"Easy now, didn't your mother ever tell you to eat your food slowly", Hydeia took the utensil away from his hand. Michael had only started eating solid food a day ago, but it had not been easy. Every bite was an unfathomable torment of agony, the wire had just been removed yesterday. It pained him to be at another’s mercy, but the nurse had a point. He had been eating too rashly.
Her rich black skin showed bright from another victory she had won. Over a month, he had been stuck here due to the injuries sustained. Bedridden with no possible way of escape. His body was decimated from the razor attack. His femur was shattered, four broken ribs, lacerations and bruising had formed all over his body. If it wasn't for the unknown rescuers who came for him, he'd be dead. He supposed he should feel thankful, but the thought eluded him. A bottomless pit had formed inside of him, and the only possible choice of action was dive head first in the abyss. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts trended towards the wishful hopes of reuniting with the old mule. Maybe then there will be peace from the storms thundering and clashing his mind.
"I failed him," Michael grimaced to himself," I was supposed to protect him and I couldn't". Many would assume Robert was just a pack animal used only for trucking heavy loads from one place to the next, but no, he was way more than that. A true friend that he could trust.
He looked up to a pair of dark brown eyes shining with sympathy. He didn't need that from anyone, especially not the person who wiped his butt everyday. "I don't like it when you pout," she spoke with a serenity that made the angels envious. What was this woman's game she was playing? No one was truly ever this kind without some ulterior motives.
"There's nothing else to do. I can barely speak. I can't move. I can't even feed myself" he snapped back. She was taken aback, her body had tightened from his actions. She was angry, no not angry. Something else. What was with this woman? It must've been some lengths of time since he last had a conversation with a female. It had been years if he remembered correctly. He stumbled trying to recover from the blunder.
"I'm sorry, I'm just agitated… I"
"I'm amazed at how well you've recovered since that night the patrol found you." Hydeia had saved him from the foolish thing he was about to spew forth,"It was an amazing sight, I honestly don't understand how anyone could do what you did" she retold of the soldiers amazement at a man fighting back monsters. It was a scene that was usually only shown in movies. The patrol had told the town he slayed fifty razors with his bare hands. Stories like that tended to drift towards the absurd. Apparently he had a new nickname “Razor Hunter”.
"I didn't take on fifty razors, and I'm certainly not special. I can't even walk. How can a cripple like me be special?" Razor hunter? What a terrible name, and how could people reveer a man they didn’t know?
"You can't walk yet, that will come in time" it seemed she liked to contort his statements, "But don’t lose faith yet. Just have trust in the process. A weak man will quit right away with no hesitation. A brawny man will burn himself out by powering through with all his strength. However, a wise man will rest, analyze the situation, adapt, and overcome to complete the mission. The mission is more important than anything else in the world. We here at the stronghold are a different breed. The time from when we take our first step we're fighting. All the way up until the day we die. We all fight to make this world a better place. That is our mission. It comes second nature to us. But your mission, young man, is to walk again. Patience is a trait rarely seen in men.." She rose, wiping her hands on her combat medical uniform. "Sadly, as much as I like hearing myself speak I have other patients to attend to, but you're going to finish your food and then get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day so I need you ready. I want to see the famous "Razor hunter" walk again." Hydeia laughed at her own joke as she exited the room.
Michael realized it's the first time she talked to him about that night. A hero though? What a joke of a hero he was. Still it was nice to hear someone talk to him. Very few of the medical staff talked to him, some were visibly scared. Nurses and doctors would carry on, walking back and forth tending from one patient to the next, or gossiping about the latest drama within their lives. It amazed him thoroughly. People complaining about such little things. The minor inconvenience such as a patient being rude because their breakfast was too hot or the undesirable job some poor buffoon moaned about the repulsiveness of scrubbing bedpans. It made him chuckle. Living on the road had taken him away from these issues. True he hated people. They were disturbing creatures who found more comfort in placing a knife in their friends' back if it meant a couple more coins in their pocket. It was a rare treat that brought a smile on his face. Hell, before today he couldn't remember the last time he had a hot shower. True, he needed assistance from hydeia and her scrubbing was unbearable. It didn't take away the magnificence on how good the water felt. This whole building was a marvel in itself. Electricity that worked lighting up the building day and night. It had the added luxury of providing 70 degrees all day long. Water that was clear as a glass and didn’t taste like deer piss. Michael was awestruck. Who were these people? Michael sat back in the bed, letting the leg rest on top of the pillow, and closed his eyes.
