm staggering to the nearest crumbling foundation. Bidding my leg just to get to a high rise for some sort of vantage point against potential enemies.

Slowing down to a limp and climbing up the stairs with a burden, I count six total floors. However the sixth one seems like a millennium away, my leg just a paper weight beneath me. The fifth will do. I slump down near a window, my spine aching from the cold stone. The years spent in Antarctica had an apparent affect on my swagger.

Sparing a moment to return my breathing to a steady rhythm, I turn my attention to sharpening my senses. Straining my ears to hear any threats, I reluctantly unwrap the white bandage. At least the wound hasn't ruptured. Unveiling the last layer, the leg looks suspiciously... well, normal. Not a trace of the bullet wound remains, only a wicked bruise in its stead. I give it a test, flexing the muscle. Determining the leg functional, I stood back up to conduct a sweep through the perimeter. A rookie mistake on my part to wait this long but I deemed the neglected building safe for now.

I sensed- rather than saw- somebody's presence, flitting on the roof. A skittering rock, sent across an opening in the ceiling, rolled to a stop in front of me. The open floor plan didn't leave me with many options to hide and only a rickety wooden chair is at my disposal in the clearing. It'll have to do.

I drop down to unscrew one of the legs chipped from years of use, but sharp enough to puncture a hole or two. Just enough to disable. I keep the makeshift weapon pressed against my forearm, intending a surprise attack on my assailant and press into the shadows overlooking the edge of the floor.

The pattering footsteps on the stairs, quiet enough to be dismissed as a scurrying animal, turns to my direction.

The person treads over toward me with feline grace, clad in black, her figure sent from the heavens above. Slender waist and beautiful hips. Her long legs muscular but lean. A heavy black hood conceals a majority of her features, though her fair skin was evident. An enticing young women to say the least. And her straight posture; this girl was not from the slums, no she was elite. How goddy convenient.

She took another hesitant step and this time I whirled out of the darkness and slammed the stick across her abdomen. Retracting my hand to instigate another swing, angling my improvised weapon sharp point forward, the girl back-hands my forearm and I drop the stick just out of reach. Dammit.

With inhumane speed she pins me down on the floor, knee digging into my chest, and golden flecked eyes gazing into my soul.

What a warm welcome back to the republic.

(A/N: Ahhh, sorry for the extended wait but I'm back! Summer and Marie Lu's finale REBEL has got me inspired again to work with whatever this is. Thank you for your continued support! I will try to update at least once a week)