Time passed between the occupants of the lobby and those of the cafeteria. Conversations rose and fell in tone and loudness, as they often did with their normal passing. Staff off duty, Asche among them, drifted off to bed or residences outside the Hospital. There was nothing of interest to catch the attention of Dr. Joseff Jansenn as he set foot into the hallway, clipboard in hand. He was dressed in surgical scrubs, at least as well as could be procured in this scavenging time. They were a bit worn, and had been washed perhaps a few too many times than was good for them. Still, the provided some protection from the patient gore that trekked it's way through the front doors. His destination was the lobby, for check-in, when he recognized Terra's elevated voice in the cafeteria as he passed. He took no real notice and continued on his way. But someone did take notice of Terra's tone."Since when do you run my life?" Garth snapped at his wife. Even for what would have earlier past for a harmless remark, he was defensive. The spectre of Locutus and the battle was all too fresh in his mind.
"What is going on with you?" Terra's voice took on a more demanding, shrill tone.
He looked at her, puzzled by the question. "Huh? Nothing, why?" Without the benefit of his glasses - Bliss still had those, and she had long since retired to bed to stave off a headache - his eyes could be clearly seen, though they revealed nothing.
The woman's voice fell to a barely audible whisper. "You've changed."
"What do you mean?" Garth chuckled at her. "I'm still the same ole Justice." It was not so Freudian a slip that he did not say 'Garth'.
Her words were frozen in time, and clipped surer than an eagle's wings. "Exactly! There is no Justice! Damnit, you don't even know who you are!"
"I know exactly who I am!" It was the same demon that had already begun tormenting him, and he recoiled slightly at her recognition of that fact.
"Is that so?" One could almost picture her crossing her arms over her chest. "Tell me. Who are you?"
"I'm … I'm Gar," he faltered in his speech, just as Locutus had done in his dying step. "I'm Jus … I'm … I'm …." In a flurry of motion, he stood quickly and left Terra there, stricken, in the cafeteria as he made swift passage to the lobby.
A panicked look washed over him and injected it's presence into his very soul. He had no idea who he was, and fought to grasp the answer. Any answer, be it wrong or be it right, anything was better than the ravaging uncertainty that undermined his very being. The confines of the Hospital were left behind as he took to the streets. Knees found pavement with a crack as he fell to a position of prayer. Violet orbs were cast to the sky in pleading solitude, desperately seeking the answer to the unvoiced question. But no answer was forthcoming. His cries harkened out into the night. "Damn you! Damn you all! Damn you Sabatt! Damn you Venexx! Damn you Makkabb! But damn you most of all, Derrell … you who claims to be my father!" The fist shaking blasphemy continued even as Boyle took his leave.
"Let it all out loverboy", he muttered, observing Garth as the motorcycle rumbled it's way into the night. He was not noticed by the kneeling one and he wouldn't have cared anyway. He had more sights to see.
Somewhere, in a deserted alleyway of New Rydynn, a match was struck. The hand that held it poised just enough away from the cigarette to keep it dead and lifeless, held the fire close enough to illuminate the one good eye. The wind tussled his hair, tickling the bridge of his nose. Boots crunched upon the littered street, the drag of the now lit cigarette burning brightly. A thin wisp of smoke trailed out of the corner of his mouth as he paused before the doors to the Hospital. One final drag was taken before the cancer stick was flicked end over end into the street and he stepped inside the antiseptic environment of the Hospital. His indigo blue flitted over the lobby in perusal of those who still remained. He spied the one he wanted, and joined Asche at the desk for general conversation.
Terra lifted her head up from the table and smiled weakly to Dr. Jansenn. His check-in complete, he had made his way back to the cafeteria with the dual purpose of coffee and checking up on his friend. Finding it rather prudent to engage her in a subject other than the argument that he had overheard, they spoke of work and an impending surgical procedure. She was grateful for this … the one thing she had always been able to immerse herself in was her work. A good man, Joseff, and she remembered how his deft approach at dealing with people, had earned him respect even above his medical knowledge. Thankfully, the technical discussion continued on for quite some time, affording her a break from the already stressful night.
