As triumphant as my return to reality may be, the light I cherished is now my greatest enemy. My senses came swirling back in a whirlwind of feeling. My head pounds, my ears pop, and my skin crawls.
Where am I?
I can’t lift my neck and my vision is obstructed. There is a bandage covering the right side of my face, I can only see through my left eye. Even the walls radiate light, their porcelain hue reflects every display to my eye as the focus point. My right arm is still limp but I muster up enough strength with my left arm to peel the bandage covering my face to the side. My obstructed sight remains, and my fingers glide along my face. Every other centimeter there seems to be an indentation, it feels as though I had been cut a hundred times. I reach the socket of my eye to find it empty. I can feel myself losing control of my breathing, my heart begins to beat uncontrollably, and I feel lightheaded. What did he do to me? What did he leave behind? I hastily glide my fingertips along the circumference of my socket, the left side is covered in clammy skin, whereas the opposing side, closest to my ear, is a hard, plastic-like substance. I freeze.
Fate’s misdirection has saved my life. I need a mirror, I need to see what remains. I attempt to sit forward, gravity triumphs over my strength.
“Holy shit…” A high-pitched voice calls out from my right.
“What did I tell you about the language,” A louder, deeper voice erupts from my left.
“Misha is awake.”
“Holy shit…” The deep voice belonged to Glenn. His heavy footsteps get closer and closer until he makes it into my view. He stares down at me, Small hairs grow on top of his once bald head and large gray bags are forming under his eyes. “I can’t believe it.”
“Glenn…” I whisper. Tears begin to creep down his cheek.
“I’d fucking hug you… but I…” He reaches over and places his large gently on mine, “We were all so worried about you.”
“What happened,” the hospital bed begins to recline forward rapidly.
“Hudson takes it easy,” he barks. The reclining stops and I’m finally able to get a good view of the room. Besides my bed was a series of different machines, all with cords linked to different parts of my body. Towards the door, two plastic chairs line the right side, and opposing them is a larger leather recliner with blankets and pillows covering it.
“I just thought she would like to sit up.” The same high-pitched voice from before calls out from behind the bed. Hudson turns the corner back alongside the bed. He takes after his father, with broad shoulders, dark black hair cut very short, olive skin, and cool green eyes. He looks toward my face and immediately turns his head to the side. He must be afraid of me, or my face is just as bad as I think it looks.
“‘She’? Who is she?”
“Miss Glass,” he drones. I laugh, but instantly feel a tremendous pain in my side.
“It’s okay Hudson,” he slowly turns his head back towards me. “You read my mind.” He smiles and loosens up.
“How bad is it?” I ask Glenn, his hold on my hand growing tighter.
“It’s… I got to you just in time.” His brow furrows, “A second longer and he would have killed you.”
“I-”
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t fast enough.” I’ve never seen Glenn cry before, it’s horrific. His tears are constant, and shoot down his face with an almost abnormal velocity. He truly is cursed with a gentle heart, because who else would waste that much water over someone like me?
“Glenn. Don’t be. Please.” I try to bring my voice to a normal level.
“You don’t understand. Over these three weeks, I’ve sat here, thinking of every second that I wasted getting to you.” Three weeks, I’ve been out for three weeks. “And if I had just been a bit more clear-headed, maybe you wouldn’t be in here.” I let him breathe and work through this rush of emotions, his son comes to his side and wraps his arms around him.
“What happened to him? The man.” I run circles with my thumb around his massive hand. Glenn wiped his face with his sleeve and cleared his throat.
“When I came in, he was raising his foot to…” He looks down to his son, “Hudson why don’t you find Mama and Shirty.” Hudson lets go of his father and waves before taking off into the busy halls.
“It’s okay, partner, just walk me through the scene.”
