The lunatic laughed heartily. "See, this is why I picked you!" he said with ample approval. "You almost caught me by surprise there! Were I not so experienced, you would have definitely won the fight!"
Noah darted away, all plans out the window, his only thought: escaping this madman somehow.
However, the monster's arm shot out and grabbed him before he could get far.
"There'll be none of that." his tormentor said, voice angry and disappointed. "Run again and I'll chop your legs off."
Noah, frenzied and out of options, shot out a fist straight for the giant's liver. He had once watched a martial arts video saying that was a weak spot.
He might as well have punched a brick wall. The man's stomach was packed with muscle and all he did was grunt.
As thanks, the giant struck him back. It felt as if an iron anvil had fallen on his face, as if he was a child being beaten down by an enraged father.
His vision blacked out for a second. It came back in time for him to see another blow impact his stomach.
Noah folded in half and puked what remained of his breakfast all over the grass.
He had expected the madman to keep at it, pounding on him mercilessly. However, his opponent, for some inexplicable reason, waited for him to finish expelling his stomach's.
But the very moment Noah had gotten his bearings, his opponent let loose a savage roundhouse kick aimed at his jaw.
Noah managed to block that one with his forearm, but the impact was so strong it ended up throwing him down onto the floor.
His head ended up banging against a large branch on the floor, causing him to black out for good and ending the fight.
---
When Noah came to, he felt groggy and disoriented. He tried to piece together what had happened, why he was laying on the floor of the park and why his body hurt all over. Slowly at first he began remembering, then, after a few seconds, it all came back. He looked around frantically for his attacker, but the man was gone.
Noah breathed a sigh of relief, tension and stress getting released all at once, leaving him boneless. He laid like that on the floor for a few more minutes, trying to slowly gather the energy to get back up. His brain felt slower to process things and he could barely keep his emotions in check. "God, but I hate this fucking place!" he cried, tears of frustration collecting on his eyes and making his vision blurry. His thoughts were an endless stream of bitterness: why couldn’t his father have cared enough to get him through college? Why did his grandpa have to die? Why did his life have to be so miserable?
Eventually, Noah regained his sanity back and shakily stood up. His arm felt like it might be broken and he felt weird. It would be best to get checked by a doctor asap.
His VRisor was cracked after the fight, but to his relief it was still usable. He opened Guugle Maps and searched for the nearest hospital. Usually, the VRisor would display a blue trail on the street, showing him where to go, but now that the device was broken, the trail flickered and stuttered.
The hospital was packed to the brim. He tried to speak to the woman at the counter over the sound of other people talking and children crying.
"Hello, would it be possible to get checked by a doctor asap?” Noah said, leaning in close to the bullet proof glass to be heard. “My arm hurts really really bad and I think I might have a concussion."
The clerk didn't even look at him, typing at lightning speed on the keyboard as if she was Speed Star himself. "What?!" she yelled, still not looking at him.
"I said I need a doctor! My arm hurts and I might have a concussion!"
The clerk droned in a bored and uncaring voice. "The price of a checkup is 2500$. Can you pay that amount or do you want to take a federal loan?!"
"I'll pay in full!" he replied, scanning the qr code in the machine the clerk pressed against the glass with his VRisor. He then selected the "accept" option on his bank app.
The clerk then gave him a slip of paper with his number, using a contraption built into the bullet proof glass. He was number 34. He'd be here for a long, long time.
The waiting felt endless. He tried to pass the time by watching a movie on his VRisor, Parascorn's biopic, which was all anyone seemed to talk about these days. However, the cracked screen, the pain, and the constant and horrid wailing of the kid next to him ruined the experience.
He came close to exploding a few times, almost yelling at the family to get their child under control, but a quick look at the intimidating and rough-looking father of the family made him reconsider. One broken arm was enough, he didn't need another.
The doctor had bad timing. He was called in at a pivotal moment of the movie, when Parascorn was on the verge of redemption, about to fight his abusive father and leave his villainous ways behind. Noah sighed and paused the movie. He'd finish it later.
