A hideous cacophony of beeping drilled into his ears, fire alarms blaring in the background.

But it was nothing compared to the awful throbbing roar in his temples as he got his first good look at the flinty gray eyes of a killer, strangling Val even as he wavered between awareness and final blackness.

Fight, soldier! Fight now!

Val roared at himself as weak, wobbly legs fought for leverage, twisting for all he was worth.

A hard-lined face widened into a rictus of a grin showing yellowed teeth smelling of coffee, nicotine, and worse, his thick fingers squeezing ever harder, strands of oily hair falling free of a comb-over as he redoubled his efforts to murder Val.

"Shoulda stayed under a little bit longer, kid. Potassium Sorbate was already in your blood, but you just had to twist and tear out the line, you little shit."

Val hissed and wheezed as the man abruptly let go with one hand, smashing Val's nose as hard as he could.

The shock of pain tore through the hideous fog enveloping Val.

"You think you can fight me? You think you're going to win this, you little fucking shit? Hell no. I'm winning. I'm winning!"

Val fought desperately against his enemy's leather-gloved grip, tucking his chin in to make it that much harder to strangle him. But his position was horrid and if he didn't do something soon, he was dead.

The killer chuckled as Val's right hand fell away. "That's right, kid. Time for to go to sleep, and me to get paid."

Grey eyes widened as the man gasped in shock, nose slammed by a palm strike too weak to break it.

Val saw the killer's snarl, knew the man was going to beat him like a savage, it being projected with hot furious eyes and suddenly raised fists.

Eyes bulging out, the thug stumbled back and wheezed as Val lashed out with a desperate spear hand to trachea the instant before he lowered his head once more.

Left hand throbbing, a panicked and disoriented Val paid it no mind as he still felt the killer's grip, feeling at last the cord of leather strangling him even now. His vision began tunneling, a curious roaring in his ears as he began to collapse.

Fight, damn you, fight!

Sheer panic kept him awake as trembling fingers struggled to unknot the corded leather, forcing himself to icy calm as death came for him at last, his desperate fingers at finally loosening the twist. Unwind. Unwind. Off.

An indescribably sweet breath of sweet, sweet air and Val wanted to sob with relief even as the ugly man who had come so close to killing him lurched up himself with a snarl, the room awash in flashing red light.

"You little shit!" his would-be killer cursed, barely audible as the alarms blared on, Val desperately rolling out of the wheeled bed and onto the floor, feeling a painful jerk as tubing was ripped out of his arm.

"I'm going to kill you for that!"

And as the thug reached into his sports jacket pocket, time seemed to slow into final furious seconds, Val shifting his balance and launching himself forward, ramming his bed ahead of him like a linebacker would a blocking dummy, slamming it into his foe so hard the man wheezed and cried out, slammed to the ground.

Cold fury met confused disbelief, the dreams of a boy vanishing instantly into the raging storm of a killer aloud no rest, no quarter, attacked when he was most vulnerable, who could answer with nothing less than sheer primal rage.

Save for the mild thump and crack of bed hitting struggling assassin and he falling to the ground, everything was drowned out by the still blaring alarm, The room lit only by the flashing red lights from the hallway and what light shown through the windows, but Val could see his curled foe well enough, snarling as he kicked and pounded and stomped and felt the darkest of thrills as ribs collapsed under his furious assault, gazing into the eyes of a foe who knew he was mastered before slamming his heel down and breaking the would-be assassin's neck with a final furious crack.

Deep, shuddering breaths as Val strove for control, his wild frenzy quickly turning into the hyper-alertness of someone being stalked. His utter disorientation aside, he knew he was in someone's crosshairs.

Why he was in a hospital, he neither knew nor cared. He had to get out, and fast. There was a dead body in his room and self-defense or no, he had struck back with a madman's fury, and civilians who had never known the desperate terror of fighting for one's life would never understand the rage that had compelled him, would only think he was himself the savage, no matter that this monster had clearly entered his room with a killer's tools in hand, doing all he could to assassinate Val.

He frowned as he caught sight of the discarded syringe, mostly full, and Val wondered at what had caused him to jerk and pull away, forcing his would-be killer to resort to more brutal methods. He gazed down at his throbbing arm, looking at the blood trickling from his mangled port, hissing only once as he deliberately untaped and took out the bloody tube still in his forearm, eyes spotting tape and gauze readily enough, sparing only a handful of seconds to bandage the thankfully minor wound, noting no other injuries save throbbing fingers and heel, able to walk and flex his fingers without hindrance.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But the last thing he could afford was to stand around in a daze with a body two feet from him. It didn't look good no matter how one spun it, and if he stuck around he'd end up in a holding cell or back in a hospital bed, only now cuffed in place. A perfect sucker for his enemy to target a second time while a corrupt judicial system might or might not give him a fair day in court.

Val was on someone's kill list, and he needed to find out who before he wound up as dead as the battered corpse by his feet.

A deep, focusing breath. Within seconds Val had stripped his would-be assassin of items, eyes widening at the stack of hundreds the man had been carrying, his burner phone unsecured and showing three unlisted numbers. The man's wallet had a well-forged license out to a Kent Smith with matching discount cards and one charge card. He had been a professional, and clever enough to turn off all the equipment and setting off the alarms as well, Val assumed, before trying to inject him with a compound that Val knew could be used as an almost untraceable means of killing, having to resort to strangulation only when all else failed. The man had been no martial artist, but even an improvised garrote could be damn effective. If he had been facing anyone else besides Val...