A bright light sprayed his vision waking him up with a jolt. His leg and ribs burned from the agony. Michael grabbed his side grimacing from the pain before the light showed its owner. There was a group of men standing around him wearing digital camouflage suited for woodland warfare. Their faces were hidden by a ballistic mask restricting any identifiable facial features. On their bodies were brown bulletproof vests. Every single one was holding a long rifle with silencers pointed directly at him.
Michael panicked. His body started to tense aggravating the pain tearing through his body as nerves panicked in his brain. Who the hell did I piss off he thought.
A giant of a man stepped into the room. He was no shorter than 6 foot 6 wearing a crisp, black pre-war suit. The man was handsome, somewhere in his late 30s early 40s. He had dirty blonde hair that was cut short and was clean shaven. Everything about him screamed precision in the finest of detail. He reminded Michael of the distinguished politicians he used to see working at the capitol buildings. The man rested his two penetrating pale grey eyes on Michael. They felt unnatural.
"At ease gentlemen" he gestured his hand for the executioners. His voice rang through deep with a southern drawl to it.
He walked over to Michael, towering over him like a colossus to an ant. A handheld device was taken out of his pocket and his fingers began hammering away at the translucent glass screen. A red light began scanning starting at his torso ending up at his face. He looked up and said, “Former PFC Michael Theron Hendrix, stationed out of the former state of California at Fort Irwin before the war. You’re a little far from California, don’t you think?”
“I happened to be ordered in this bed by one of the doctors”, Michael replied. It wasn’t completely a lie, but he didn’t know who these men were. Never let an unfamiliar face reveal your hand his dad would always tell him. His words always had an application outside of a casino, even though to his father it was alway a literal meaning.
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The sound of hospital staff muffled through the door. There was no panic at the sight of 5 men walking here armed. It seemed customary. These men had the power of life and death in their hands. The workers would turn a blind eye if the faceless men decided there was no need for the conversation to continue. Michael was going to have to tread lightly if he would walk out of this alive, but to what extent, he had not yet determined. The unreadable colossus of a man was not giving him anything to work with. There were no narrow lips, nor the occasional reunion eyebrows often gave each other when men let their anger best them. The man also didn’t wear contempt on his face. It was rock solid, not even the slightest hint of emotion that Michael could work with. This man was a professional at dealing with these types of situations, and seemingly able to read Michael as if even was a comic book meant for a toddler.
“While at Fort Irwin, California you received no negative conduct. Had high ACFT and ASVAB scores, scoring in the top 90 percentile in both. You were an Intelligence Analyst. Kicked out of high school, but that blemish didn’t seem to affect your military career. I have the copy of your GED right here. Everything I have gathered on you, and what the report pushes me to believe you’re an intelligent man. Intelligent men are one area of expertise I tend to work well with.” How was he able to pull up all of his files from a time Michael thought lost? It had felt like forever since he was in the Army, but this man made it seem as if it was nonchalant. As if everyone on this planet knew his life, and there hadn't been a war that flattened the Earth. The power had been destroyed, fields burned, cities looted. The panic as it was called struck the hearts of every man, woman, and child. The once great nation of the United States had splintered into several factions all vying for land and resources. It took a honest good bit of work separating himself from these workings, but Michael had been able to. During his trip, the world around him had dissolved, but he was able to survive where his fellow countrymen failed.
“No, you’ve made your point.” The man before him seemed to pride himself on knowing everything about the past, but it had been some time since Michael was in the military. When he had been traveling on the road there were constant threats of a tracker trying to hunt people for sport, or thugs that made their living off the enslavement of others. Most of the time though it was just him, and Robert on the road together. It was simple then, not having to deal with people except when bartering. “Tell me what you want. Quit with the showmanship, if you wanted me dead I already would be. I’m a crippled who’s bedridden. The odds of me taking out all of your men is the same as if I were to roll the odds and it to be snake eyes 100 times in a row. I’ll take my chances with whatever you have in store for me.”
“Perceptive,” Michael saw a small hint of the man's eyes drifting to the floor at a left angle. It was subtle, a fraction of a hair of movement, but it was there. The man had been contemplating what to say next, so he was human at least. “I know who you are, but you have no idea who I am.”