What followed were the usual tests. A radiography. The doctor palpating his broken arm to see how bad and where the pain was. Eventually, they both went back to his office.
"Sit down, please, Mr. Baker." the doctor said, gesturing for one of the two chairs reserved for patients in his office.
Noah sat down and the doctor then sat down in his high backed leather chair, obviously more expensive and comfortable than the one he offered Noah.
"Hold on a sec, let me pull up this image…" The doc then typed on his holo-keyboard a few times and grabbed the holographic projection that was his desktop screen. He twisted it, so it sat at an angle that would allow the both of them could see the radiography.
"Alright, so here's the situation, Mr. Baker. This, of course, is your forearm. As you can see here"--he pointed at a thin black, squiggly line--"you appear to have a hairline fracture. I would highly suggest that you get this treated immediately. If left to heal on its own, the bone could break the whole way through. You also have a concussion, but there isn't much we can do for that. You should just rest and avoid strenuous activities—this, of course, includes videogames and TV." The doc smiled at the last part, a poor attempt at levity. Noah gave him a watery smile back, humoring him.
The doctor then grabbed the holographic desktop screen and pulled it back, so only he could see it. He typed some more. "Okay, so here it says you are under Trauma Health's Gold Plus insurance plan. That's great, since most of the cost will be covered, but hmmm let's see here…" He squinted his eyes and read something on the screen. "Well, according to what I see here, you'd still have to pay some copayments and coinsurance of about…17,550 dollars."
Noah knew and was expecting something around that amount, but even then it made him wince. This would set him back months in terms of work and savings.
The doctor looked at him with shallow, superficial empathy, like one might look at a homeless man on the subway. "I know it is a considerable amount of money, but again, if this gets worse you will still have to seek treatment and it will be much, much more than this if things get to that point. Now, with your say so--and provided you can afford it, of course--we can begin treatment immediately. It is a simple procedure, we will give you local anesthesia and then inject you with nano-osteocytes."
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Noah bit his cheek in bitterness, "Okay."
The doc stood up and extended his hand for Noah to shake. "Perfect. It was a pleasure helping you. I'm a general practitioner, so I'll hand you over to the Orthopedic guys. You should go back to the receptionists at the front and they'll get you straightened out."
"Thanks for everything." Noah shook his hand and left.
He walked back to the bored receptionist. "Hello! I was told to come back to you by Doctor Przbyszewski and-"
The receptionist rudely cut him off, shoving the QR scanner onto the glass.
Noah bit his cheek and scanned it, paying the outrageous amount.
She handed him another number. "When the doctor is ready he'll-"
Noah walked out before she could finish, feeling a little better after his little act of rebellion. He knew it was petty and stupid, but by The God if it didn't feel good.
By the time his turn had come and his treatment was administered, it was early evening. Most of the day had come and gone.
Noah left the hospital, his arm enveloped in a cast, and walked home. His father was aware of what had happened and he offered to leave work to be there at the hospital with him if he really needed it, but Noah told him that wasn't necessary. The family business wouldn’t run itself, and he didn’t want to put more on his dad’s plate.
Noah was lost in his thoughts while he walked. He was wondering how he was going to pass the time when he couldn't watch TV or play videogames or do any form of activity when a drunken voice right next to him startled the crap out of him.
"Was what, big reyman, spare some chanshe fo' ah vetran," said a black beggar, needle marks could be seen all over his dirty, sweaty arms. "I'msha fought for Dah One True God onha National Guard and thensh-"
"Sorry, but I have no money," said Noah, avoiding eye contact and swerving right past him.
The feculent beggar was enraged. "Fackin' piss-shkin, greedy, chink-devil!" cursed the beggar, throwing a good amount of racial slurs at him—and an empty bottle for good measure. Jackson was so racist that everyone hated each other, Blacks against Asians, against whites, everyone against each other, a festering pit of racism and hatred. Sometimes he felt like the only one sane here.
The bottle missed him thankfully, but it caused Noah to begin sprinting away, looking back behind him to see if the beggar was coming after him. Thankfully the drunk racist just shambled away, and Noah breathed a sigh of relief, slowing back down to a normal walk.