“I came in through the door and I saw you, lying on the ground, The guy was raising his foot to uh… finish you off. I ran across the room, I’ve never sprinted so fast in my entire life, but by the time I reached him.” Goosebumps rise across his skin, he lets go of my hand and rubs his face. “By the time I reached him, he crushed the right side of your head. I thought you were dead, even before he put his foot down, Your blood was all over the floor, ribs and bones were sticking through your skin and clothes…”
“What did you do when you got to him?”
“He tried to crush the rest of your skull with another stomp,” Glenn continued. I won’t make it pretty, Misha Glass. No open-casket funerals for dumbass idealists who get in my way. “But I slammed into his side and we went at it.” A silence overtakes the room for a moment, guilt is smeared across his face, though it is unearned.
“Thank you, Glenn. You saved my life,” He didn’t even look at me, just solemnly shook his head.
“I had him in a chokehold, he was just about to give out, but he had a little scalpel which he jabbed right into my wrist. He shook free.” Glenn’s expression turned from sorrow to pain, “He bolted for one of the back doors. I had two choices. Go after him or stay with you.”
“So I went to your side, and he escaped. We've been looking for him ever since.” I nod and shutter at the thought of running into that bastard again.
“Why did you stay? You had just said that you thought I was dead on arrival.” I spoke softly, “I’m grateful that you did, but what was your logic?”
“Alive… or dead, it was still you laying there on the ground, covered in blood…that freezer. You told me that you’ve always hated the cool air of winter.” He looks me directly in the eye. “I couldn’t just leave you there, all alone in the cold.”
All the pain in the world suddenly fades away.
______________________________________________________________________________
After a few hours, my strength dissipates. I was able to convince Glenn to head home and get a proper night's rest, he slept here for days on end by my side. Every molecule in my body is aching for more rest, but I cannot. I slept for three weeks, instead, I will happily lay awake and admire the beauty of the ceiling.
The optics cooperation must have sent the man with the white eyes, I can’t think of anyone else who would take such a bold risk. The brand must be consistent across the known victims, I should have mentioned this to Glenn before he left.
______________________________________________________________________________
Coming so close to the brink of death is humbling. I truly believed myself to be unkillable, as if I was put forth by some sort of existential being to right some wrong. I thought I was special, even in my years of self-loathing, I thought I was beyond a fruitless end.
Even now.
I’m so scared.
______________________________________________________________________________
“Wake up,” a woman's voice echoes from the doorway. A petite nurse with tied-back blonde hair, a white dress, and a face mask. “You’re about to have a very important visitor.” She shuffles back and forth by the side of my bed, She pulls a series of needles and plastic IV bags from within her dress’s many pockets.
“What’s going on? Who’s coming to see me.”
“They were supposed to call ahead so we could have you prepared,” she begins to unsheath one of the syringes and flick it as drops of medicine roll down the thin needle.
“Who?” I ask, putting as much vigor into my voice as possible. She stops abruptly and stares at me.
“The chief of police is here with the press.”
Lavita Presser, Chief of the Reno Police Department.
She is the perfect chief from the outside looking in, but in reality, she is just another blood-sucking politician at heart. Every initiative Presser puts forward instantly gets the Mayor's stamp of approval, yet nothing gets done. Every dollar spent to “Help Restore the Shine of Reno,” as she says, always ends up back in her pocket. Some of the ideas she comes up with are quite clever, it’s just that she never ushers them into fruition. I think that we’ve met maybe twice, maybe three times. Most of her day is spent in her office chatting over Holo.
“Do you have enough of that stuff to put me back in a coma?” The nurse does not flinch as she goes to stick the syringe directly into a vein below my collarbone.
“Miss Glass, I’ve been told that jokes were a part of your repertoire.” I flinch from the injection. Shots don’t bother me, not knowing what I’m being juiced up with is where the problem begins.”
“They’re not, perhaps you should bring me to an institution, effective immediately.” She laughs, “What’s your name? What are you doing to me?”
