3/15/54

ALEXANDER GALDUR

$10,500,450 in medical fees!? What the hell!? I know I was incredibly hurt, but this seems a little excessive, yeah!? I wasn’t even bottom middle class; I was in poverty. I had to steal for a living, so how in the world would I ever make enough to cover over ten million dollars?

I could feel the life drain away from my face, and a small tear escaped my eye. A feeling of peace and resignation came over me as my future was settled: I’ll work till I die and then some. From the corner of my peripheral vision, I saw the boy from the alley. He was wearing his outfit from the other day, clean as can be as he probably washed it. Then, there I was, in my… hospital gown? Right, I was in a hospital, they would’ve needed to change me out of my grime-covered clothing.

My brain wandered as the boy spoke up, “Are you alright? You look… like death.”

“I’m fine,” I lied to myself, “Just in crippling debt.”

“Ok?” The boy confusedly asked, “I mean, this is an American hospital.”

I nodded in agreement, “Sadly, it is.”

The man with sunken eyes wickedly smiled, “And you can’t do anything about it.”

I flopped back down, accepting my fate, “Yep, so just take my organs now.”

“We could do that, or,” The man began to suggest, “you could work for us.”

My brain began to process the man’s words, having trouble registering the offer before I dumbfoudedly questioned, “Pardon?”

The man’s already wicked smile curved into an antagonistic deformation of a grin, “We could hire you, not as one of our employees because you are clearly, extremely underqualified, but instead as some extra help or a bounty hunter.”

“While that sounds great,” I countered, “My magic is extremely weak, and I can barely use it.”

The man started a cold, dry cackle, “Why yes, it is, but with enough training, we can get that light magic of yours to be quite useful.”

I opened my mouth to argue about why they would help train a dark magician before I shut it. Light magic? Is that all he mentioned? Do they not know about my dark magic? Why didn’t that illusion magician report to his superiors about my magic? No, it doesn’t matter. What matters right now, is that my magic is still a secret; I’m still safe.

The beginning of a smirk formed on my own face, “Alright, let’s first talk this out. What are the job details?”

The man quickly steeled his face, “You will work as a bounty hunter, hunting the different bounties that we put up. Forty percent of your earnings will go towards your debt, the rest is for you to use. In addition, if we ever need help with something and call on you, although I doubt we will, you’ll need to help with whatever it is we need. Don’t worry, we will pay you for your troubles, and, don’t worry, we’ll be taking forty percent of our money back.”

I could feel my face changing. A dead expression with no emotion is the only way it could be described. A bounty hunter? Forty percent of the money? My lips parted to voice my confusion while still under the disguise as the polite Lucas Greymore, “Pardon?”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Let me say it another way,” The man laughed as he pulled out a contract, “Just sign here, and we’ll be handling your debt.”

My brain struggled to process his words, distraught with confusion, pain, and anxiety. My hand lifted up to grab the pen he held, and before I knew it, I was signing the contract and my life away. By the time I came to, I realized what I’d done, and my eyes fixed upon my hands in abstract horror.

“Good choice.”

The man roared in laughter made of corrupt glee while the boy and girl only watched, faces watching in disgust at the man’s wickedness. “Seeing as you’ll be here for a while, I’ll introduce myself and these other two,” The man stated, “I am Joseph Whitaker, Dr. Whitaker to you, and the chief medical advisor here. This girl is a resident, Anna Andrushko. Finally, the boy who got you here, Deimos Dust.”

I looked over to the boy now announced as Deimos and reached out my hand, “Thank you for helping me, Deimos. I’m Lucas Greymore, it’s a pleasure.”

Deimos grabbed my hand and shook it hesitantly, ”The pleasure’s all mine, Lucas.”

DEIMOS DUST

I’m shaking hands with a dark magician. Am I gonna die soon?

I forced the thoughts from my mind, knowing it would only cause more and more anxiety. From what I’ve seen, Lucas is a good person. He helped me in my time of need, and he’s polite when talking. He’s probably just a good person even when he’s a dark magician… aren’t all dark magicians evil and violent?

Ever since I was a child, I was told that dark magicians were the embodiment of evil, and this was further enhanced by the fact my father was a ranker and my mother was a warden for a prison. They were both heavily against dark magicians, and their jobs didn’t help. They were dead set on instilling society’s, the DME’s, and the NMSA’s ideals and rules into my mind. My parents were also killed by the ARO and some dark magicians back when I was seven. My stigma towards dark magicians is well-placed. I’m convinced of that.

Then why? Why did a dark magician go out of his way to help me? That was a member of the ARO he attacked, and I’m a member of the DME. The ARO are actively trying to help him, and the DME, if they knew of his magic, would be actively trying to hunt him. It doesn’t make sense. I’ll need to ask him in private.

“Hey, can I ask you something in private?”

A blank face replaced his previously smiling one, “Sorry, I can’t move well with a hole in my leg, and the pain is overwhelming, even now.”

“Oh, right.” I responded, cringing at my own stupidity, “It was nothing anyway, don’t worry about it.”

He asked curiously, “Does it have to be in private?”

“Kind of, yeah.” I responded. I have my doubts of whether or not Lucas would want others to know he was a dark magician, so I’ll just keep it bottled up for now.

As the conversation came to an end, Dr. Whitaker injected himself, “Well, you won’t have to worry about that for too long. With what we got here, we should be able to get Lucas back in one day.”

“One day!?” Lucas yelled, shocked.

Another wicked smile stretched across Dr. Whitaker’s face, “Of course, you do now owe us over ten million dollars you know?”

“Y-yes, I know, sir.” Lucas winced, the life once more draining away from his face.

“Though, The main healing will be done by Anna, who is, you know, just a resident, so it will take longer,” Dr. Whitaker noted, the joy of tormenting Lucas noticeably disappearing into his old grumpy demeanor, “It will probably take from three to four days and only cost eight million dollars.” Under his breath with a small click of his tongue, he silently mumbled to himself, “Damn, we can’t charge you as much.”

Despite Dr. Whitaker’s grumbling, the resident named Anna went to talk to Lucas, “I guess we’ll be spending a lot of time together for the next few days. I hope we’ll get along from now on.”

Lucas nodded joyfully, “I hope so too.”