"Son of Derrell", muttered Garth in the street beyond. "That's what they call me. The Son of Derrell. If that's what they wsy, I can deliver." He swept himself off of the street and stalked his way back towards the Havenn. He had not gotten too far from the Hospital, under a mile at best, when a small humanoid form launched itself onto his back, hands clawing towards his eyes. A stitch in the trenchcoat ripped as he reached behind him and grabbed the neck of the body and thew it forward onto the cracked pavement. The sickening sounds of pretzels underfoot was heard as bones snapped out of their original configuration. He looked down heatedly at his accoster, to discover that it was a small boy, no older than seven.
Zac had made his visit to the Hospital and stepped once more over the threshold of the entrance doors. A wind caught his coat and sent it billowing behind him. The one-eyed man smirked to himself and headed down the street, in a direction opposite from the one that Garth had taken. He had produced another cigarette and let it dangle precariously, unlit, from his lower lip. The rolled tobacco shifted positions as he rifled through his pockets idlly during his stroll.
Meanwhile, several outraged urchins shrieked their outrage at the attack on one of their own and Garth found himself surrounded. Even in this dismal light, he saw that several of the street rats had drawn rusted knives and he waited until they were just close enough … just within range. It did not matter to him that they were children. It did not matter to him and he once was a Freemen and revered life above all else. It mattered only that his soldier's instincts and skills took over, corrupted though they may have been. He lashed out with the full brutality of a grown soldier and ear shattering crunches were heard as some of the smaller children were unceremoniously drop kicked and others ruthlessly punched. Five lay scattered, bent and broken on the street before the others turned and fled in horror.
The water on the street would run red this day as Garth looked around. A total of six lay in their absurd and macabre discarded puppet poses, as carelessly tossed aside, as would a child's forgotten toy in a chair. Sheer panic and mania engulfed the fallen man as he gazed upon his latest work. His body wavered as his knees threatened to betray him. A loud manic scream pierced the night through broken lips, testament to what he had himself witnessed. The madness in his eyes shone through as again gods were cursed.
Rifling hands soon find what they are looking for, and so was it the case again. A butane lighter was produced from a deep pocket and Zac thumbed it. The odd, muted windtunnel sound was heard as the lighter sparked and fed off of it's private reservoir. A sudden flare of flame brought the cigarette to life, and he took a chest-filling drag. His travel was geared down a few back alleys, and he found that he had almost circumvented the Hospital, and was not so terribly far from it. A key was produced upon sighting his vehicle, but it was a sound in the night that prevented his unlocking of the door. The scream was intriguing, seemingly littered with moans of despair, and it was not something he could just ignore. He followed it, turning several corners until he saw the dark silhouette of a man in what looked to be rage.
The shadowed man, in so many more ways than one, suddenly bolted from the scene. The trenchcoat he wore flapped up behind him like a gigantic cape and he ran for all he was worth. He ran like he expected another attack, either physical or ballistic. The psychosis drove him onward as he wove in and out of alleyways, desperate to get away from the place that he had just been, when the stench of fresh blood still clung to his nostrils. He simply ran, though he was wending slow passage back towards the Hospital. He knew he needed help, but he knew not how nor where to ask for it.
Zac swore violently under his breath at the flight of the other man. He wasn't sure who it had been, but he knew that no sane man just stands out in the middle of the street cursing all of creation. That was all this city needed - another psychopath running rampant on the streets. He was about to turn and leave when he heard minute sounds coming from a pile of rubble.
"Help."
He walked on, his boots slowly crunching gravel beneath them, following the piteous moan. The smell of newly spilt blood assaulted him and he stiffened.
"Help."
A brow was arched as he walked down the deserted street and came across a form lying across a torn down wall. "What the hell?" His fingers fell to the child's wrist to check for a pulse. He found none. The kid was dead.
"Help … please."
The man with the one eye turned his head again and found the source of the plea. He knelt beside him and tried with ginger hands to stop the bleeding from the boy's head. It was appalling, really, what had been visited upon one so young. He was bleeding from just about every surface inch of skin
"Someone … " The boy doesn't see the man helping him, but he can feel him and hands reach up and out for some form of contact.
Zac gritted his teeth and winced, privy to his own rage. "Hush up, kid."
"He killed … Kevv …", came another scratched reply.
Fear lodged itself in Zac's throat, as does the pain. Another event was being relived, and he was going to be damned if the ending was going to be the same. "Hang on, little buddy."