He took a deep breath, suppressing post-combat shakes he knew wanted to come, but there was no time. He had to focus and act. Fortunately higher end throw-away phones could take a half decent pic as well as download the simpler apps, and Val made sure to snap the license, face, hands, leather strap, and other incriminating evidence before checking for internet coverage and uploading the pics to one of the numerous dummy accounts he had in cyberspace for just such situations as what someone in his former line of work could expect.

Val then forced himself to do what he had been avoiding, changing into his would-be killer's clothes. Fortunately, the man had been true to stereotype, his attire a uniform charcoal gray. Not so dark as to make a statement, but dark and bland enough to just fade into the background. A few seconds of cleaning and the sports jacket looked serviceable enough. One could hardly see the flecks of blood he hadn't quite been able to get out, and Val knew what to look for. Most would not. Black socks hid at first glance that the pants were too short, the jacket covering how much he had to cinch the belt. The shoes were the worst, but a couple slits from the knife Val found in a pants pocket allowed for surprising comfort, and hardly a tell. If nothing else, dressing completely in black was working to Val's advantage.

And it was only when he was slipping on the slacks that Val realized he had felt not a lick of pain in his legs the whole time.

Of the hideous burns that had melted skin and muscle like plastic, there was no trace.

And the face gazing back from the mirror as Val spared a quick second, making sure he could fit his role, chilled him to the quick.

It was him, but not him.

Flawless, free of all blemishes, and utterly symmetrical. Dark blue eyes gazed back at him, hair rich and full as he remembered. There was no trace of the ugly scar he had received as a parting gift from the engagement that had almost killed him. And the face looking back at him looked far too young, and as cold and hard as the most ruthless commander. Val swallowed and looked away, oddly disturbed by features both far more innocent, and deadly, than those he remembered.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, refusing to spend a moment longer on the puzzle. Did someone give him plastic surgery? Was he trying to escape something?" He swallowed, wondering if memory loss had been an unwanted side effect for whatever had happened to him.

"Regeneration therapy? Is there even such a thing?" he muttered to himself, but refused to waste any more time.

The would-be killer gazed back at him with eyes already lost to death's rapture. His hands were calloused, but his wiry arms were covered in track marks and sores. Val grimaced, a dozen possible scenarios playing out in his head, knowing exactly what he had to do. Anything else, and he would be a wanted man.

Val quickly inspected the hospital windows. A flash of triumph to see it was only a pair of screws that kept the window from opening, and a few intense moments carefully unscrewing them with the tip of his would-be killer's knife was all he needed to solve that problem, carefully putting them aside.

He then turned to the body, quickly looking around. There. Exactly what he needed. Slapping on a pair of disposable gloves conveniently left among other various and sundry by the bedroom sink, Val double wrapped the body tightly together after cushioning the head in pillows, ripping up a spare hospital grown with frantic hands and careful application of the knife, providing him with a number of convenient strips he wrapped tightly around the body, securing everything in place. giving a satisfied nod when it was done.

He grimaced. Now for the hard part. He dragged the body over to the windowsill, gazing out into the night below, relieved beyond words to find that this window of the hospital didn't open to a busy thoroughfare, overlooking a darkened alley instead. A careful moment spent eyeing all around. There was no movement. Val supposed an alleyway between two buildings was not the ideal meetup point for a fire drill, and any homeless person or junky had no doubt shuffled off with the first blares.

A few hard heaves and Val had levered the body half out the window, amazed as ever at how cumbersome deadweight was. A final glance. All secure. With an anxious breath, he heaved the rest of the way, watching the body slowly tumble through the night before crashing to the ground. Val flashed a tight smile. Nothing burst or splattered, the main reason for tying the bedding securely and cushioning the skull.

And now it was time to clean up all traces and leave as fast as he possibly could.

A quick glance some moments later showed a nighttime corridor suddenly blessedly silent, the alarm finally turned off, and a cluster of hospital staff was gathered by the far elevators, gossiping animatedly. Were they so jaded with drills and false alarms that they hadn't even thought to evacuate patients? Some hospitals were that lax, staff told to stand ready without actually evacuating patients until administration gave them the okay, too distracted by buzzers, flashing lights, and the hype of the moment to worry about quieter individual patient alarms pinging off. A horrible risk for patients, but great policy for a would-be assassin wanting to throttle helpless victims with minimal interference.

Val was more than slightly surprised that the main lights hadn't turned back on, and no one even looking in his direction, but he was not so foolish as to waste the opportunity. He closed his eyes, imagining himself somehow sinking into the now quiet thrums and shadows of the building, as he were just one more cog in the sleeping beast that was the hospital. When he left his room his movements were purposeful without being hurried, somehow always where people weren't looking, a bland, tired expression painted on his features. A visitor unworthy of notice as he made his way to the staircase, exactly where he thought it might be, just the logical spot for a T shaped building like this hospital. And how he knew that, he neither knew nor cared, having learned long ago to trust the intuition that had served him so well.

Until it hadn't.

An abrupt buzz in his pocket as he raced down the stairs, knowing he needed a plan. Val frowned and paused, seeing a message from the most recent caller.

-U done? Cold as fuck out here-

Val smiled, a plan already clicking into place.