Chapter Sixteen - Never Late

We made it out of the alleys in time to see a rush of BPD troop transports and armoured personnel carriers rush by, followed by several criminal-tank vans and then a line of fire engines. People were moving out of the way, though the sidewalks were congested as drivers rode up onto them not to be in the cop's way.

"Where do we go now?" Sharp asked.

"Uh..." Derek began. He squinted ahead, then blinked a few times. "Two blocks... that way." He nodded across the road.

I had been keeping both eyes open for any more of those freaks, but so far we hadn't run into any. There had been a couple of them getting their teeth kicked in on one side road, but they were being handled so we just went around.

"What was all that?" Sharp asked. "The weird people, I mean."

"No fucking clue," Derek said. "New gang trying to push for turf? Kinda wild that they'd go after the Riveters. They've been established for a decade or more."

"Yeah," Sharp said. She reached up and scratched me under the chin, and I figured that she wanted me to answer the same question.

"I don't know enough to speculate. But if I were to guess... I don't think that was gang related. That group felt more like a religious one than anything else."

Sharp nodded. "I got a level in Combat, and another In Anima."

Anima? That struck me as very odd. "How did you get your previous levels in Anima?"

She shrugged. "Just be keep on keeping on, I guess."

"What was that?" Derek asked. He slurred his words a little, and I noticed that there were some dribbles of blood staining the sides of his pants. He was still actively bleeding. The longer it took before a paramedic saw to him, the worse it would be, I figured.

Sharp caught on too. We made it to an intersection, then jogged across when there was a pause in the number of police cars moving by. I noticed a large number of people in Riveter colours and clothes moving with the pedestrians. They were usually the ones heading north. Whatever weird cult had started this had really kicked the hornet's nest.

We had some walking to do, still, so I took the time to observe our surroundings, but also to think on Sharp's growth. Anima again. It was by far her highest levelled skill. Combat I could see growing in that encounter, of course. She was... not a good fighter, but she'd put some effort into it, and it was a novel experience, the growth from nothing to one felt earned.

But Anima... "Sharp, did you do anything strange before that fight?"

Sharp swallowed. "I almost didn't fight. I... I wanted to run away."

"That's normal, kid, it's called being smart," Derek said. "Happy you didn't, though... fuck, I should have helped."

"You were shot," Sharp said. "But, uh, yeah, I froze, but I decided that I had to do something when that man kicked yo--kicked Queen Violence Von Ragamuffin."

"I'm not sure about that second part of the name," I said.

So, Anima had risen when she took action. Was Anima linked to willpower in some way? Why not have the stat just be called Willpower, then? Was it more complex than that? There was definitely some sort of supernatural element tied to it.

We really needed a phone charger because I had several hours of research to do.

On arriving at a quieter street a couple of blocks down. Derek raised the arm not pressed to his side and waved a hand over his head. There was a small traumacart ahead of us. A van painted in highlighter yellow with scrolling neon ads on the side. Two men jumped out of the rear, both in bulletproof vests covered in medical cools.

"Are you Mister Derek Slade of Malcom and Weiss?" one of the paramilitary medics asked.

"Yup, that's me. ID is here..." Derek carefully reached into a pocket and retrieved a card. The medic pulled out a card scanner, checked it, then nodded.

"Patient ID confirmed. Image match," he snapped.

The other moved up to Derek's side and immediately started looking him over even as they moved towards the ambulance. "Patient is presenting with signs of obvious discomfort and light bleeding. Patient's skin is paler than ID'd skin tone suggesting anaemia."

"He's been shot," Sharp said.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Patient's companion suggests medical diagnosis of involuntary punctuation. Location?" the medic asked.

Sharp blinked, then touched her side where Derek was shot. "Here. There's no exit wound."

"Yup, got myself involuntarily penetrated," Derek said. "Yay." The last was delivered in a monotone as he was helped into the ambulance and pushed onto a gurney. A moment later his coat was removed and dropped to the floor. There was a third paramilitary medic in the ambulance, in the driver's seat.

"Is this young lady a next of kin, direct family member, or coworker?"

"Uh, no, sorry," Derek said. "Kid, can you make it back to the bikes and get them to the office?"

"I can, I think," Sharp said.

Derek fumbled in his pockets even as the nearest medic assaulted his shirt with some scissors and exposed his wound. He tossed a small key fob to Sharp who caught it. "Lock things up for me, yeah?"

The ambulance door shut with a thump, its sirens went off, and soon it was peeling down the road.

"Uh..." Sharp said intelligently. "Wow... that was something."

"Enjoying your new job?"

"I didn't expect it to be this dangerous," Sharp said. "I think... otherwise it's not too bad. But I know my legs are going to be killing me tomorrow, and uh, I'm not sure if we're going to make it back to the Bat in time."

"Good point. Let's get moving, then. There's a big difference between being a little late and being very late. And I believe that Paris is the kind of person to notice that difference quite keenly."

Sharp jumped to it, jogging across the street, then taking off westward and back towards Fenway. I snuck down into one of the larger pockets on her jacket. It was a little tight, but it was also warm.

"Do you think Derek will be okay?" she asked.

"Likely. They'll fish out the bullet. He might have a minor operation on his colon if it was perforated. That will be unpleasant. But all in all, I give him good odds of making it. He doesn't seem averse to cybernetics, so it's possible he'll just replace a few parts and be out of the clinic by the end of the week."

"Oh, okay, good," Sharp said. "If that was us..."

"Then, to put it kindly, we'd be screwed," I said. "But let's fix that tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she asked.

I nodded, then blinked as I felt myself falling asleep. I was covered in a layer of blood that was matting my fur, and now that there was nothing else to focus on, I could feel the bruises forming. I'd been thrown around a little, and while I was light and... well, a cat, that didn't save me from bruises and longer term pain.

"Tomorrow we're going to put this red jacket of yours to good use. And maybe we'll hit the gym too."

"Huh?" Sharp asked, but I was growing too tired to answer.

I reawoke when we got to the bike racks. Sharp managed to free both of them, then it was an awkward ride across the city, mostly relying on the bicycle's electric motors to push us while Sharp leaned over and held onto the second bike. I think the amount of awkwardness on display actually helped, because no one gave us a second glance as we made it to Brookline and back to the courier's office.

Mark was waiting for us outside, arms crossed and brow knit. "Good, you made it," he said. "I've been following your progress. We should talk."

"Oh oh," Sharp said.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "If anything, I expect this to finally be a bit of good news."

As it turned out, I was right. Mark had Sharp go over every detail she remembered on arriving in South Boston. He took a few notes on a tablet while she spoke. Then he had her go over the events with that gang of psychopaths a few times.

In the end, he reached into a drawer on his desk and removed a small wad of cash. "Here. Three hundred. Consider the extra a tip for a job well done and for keeping Derek safe. Come back tomorrow and I'll have more work for you."

"Ask for work around Cambridge," I said.

Sharp did, and while one of Mark's eyebrows rose at the request, he didn't refuse the idea.

And so we left the office with a pocketful of loose cash and a bit of a spring in Sharp's step. That was, until she saw the time. "Holy shoot! I'm late for work!"

***