“Cherry. The needle was for the pain. You should start feeling pretty groovy in a few moments,” Groovy? What could that mean? “I’m going to give you a pill that will buy you some time without having a nose tube.” The pain in my shoulder seems to subside from the medicine.
“Why haven’t you guys been shooting me up with that since I got here? I can already feel its effects.” The nurse hands me a small cup with a three-inch pill, I can’t help but hold it up to my eye in disbelief before swallowing it.
“Well, because you told us you wanted to avoid all unnecessary painkillers, it’s all on your questionnaire when you signed up for the PD’s insurance.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me.” Idiot. She reaches up to my nose, gently pulls the tube out, and hooks it onto the side of the bed. For the first time, I can move my head freely up and down. I can see the full extent of my injuries, my belly is covered in bruises and recently stitched gashes. Glenn told me that they replaced my right rib cage with artificial bones. My legs looked well enough, dystrophy is a thing of the past. My eye and arm can be healed in time, but my biggest concern is the state of my brain. I’ve not been able to get a clear answer from anyone about the damage.
“Could I please have a gown?” I plead, without a word, Nurse Cherry squats and pulls and begins to sift through drawers underneath the bed.
“I’m sorry we haven’t given you one sooner,” Cherry stands back up and unfolds a large polka-dotted gown. “But with all of the injections, tubes-”
“I get it,” She gently lays the gown over me and the machinery like laying out a tablecloth. “Thanks.”
“No problem, Anything I can get you before the chief gets here?” I shake my head and take a deep breath through my nose, missing that feeling.
“No, I’m good.”
“I’ll be by later with the doctors to discuss your recovery plan,” She pulls down her white face mask, smiles, places the mask back over her mouth, and then leaves. I use my good hand to pull the gown tightly around my body, relishing in the comfort it brings, even though it’s not to last. A woman walks through the doorway and swiftly closes the door behind her. Chief Presser turns, She wears a sleek black suit, sporting a red dress shirt and a fish net-like material running under her clothes up to her neck.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Glass,” She says, her accent is from one of the British colonies. Her caramel-colored skin and emerald-green eyes are alluring, she could have been a model in another life. The amount of plastic surgery and cybernetics probably cost more than my apartment building. “It is fortunate that you woke up when you did, two weeks more and you would have been queued up for an assisted death appointment.”
“Would you have let that happen?”
“No of course not, What a waste it would have been.” She strides towards me, heels clacking on the tile floor.
“What would have been lost,” I ask, She chuckles.
“Baby, are we praying for a compliment?”
“No. Just curious as to what you hope to extract from this meeting.”
“As chief, I must ensure the safety of all my officers, and assure that their every need is taken into consideration.”
“I need to get out of here, can you help me with that?”
“What’s the rush?”
“I want to get back to the case.”
“Baby, you’re a hero, the press has been eating your case up.”
“So?”
“So we’re going to milk this as much as possible. If you healed your wounds overnight, the public wouldn’t be able to see the sacrifices you made to do your job.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“Who cares?” She cracks a devilish smile, “You now get time off and have the opportunity to get on my good side.” She’ll see me become a pawn in her game.
“I care.” I sit up, gritting my teeth through the pain, “I have a theory about-”
“Save your theories for now,” the Chief puts her hand on my shoulder. “You need to rest, If you so desperately want a reconstructionist to work on you then it shall be arranged. But you’re off the job for a while.”
“What? How long is a while?”
“As long as it takes to make my point, you’re going to help me make things right in this city, baby.”
“I need to strike while the iron is hot… Glenn can’t do it alone,” I assault her with a furrowed brow and a piercing glare.
“You’re dropping this case, and Glenn’s labor is being redirected into something more productive.”
“What? Why?” This is ridiculous. How can she even say this with a straight face? Presser’s corruption is not subtle.
“Your incident is being investigated by a higher organization than our precinct, Don’t worry, it’s in good hands.”