The rest of his walk home was uneventful. He did the same ritual as always, key ready, looking to see if anyone was following him and opened the door real fast, slipping inside the apartment complex.
Awaiting him back at his dad's place was his lovely step family. They didn't greet him when he walked in, giving him the silent treatment, but their beady eyes shone with righteous satisfaction at his injuries.
Noah refused to let them get to him. He ignored them and went into the kitchen. He searched through the fridge and saw there was some food already cooked. He grabbed it.
Once he had everything he needed, Noah started making his way to his room. He would eat there since he didn't feel like dealing with the two assholes.
Shanice saw the food on his plate and barred his way. She broke her silence. "That's not for you," she said in an authoritative, steely voice. "I made that for my son. You are an adult and you can make your own food." She extended her hand to snatch the food away from him.
Noah slapped her reaching hand away. "I don't care.” He pointed at his casted arm. “As you can see, I'm not feeling well. I'm not gonna fucking cook." He snapped.
Her face soured with outrage. "You goddamned devil! Give that to me!" she began struggling with him for the plate of food. "Give it back! Give it t-"
Noah kicked her harshly with a front kick and she went flying, crashing down into the floor harshly.
His patience had run out. He didn't give a rat's ass about maintaining appearances, civility, or any of that shit anymore.
For a second, Noah worried he might have caused her serious harm based on the hard knock of her head against the floor. But the accursed bitch slowly got up, using the helping hand of her autistic son, and began her horrid screeching once more. So, clearly she was fine.
"I'll call the police! You tried to kill me! You goddamned psychopath, you facking devil! You’re going to pay for this! I'll make sure you get locked up! I'll press charges! You are the devil’s-"
Noah interrupted her crazed rant. "You can try but nothing is gonna happen, you ignorant bitch. The only money you have is the one you leech from me and my father. You are just some poor, slum whore. My father won't allow you to press charges against me. He won't give you a cent for this, so with what money are you gonna take me to court? Besides, you got physical and attacked me first. So good luck with that, you miserable, fat cunt!"
Caleb, that failure of a human, was twitching nervously, making those weird noises and little hand movements the mentally ill do when they are scared. His mother was the opposite, a mask of pure hatred—she began screeching something, but Noah tuned it out.
He continued his trajectory towards his room and slammed the door closed. He also locked it for good measure.
He could still hear them so, once again, he put on his headphones, drowning everything with blessed music.
---
After the altercation with his stepmother, Noah's father tried to have everyone talk out the situation and mend the relationships at the dinner table. Of course this was less than useless. People say that love is the strongest emotion, but hatred is like the superplague: once it sets in there's no getting it out. It only festers, ferments, becoming stronger with time.
Days passed, turning into weeks, time moving at its inexorable pace. Eventually Noah was fully healed from his concussion and broken arm.
This of course meant that he now had to go back to work, back to the life of wage slavery, of forced labor. And, so, out of alternatives, he toiled and worked himself to the bone helping his father at their family's farm.
It was tedious and time consuming work. There was always something breaking down, either the gates, the wiring, or the drinkers. Or he had to deal with the single farmhand that his father hired, who refused to do even the bare minimum effort and had to be constantly reminded about all the mistakes they kept making.
Animals had to be operated upon to castrate them or to remove the parasites and flies that burrowed and infected their flesh in disgusting procedures that left Noah’s stomach churning, making him want to puke. It was ignoble. A job that no man should have to do, a job that should be replaced by machines…but it paid much better than working at Yottaburger or some other entry level job, and The One True God knew Noah needed the money.
He woke up at the crack of dawn everyday and ended by nighttime. After discounting chores like cooking, showering, and washing the dishes, he barely had 1 or 2 hours of free time.
Time just seemed to evaporate into nothing, slipping right through his fingers. It was, frankly, despair inducing. After all, life lasts for a moment and then we are all dead for eternity.
And here he was, spending those precious moments working like some pitiful slave.
