The drive out of the woods to Celna's hospital was absolute hell. Once Martinez and Kyroll had come down from their adrenaline highs, reality slammed into them like a sledgehammer.

In an instant, both went from alert and ready for a fight to absolutely exhausted and fading in and out of consciousness.

Luckily, both men had medical training and experience in high-stress environments and understood very well what they had to do in their predicament. Each had to ensure the other stayed calm and did not fall into shock.

To do this, they followed one of the basic tenets of medical treatment and first aid: keeping the patient talking.

Both understood that the conversation subjects did not matter. What mattered was that they kept communicating, keeping their minds occupied, and keeping themselves from drifting away into the darkness.

They started with prominent subjects, their military careers, aspirations, and family lives, but that could only last for so long. As the blood flowed, more arduous topics were no longer available to their cognitive abilities, so they changed to telling corny jokes and funny stories to one another.

Each lacked context to fully understand what the other was joking about or what some puns were; they had lost so much blood and were concussed so horrendously that they were more incoherently babbling to one another than properly delivering punch lines.

By the time Martinez had parked the truck and assisted Kyroll in limping through the emergency room doors, neither was speaking; just staying conscious took their entire holistic focus.

It was as if a wave of safety and serenity crashed into them and forced them to their knees. The second the nurse manning the desk realized they were there, all the fight flushed from their bodies in a euphoric wave.

Later, Martinez and Kyroll learned that the little Prinoral manning the desk screamed bloody murder and fainted when they stumbled up and looked like they died on the floor. From her point of view, two corpses had stumbled in and fallen upon her desk, muttering that they needed help.

The rest of the night and the following morning was a blur, filled with fading glimpses of nurses, doctors, X-rays, injections, and a million other treatments.

Both had to be rushed into emergency surgery for their injuries. Martinez’s ulna and radial looked like they had been sent through a wood chipper, his forearm having swollen to the size of a balloon by the time he had made it into the OR.

Kyroll was in no better shape; if anything, he was far worse. That he was suffering from massive hemorrhaging was in no way a surprise; between his punctured lung and an open fracture, he was lucky to have survived as long as he had.

Given a few more minutes, the outcome of his survival very well could have changed for the worse.

Luckily, the GU's medical prowess and Celna's incredible familiarity with injured Aviex equipped them to keep Kyroll's heart beating and the lungs filling with life-sustaining fluids throughout his struggles—at least once they drained all the blood from his lungs.

Both Human and Aviex patients were expected to make a full recovery; they would just be stuck wearing casts for a few weeks and were prescribed a potent cocktail of painkillers, muscle relaxers, and nanite capsules.

Those nanite capsules were the blessing that ensured they would make full recoveries, taking the recovery and rehab time from months to days at most.

Unlike old Human medicine, neither would require pins and bolts or external framing to hold their bones together.

But like all things in the medical field, the nanobots are a give and a take. Having one's body forcibly stitched together from the inside was not pleasant by any means; it was painful to the point where most passed out repeatedly, but because of their hardy constitutions, stubborn as mule personalities, and the cocktail of medications, they were forced to take, they just needed bed rest for the next few days.

The following afternoon, they were both conscious, caught up on what had happened, and could be identified as more than just a pair of strange John Does who limped in during the darkness of night.

Once identified, their emergency contacts and the police were called.

Until told by a nurse, Martinez did not know who his emergency contacts were in the GU; as far as he knew, he didn't have any. Setting some up just never crossed his mind. If he did, he would have chosen Harnsis, the Director, and maybe even Chloe. At least then, some solid minds could handle his affairs while in the hospital.

The GU thought similarly to him. Shiksie was his primary emergency contact, but she'd never answered, no matter how much they attempted to reach her. Martinez was worried to learn that his mentor, of all people, wasn't answering her phone. It was so unlike her to not be Johnny on the spot for others.

Shiksie might not have made the best choices during their last interaction, but that didn't mean he didn't care for the woman; they were still friends, at least he hoped so. Had she abandoned him entirely? Or did something happen?

Harnsis, his secondary contact, did answer. The doctor was understanding and very professional about the situation and even made some recommendations to the doctors and clinicians here in Celna regarding Martinez's treatment and recovery plan.