“How much were you paid to tell me that?” I accuse her bluntly. She throws her head back and laughs. Presser stands and looks down directly into my eye.
“I’d say at least one month for your mental health and returning to your organic eye.” Organic eye?
“What are you talking about?”
“The department will not fund a replacement right optic for officers not technically on duty, so before you leave I’ve made sure to have your original delivered and prepped for reentry. Don’t worry though baby, we’ll make sure you’re in tip-top condition for your first day back as ‘Reno’s Finest.’”
______________________________________________________________________________
Each cell in my body felt under attack as the reconstructionist worked through my form with ease. I’m in the same contraption that I had abused not long ago. I feel sick to my stomach. I’m constantly yanked and shifted in different directions as bone, tissue, and muscle are all ripped and reformed to the reconstructionist's standards. In truth, I’m glad I’m getting my old eye back, I couldn’t bear an optic reform. Not after what I had done.
I constantly think back to that woman, Galea. I believed that what I was doing brought about some sort of cosmic justice, that I could inflict a pain that could stand in the shadow of the harm she had wrought. I was so foolish, it was selfishness expressed in cruelty. It’s a sad thing, the difficulty of finding an honest person
Like sifting through ash in a snowstorm.
______________________________________________________________________________
Standing on my feet once more, in a body that has just narrowly escaped the clutches of death, I am free again. Besides my eye, I look back to normal, though I cannot shake a blaring headache. The constant ringing will serve as my reminder to make better choices. Glenn brought some clothes and something to eat before I was released. I picked up the plastic bag and stepped into the bathroom to change. I set my robe aside and get a good look at my body in the harsh light. My skin seems almost translucent to the bone pressing so tightly against the surface of my form. I put on the slacks, oversized Dust City T-shirt, and black leather boots. I return through the door of the restroom and greet Glenn who waits, sitting on my bed. He smiles from ear to ear.
“Looking good!” He shouts.
“Thank you!” I bellow back, fruitlessly matching his overwhelming volume.
“You know, you have a mess of an apartment, I didn’t think I was going to find anything clean in there.”
“I find the clutter comforting,” I wasn’t fond of the idea of anyone going into my apartment, but if I had to pick someone it’d be Glenn. I sit down on the opposing side of the bed and slide on a pair of black leather boots over my thick yellow hospital socks. “Did you find anything about burning eyes in previous cases?” Glenn exhales and rubs the back of his neck.
“I shouldn’t have even checked for you,” Glenn croaked. “You need this time off to rest and relax.”
“Glenn, you have to understand,” I motion my arms outwards towards the hospital room. “This is something I have to do, I’ve got to know more about why any of this happened.” He looked at me, staring into the one eye I had left, he was troubled but wouldn’t let me down.
“Yeah, okay,” he sends me a file through his optic rig. “There was only one case I could find where the victim’s optic imploded, exploded, however, you want to classify it.”
‘Thank you, Glenn, this means a lot to me.” I open the digital dossier in my right eye. It’s eerie to only have one eye when using the rig, it leaves me completely blind to the outside world.
“I won’t be able to back you up if you’re checking this stuff out, at least when I’m on the clock.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. But I’m trying to hammer it into that thick skull of yours to be careful, I couldn’t do this job if my partner went and got beat up again on her long vacation.” The case is about a croupier who was stuck up at a roulette, and his right optic burst into flames. Audacity Buchanan, a wartime name, the name of someone who had once forgotten the sounds of safety. Attempted murder. His status is “active.”
“Glenn, is the man in the file still alive?”
“Misha, were you even listening to me?” Glenn barks, understandably frustrated in hindsight.
“Yes Glenn, I’m sorry.” I give an earnest smile and put my hand on his shoulder, “I won’t do anything I can’t handle, I’ve learned my lesson.”
A promise that can only be broken.