One of the armed guards raced to grab and chair. Quickly placing it down for the man to sit, before returning with the others. The mask still guarded his face, but the urgency of the man behind it had led Michael to believe two things. Either this man was well respected, or was immensely feared. He sat primly in the chair, his feet placed at a perfect 45 degree angle. It felt hard to believe he was human.
“I am known as Director Arawn by my colleagues and associates. The stories those people have been saying on the streets are amazing. Don’t you think? Deadly monstrosities were destroying the land consuming all life in its wake, and here comes a lone gunslinger blasting them to oblivion. The story seems very seductive and very illusory. It seems like one man completed the impossible, I mean defeating fifty Razors. It’s unbelievable. When I hear of perfect stories like yours tickling the inside of my warm beating heart, I remember a common saying I’m sure everyone in this room is familiar with. Perfection hides something.” His gaze leveled, peering with those pale attentive eyes. The man wasn’t looking for what he would say, but how Michael would respond. Words meant nothing to him. With this man, actions spoke as loudly as a car horn blaring.
Michael returned his gaze. His heart pounded through his ear drums, and the pain still burned through his ribs pleading for him to lay back down. Still, Michael held firm. If he were to walk out alive this man must see he wasn’t lying. “What the people have been saying is the truth. It must be noted that I never killed 50 Razors. There's none alive who could accomplish such a feat. But these injuries didn’t come from bowing on my knees, pleading for a savior to come rescue me. No, I hunt, and I eliminate razors. I will eliminate any man or beast who tries to harm me.”
The man's eyes remained unmoving as a tree standing firm against the blistering winds, but after some silence he stood. “That’s good to hear. We need honest men like yourself who are willing, and able to complete what must be done. If this felt like an interrogation, it is with my sincerest apologies. I meant no offense.” His body remained frigid, and the words came out as though a screenwriter had been preparing a new manuscript. Repeated time, and time again. “We here at the Stronghold intend on maintaining a set of rules and order that must be adhered to at any waking moment. During your stay here you will follow them at all times. If you intend on making this a permanent residence, I feel after this conversation, we have made great strides on obtaining where you would be most well suited. We intend on making this world a better one, and i hardly think there's hardly a better place where the now famous “Razor Hunter” could reside. The decision is yours.”
With that he swaggered out the door, leading the five men to follow suit. The room was left empty. The only sound heard was the continued clatter of footsteps on the linoleum floor that slowly faded to nothing. It left just Michael and his thoughts. He let out a sigh. The man had unnerved him. There was an unnatural aura emanating from his presence.
Michael laid back in the bed. He winced at the pain that throbbed through him, but eventually it would subside. The nurse was right. If he was going to walk again he would have to hone in his inner strength and push through the pain. His body ached him every second that he was awake, but the horrifying feeling of not being able to control his life frightened Michael. The men could’ve eliminated him, and that would’ve been it. A janitor would wipe the blood off the floor, wash the sheets, burn anything that couldn’t be sanitized, and within a day another patient would be sleeping in this bed. There would be no funeral. No sobbing women in black veils mourning over the life he lived. No one would remember the so-called “Razor Hunter” within a year.
“Razor Hunter, bah, what a stupid name. The people definitely need to get out more.” he thought. His thoughts drifted bringing forth memories of his dad. It was always blurry, but he remembered his bushy mustache. His hard, yet kind eyes that dilated every time he saw Michael. He must’ve been a burly short man who spent more time drinking than watching over him, yet still seemingly cared for Michael. In a drunken, stupor kind of way. There were countless times as a child Michael had fought him pulling the man from his drink, but for all his faults, the man was the only family he had. He remembered his lockscreen of the two of them smiling after he graduated from basic training. The joy the man had watching his only son transition from a boy into a man forged from the grueling weeks of training. All the hiking endured, the sore swollen knees. The memories were fading from his mind as the years went by. They were saved on that phone that Michael had left somewhere back west of here. It had once felt a part of himself. A way to communicate with his former loved ones, but it was impractical to hold on something that couldn’t bring food, provide shelter, and security like other tools could. Still he wished it never died. Some days it was hard to remember him, and the others. The only thing that remained of his father was a blurry image dwelled deep in his mind, and the coin left in his pack. With luck no one messed with it. It was the only object he had left of the man whose name Michael could no longer remember.
Michael turned and stared at the clock. In bright red numbers showed two thirty. The room's light would stay on throughout the night he supposed, and placed a pillow over his eyes. He would need all the rest he could get before the morning came. If only Michael could close his eyes.