It made sense that Harnsis did so; he was a Human expert in all but title. He had more experience working on injured Humans than anyone else on the planet save for Martinez himself, but while the Human was high on drugs, he was useless.

With all of that out of the way and a few more vacation days added to Martinez's leave to cover how long he would be in the hospital, Martinez was left alone in his hospital room, with nothing but the TV and the view of snow falling outside to keep him company.

For some reason, the sheriff decided that Martinez should not be allowed to use his datapad to contact Lysa or Nelya, insisting that he wished to speak to both Kyroll and the Human before they were allowed any exterior communications.

Martinez knew how well that would go over with Lysa. If she was on the warpath, it was bad enough, and if Nelya's past actions showed her cunning, open combat in the lobby was not out of the question.

No force from sentients or God could keep those two passionate women from what they wanted.

A short time later, just as Martinez started investing in trash daytime TV and the woes of the contestants on ‘Dating My Mate’s Mother,’ there was a knock on the door and an announcement of the sheriff's presence.

Martinez had to admit the sheriff was not what he had expected it would have been coming through that door, not because they were outlandish or anything along those lines but because of how average they seemed.

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Sheriff Shalala was a brown Farun’se who was just starting to show their age through gray fur around his snout, ears, and dull, tired amber eyes. That, coupled with his disheveled khaki uniform, completed a picture of a man who had been around the world twice and talked to everyone once.

"So, Mr. Martinez," Shalala said, briefly checking his datapad before looking back up towards the Human prone in the bed. “I hear you had a horrible night."

"That's one way of putting it," Martinez groaned, sitting up slightly while, watching as the sheriff closed the door and moved to a seat near the bedside.

Shalala lowered himself into the chair, grumbling as his joints cracked and popped, evidence of his wear and age. "So the nurses can't tell me much about what happened. Would you care to come in and fill me in?"

"Can I ask why you want to know? It seems odd that the police are investigating us," Martinez questioned, hoping to get some information on whether or not he needed to seek a lawyer or keep his mouth shut while in the presence of this officer.

Now, Martinez was not the most versed in legal-eez, but knew if one was being investigated as a criminal, you should shut up and let lawyers do the talking.

Shalala snorted like he was cutting off a laugh and smirked at Martinez, his radar dish-like ears fluttering while his tail swayed quickly back and forth. "Usually, you're right, but bear in mind this is a big but; we had two John Doe show up half dead. One was a class red, while the other is," Shalala explained while pointing a pen at Martinez. “Is a classification black, and what are the newest members of the Galactic Union? So this situation is a bit out of the ordinary, to put it lightly," he finished while twirling his pen in the air as if to enunciate the strangeness of the event.

"Sir, that really didn't answer my question. Why are you looking into this?" Martinez repeated quickly, picking up on the non-answer that the sheriff attempted to force down his throat.

The officer's ears drooped as he was perturbed by Martinez's asking the question at all. His eyes narrowed as he scanned every detail of Martinez, plucking apart each twitch, breath, and bead of sweat on the Human.

That was curious. Was that just a trait of the Farun' se species? Shiksie would do the same when questioned or asked something that made her truly have to think.

"Because this would not be the first time a hunting accident turned out to be a targeted attack on a red species—the Aviex especially," the sheriff said, almost sounding ashamed that anything had occurred in the past. “So I just wish to assure you that it is genuinely what this was."

Martinez clenched his entire body as his heart rate spiked; thank God it wasn't on a monitor; otherwise, the sheriff would have to read him like a book.

What should he tell the sheriff? That Kyroll was going to try to kill him after drugging and leaving him out in the woods? That girlfriend's father had illicit drugs and bait to lure in the Milurt? That Kyroll’s friend was complicit in this?

An odd feeling conflicted Martinez as if two animals were attempting to reach the throat of one another inside his mind.

The Marines, Navy, and society at large would undoubtedly say to turn Kyroll in under the pretense that he was an unhinged man ready to commit murder. But Martinez was unsure; they had fought together at this point. Combat was a galvanizing experience that left one's true nature to bear—Kyroll did not seem horrible at this point.

Simultaneously, images of Nelya wailing as her family is ripped apart wracked his mind. Could he condemn Nelya to living poorly? And take away the man she loved, his flaws withstanding?