“Good,” he exhales and shrugs his shoulders. “And yes, apparently that Bucchanon guy is alive and well. He moved away from the craps table and now plays bass guitar at the Prayer Beads gentlemen club.” Sounds like an establishment that would only acquire the most sophisticated of clientele. The report states that after the perpetrator was accused of cheating he pulled out a handgun and proceeded to shoot Audacity at point-blank range. Remnants of a bullet or wall indentation from the round were never found, though I witnessed statements back Bucchanon’s story.
“I’ll find this Bucchanon and see what I can get from him.”
“After at least three days at home. Period.” Glenn looked firm in this order.
“Period,” I reply. We both stand, I’m aching to get out of this place.
“I’ve got something else for you before we hit the road,” Glenn’s smile shines as he reaches from behind his back revealing a black leather jacket, my eyes light up. “Something to keep you safe.”
“You brought it?” I step forward quickly, almost losing my balance, and snatch it from his arms and slip it on.
“Of course I brought it, " you asked. But you have to wear that helmet I bought you or else I’ll slide tackle you. Deal?”
“Deal.” I’ve been aching to see my baby again, I can only hope that she’s doing well. If she was left outside without proper care she could be rusting or have an assortment of health issues.
“Look at you…” Glenn says softly.
“What?” The road is calling my name.
“It’s good to see you smile.”
______________________________________________________________________________
Reunited.
At the base of the Saint Judas Hospital my baby sat unattended in the parking lot. She shined in the setting sun's light, her red and black paint was unchipped. There was not a speck of dust or dirt caked into the surface and the seat remained untattered.
“I owe you a million chicken wings for this Glenn, Thank you.” Glenn smiled and pointed at the bike, “I paid some Martian guys an obscene amount of money to hold onto it.”
“How much was it? I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it,” In a moment of thoughtless emotion I throw my arms around him and pull him in for a big hug. His arms recoil back in surprise before he quickly wraps them around my upper back and squeezes. “Don’t worry about the wings, but before you get back on the force you have to take me up on that family dinner we discussed.” We let each other go, and I stepped towards the bike.
“Done. Give me the details, and I’ll be there.” I mount the bike, and the perfect fit of the seat sends goosebumps up my spine. Glenn tosses me the access chip and the engine roars to life, it hums between my legs. I take one last look up at Saint Judas and exhale.
“Don’t drive too fast… but not too slow either.” Glenn winks, “See you soon, Glass.”
I crank the accelerator and shoot out of the parking lot. The cool wind tickles the fresh skin on the left side of my face and causes my hair to dance from side to side. I’ve broken back into the realm of independent agency and I know exactly where to begin. Prayer Beads was at the heart of Skid Row, surrounded by other strip clubs, prostitution dens, casinos, and other lairs of vice. With night on its way, I can only hope that my man is on shift.
On a motorcycle or car, the harsh truth of Reno is entirely unavoidable. The bright neon signs blanket the trash that litters the streets, and the sky cars and trams block what little light seeps through the clouds. When soaring through the skies above it is easy to only see the vapid commercialism in which Earth is notorious. It is inevitable that the rich know the planet as a failing investment and leave, taking money and industry along with them. Mars, Luna, and the Jupiter colonies, all of them bask in the era of “Old Earth,” while its namesake dries up and croaks. I’m no bronze-blooded Comrade but I do wish that someone would throw us a bone.
Stop lights are dangerous, silver tongue road salesmen, jackings, and spontaneous air-vehicle parts falling from the sky. A wave of various people swarm the intersection, scurrying off towards the evening chaos. When you work long enough as a cop, a lingering feeling of dread lays its arm across your shoulder at the sight of a crowd like that. Each individual carries the potential to forge such hardship, and despite that daunting free will, they will bring light into someone's life. Somehow, somewhere.
Pride.