And the rotten cherry on top of a cake made of shit was that after work, he had to go back to his terrible home life. Back to his autistic step brother, and his weird noises and yelling; to his bitter, petty, stepmother; and his naïve, bleeding heart of a father.
Caleb would screech and throw tantrums at the smallest things, at a soap bar being horizontal instead of vertical, at the chair being tilted. And then Shanice would come and yell at him and insult him—and it was all just one giant nightmare.
Weeks turned into months and Noah was beaten by life little by little, until he was just a shell of his former self, a lifeless, depressed husk. All that kept him going was the hope that it would end sometime, that he’d be able to go back to Union City and medical school and leave it all behind.
But things could always be worse as Noah was soon to find out.
---
He was relaxing in his room at night after another exhausting and life draining day, when he got one of the dreaded Emergency Alerts on his VRisor phone. It was much like a Mass Casualty Alert but for Eaters.
The loud alarm startled the crap out of him and when he read it, the fear only intensified.
An Eater was in Jackson, but not just any Eater. No, Famine, one of the most wanted villains in the world, was here. The emergency alert instructed him to make his way to the nearest bunker, WHA branch. Or, failing that, then a police station or staying home and barricading the place.
Noah took off his headphones in a hurry, and when he did, he heard the sounds of far off explosions and gunshots ringing outside. There were also other, more nightmarish noises, such as human screams and horrible inhuman screeches.
Noah did his best to clamp down on the sudden onset of panic making a mess of his body. With shaking hands, he began calling the police on his VRisor, an almost ingrained, instinctual reaction. But he stopped himself, what the hell would the police do? This was a job for the National Guard and The Worldwide Hero Association, not the police.
His parents weren't home. Shanice had gone away to get the newest booster shot for the recent supervirus that’d been going around and his father drove her there, since she didn't have a car. Noah and his stepbrother decided to stay at home rather than accompany them.
Noah tried calling his father, but the dialing tone kept ringing on and on.
No one picked up.
His heart sank, fearing the worst. Despite all of the conflict between him and his father, he sincerely hoped he was alive (of course this did not apply to his stepmother. In fact, he wholeheartedly wished for her to meet her demise).
With his nerves and senses shot through the roof, he was able to hear the faint noise of the toilet slamming closed and something scurrying around in the bathroom.
His blood froze. Every hair, every filament in his body became painfully erect with fear. After all, he could still hear his hideous step brother gaming and yelling slurs from his room, and he was the only other person in the house—no one else should have been there.
After a few split seconds, once he regained control of his paralyzed body, Noah sprinted to the bathroom, heart pounding.
He got there just in time to hear something on the other side of the door fumbling with the handle, trying to open it.
Noah started cursing out loud, wild with fear. He grabbed the handle and held it closed for dear life.
He would’ve liked for that to be the end of it, but he could hear noises coming from the kitchen sink as well, therefore he needed to find a way to block the door, fast. The windows were another potential problem that needed barricading, since whatever was on the street could potentially come in through them.
But how could he do it? The moment he left the bathroom door, whatever was inside would come out. And based on the horror stories he had heard of Famine, of the terrible creatures the Eater had created in the past…well, let us just say it was better not to think about it.
"Caleb!" screamed Noah. "Come help me!" There was no response. He probably had his headset blasting music or his games set to the max. "CALEB COME HERE AND HELP ME!" Noah yelled at the top of his lungs, putting all of his effort in it.
"Stop shouting! I can’t! I'm in the middle of a match!" he answered back, annoyed. "Give me 5 minutes! Or just wait for Dad to get back!"
"Get the fuck out of your room right now, you piece of shit autist, and come help me! There's a fucking monster in the bathroom! We are all gonna die if you don't come and help me right fucking now! We are gonna fucking die, Caleb!"
Having heard his shouting, the creature/s on the other side began pounding against the door. The ones that came through the kitchen sink were now in full view, homing in on him, flying and skittering across the floor. They were horrid and insect-like, the size of his fist, a mix between spider, trilobite, and alien xenomorph. They were terrible to behold, like his worst nightmares made manifest.