Along with the reality that he and Lysa made so much effort to connect to Kyroll, their relationship was the entire reason they were in Celna, after all.

Analyzing the sheriff, Martinez tried to gauge if the man already knew anything, trying to determine if he could tell if Martinez started to blow smoke up his ass. But that was a futile effort; this old Farun’se sitting across from him was about as easy to read as a brick wall.

With no way to tell whether the choice was sound, but deep in his heart, knowing it was correct, Martinez bent one of his core values to the point where it was mere moments from snapping by omitting the details of the truth.

Over the next hour, Martinez meticulously selected details of his relationship with Kyroll, Nelya, and Lysa and why he and the old Aviex were alone in the woods.

The sheriff made no indication of spotting falsities, simply nodding and asking for periodic clarifications, mainly cultural ones such as what Ruh'ah and Gra'hu meant, along with asking him to repeat some of the events that led up to the hunting trip.

Then came Martinez's forged lies. He was not one to lie, and when it was, they were small white ones that meant nothing. Because of this, keeping a story straight when the sheriff kept digging into him like he was in search of gold was not easy.

He must have done a satisfactory job, as the only thing Shalala asked was clarification on how they got away, clearly not believing that Martinez had carried the Kyroll while the older man provided covering fire.

"So, are you certain that's all that happened?" Shalala questioned, tapping his stylus on his data pad.

"Yes, sir," Martinez nodded, unsure about the intense glare the officer was giving him.

"You're certain you left nothing out?" Shalala half hissed, leaning in.

"Positive," Martinez nodded.

Shalala’s nostrils flared, taking in the scents that the Human was giving off, which only made Martinez more nervous. Shiksie could smell anything on him, even if it was days later that roused the question.

What could this Sheriff pick up on?

Leaning back and tucking away his datapad, Shalala pulled out a second one and tossed it onto the table next to Martinez. "Alright, this is yours: don't worry, it's untouched. I didn't have a warrant to go through it. I just wanted to ensure I had both your stories before letting you have this back." The sheriff finished with the slightest smirk.

"Is that legal?" Martinez halfway croaked, pulling back the data pad.

"What, holding onto your property for the sake of what I was doing? Yes, that was legal. You're under investigation and technically detainment. I just didn't feel like putting cuffs on you," Shalala shrugged before standing and heading towards the door.

Before the older man reached the portal, he turned back around and glanced at Martinez. "If you do remember anything else, give me a call."

Martinez nodded as the officer exited and closed the door.

Before Martinez’s heart had managed to calm down, he had opened his datapad, wishing to see if what the officer said was true. Not that he would be able to tell anything that was tampered with—still, there were plenty of nude pictures of Lysa he would rather not have on public record.

Instead of assured knowledge of tampering, he was met with an unholy amount of notifications.

Most were from Lysa and Nelya, asking if he was all right and requesting an explanation of why neither was on the emergency contact list; the doctors and nurses wouldn't let him see them.

Both used rather flowery verbiage to explain their gripes about not being someone he trusted. Martinez could explain Nelya—as wondrous as she was, he hardly knew her.

Lysa, however, could not explain, especially from an Aviex point of view, where sleeping with someone means you love them and want kids.

He made a mental note to ask the nurse to let them see him. Interacting with those two bubbly souls would make him feel immensely better. They were the best women in his life, after all. The other notification was more unsettling.

Why did Chloe message him?

Martinez's throat dried when he opened the message and felt his heart sink.

Chloe: Hello there, Henry. I heard you were injured. I hope you get well soon. Oh, and whenever you are back in town, let's get lunch. I'm so tired of you being such a stranger.

The thought of how Chloe would pour those venomous words made Martinez nearly gag.

If Martinez could avoid that vile woman until the day he died, he would be rapturous, but clearly, she was keeping tabs on him. How was something he couldn't even grasp, mainly because he had only been in the hospital for less than half a day? But she knew where he was.

Hoping it was just Cloe being a bit neurotic, Martinez choked it up to the fact that Chloe was the truest definition of a spook he had ever met; Martinez did not want to reply and push the issue, deciding ignorance was bliss.

After reconciling Chloe’s message in his mind, Martinez hailed a nurse and requested they let Nelya and Lysa in, wanting the best women in his life to visit him. Lord knew he wanted some good news at this point.