______________________________________________________________________________
Skid Row, better known as Vala Valley, was a place of lawlessness. One so consumed by crime and corruption that there have been many instances where mayoral candidates pressed the issue that it should be bombed or completely cut loose from city limits. Dingo Street is the central vein that runs through the valley, that's where the lights shine the brightest. The world gets darker, and the hookers get uglier the further out you go.
Audacity Buchanan, thankfully Prayer Beads is on the main drag so it would be hard to find. Driving on the overpass I can see the right beams of light shooting into the sky from the Valley. Almost as if the Earth had cracked and the air of Hell was beginning to seep through. As I cut through the backstreets, a thousand eyes watch me as I drive by. Chrome dealers blast music from their workshops, “working” men and women display their merchandise without modesty, and a host of characters gather around games of dice in the street.
As the figures in the shadows become more well-hidden, I know I’m close to Dingo. When I turn onto the main drag it feels as though a spotlight is being blasted at my face, music and visual stimuli completely overtake all my senses. I lose control of my bike for a moment before regaining control. Music coming from hundreds of different sources echoes over the hordes of civilians, each looking for their brand of wrongdoing. Amongst them, there are women dressed in nothing but a shoelace, contortionists showing off all the things the human body shouldn’t be able to do, and cyberjocks showing off how their “homemade implants” are capable of picking up a car. I pull up to an open curb and instantaneously activate my anti-theft protocol.
The sidewalks are littered with people of all sorts, and pickpocketing would be rampant if anyone carried anything of value on them nowadays. It’s difficult to get a bearing on exactly where I am in this mess, I shakily stand on the seat of my motorcycle and stare up at the signs.
COSMIC HUNNY, LUFFFENNNWABBBINNNNN, Gary’s Smoked Sausage, and PRAYER BEADS.
Bingo.
Joining the stream of people, I can drift towards the front of the classy establishment in question. Outside the center doors stand two giant men, matching Glenn in height, and biceps bigger than my head. As I take a step towards the door the two men look down to me and then lock eyes with each other before waving me through. The place is completely devoid of natural light, illuminated by LED streams all along the ceiling and walls. Patrons littered the ground floor, some leaning against the bar, others sitting in traditional Christian pews facing the stage and dancers. A woman dressed in pasties, fishnet stockings, and a nun's hood winks at me as she passes with a tray of drinks. A man in nothing in a clerical collar followed suit, chewing on one of the largest blunts I’ve ever seen.
This establishment should be celebrated for its diversity, they not only slandered the Christian faith, but also the Jewish, Islamic, Daoist, Hindu, and many more. I find it hard to believe that anyone working here would be able to provide information for my investigation. The music playing is coming from speakers, with no live bands or soloists. Audacity is on break or has the night off, I’ll have to check in with a bartender to be sure. An even-tempered Buddha tried to stop me on the way but I politely declined. I laid my palm on the glossy, yet sticky, counter as a man in his late thirties stepped over to greet me.
“Peace be with you madam,” He brandished an imperial stache, dark black eyes, and a cassock draped over his broad shoulders. I have to use 97% of my brainpower to not roll my eyes, “What can I get for you on this delicious evening?”
“I’m looking for Audacity,” the blaring techno rap practically drowns out any attempt at conversation. “Is he working tonight?” He gives me a stern glare before asking,
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m looking to help him out, I’m a private detective.” Not technically a lie, and sounds a lot better than detective, when on this side of town.
“Is this about his eye,” I nod. “Good, maybe you can get him to stop bitching about it. He’s between sets right now, over there in the booth in the far right corner.” I look to the corner and can see a single man reclined, taking up the whole booth.
“I’m grateful,” I step away from the bar and head towards the corner. Moment of truth, breakthrough, or bust. The man sat alone in the corner, he wore a blood-red satin dress shirt, his right hand was littered with rings, skin as white as a sheet, long black hair that rested at the upper back, and plaid lips. Audacity’s eyes drifted over to me, his right pupil was as red as his shirt, but his left was gray and cloudy, similar to the man who put me to death three weeks ago.