Tales of Gaia: An Odyssey » Places

         

Wails and raw shrieks echoed upon themselves in the cavernous subterranean hall leading back to the clinic. The roar of the crowd thrummed a dull, low vibration along the walls and under the feet of Axiom medics as they dragged hobbling or writhing figures back behind the fencing

The match was finally over.

Astrid found herself half-focused on taking vitals for the bludgeoned, broken fighters who had been unlucky in the ring. She half-hoped she'd already have been receiving Samuel Huxley on a wheeled stretcher, grasping the handles herself and rushing him down the lengthy corridor to the clinic and parking him behind a partition curtain to question him.

Instead…

It was a relief that he was still alive. The onslaught of injuries forced many of the orderlies to dash out defenseless on the field, with no called breaks, to clear out the injured and prevent them being used as sacrificial shields. There was so much happening all at once.

"Dr. Claret!" Castellano broke through, "I've got three people behind this one. Gonna need you to work much faster now!"

Astrid straightened up and powered through. Pull it together, Astrid. They're counting on you. "You got it," she zipped back, feeling a tendril of urgency explode into stress as she began to pick up the pace, logging vitals on the big board clipped to one side of the stretchers after checking pulses on bloody wrists, testing coherence, shining flashlights in eyeballs, checking ear canals for blood… one after the other, sending them down the tunnel with hands gripping the bars tightly.

Finally, the crowd cheered. "Three left!" Castellano barked. One after the other flooded to Astrid, and quickly she worked through the examination routines, hoping to learn about what condition Samuel was in, if he even—

"Back to the clinic!" Castellano broke in again, "last of the day. Don't wait around for switchover—these injuries are bad!"

Astrid ran to the locked fence barrier separating the pit from the field medical view pen. There was Samuel. He was covered in black soot from who knew where… a little blood on his clothes, but he was standing upright. Tall. If he was hurt, it certainly didn't show immediately.

"Dr. Claret, we need you to come now!" Castellano burst out again, "a double amputation is needed on this—"

"I SAID THE OTHER ARM WAS PROSTHETIC!"

"Pipe down, Stumpy, it's a fucking double amputation," Castellano shot back at a fighter she'd clearly had prior dealings with, "and are you performing this or not, Dr. Claret? It's time to GO!"

Astrid whipped her head over her shoulder. "I'm coming!" she assured the nurse, but when she went to look back at Samuel in the center of the field… he was gone. She blinked quickly as she forced herself to turn back around. "I'm on my way!"

She dashed out and caught up with the stretcher, running alongside it at a faster pace than Castellano or the other orderly, forcing them to run a little faster. "What's your name, Killer?" she asked him dryly but urgently.

"Goshen," he responded tightly, his teeth gritting until she swore she could hear them scrape together.

"Goshen." Astrid's eyes raced to take in his brutal injuries. "What hit your arms?"

"That son of a bitch with the fucking cuff sliced me!" Goshen retorted.

Astrid blinked. "What happened?" she asked as though offering him sympathy. "What's his deal?"

"They brought him in, new, after he tore up some shit in the city. Motherfucker has some arm!"

"Where did they take him?" Astrid asked as Castellano circled herself around.

"They always take the lucky fucks to the Green Room."

"'Green Room'?"

"The fuck does it matter?"

"Yeah, why DOES it matter, Dr. Claret?" Castellano piped up curiously.

Astrid shook her head. "My first fight, but clearly not yours, Goshen. Let's get you patched up."

"You sound like you're more concerned about—"

"You're in good hands, Stumpy." Astrid glanced to Castellano quickly, nodding a quick acknowledgment as she heard the unexpected compliment. "Now let's get your new arms online. Again."

         

###SPLASH###

Sam was rudely rattled awake by the cold sensation of a couple gallons worth of water, drenching his face and body. He sprung up on the chipped wooden bench that had been his sanctuary for the night and wiped his face clean with his hands, blinking the water away as-- once again-- he succumbed to his senses. However many concussions he had endured in this trying week meant nothing apparently, much like the days themselves-- roaming under the hot Sun with no destination and no desire. The chaingang probably saved his life, as a matter of fact. At least they were steering him in a direction. Axiom would prove to be either the perfect hiding place or just another box.

“Wakey, wakey, ya punk!” a raspy voice sung out melodically from somewhere nearby. Cackling laughter paraded away as Sam heard the bucket clatter on the ground as it was dropped beside him. Other shapes and figures moved around behind-- his eyes clearing to make out the large stone courtyard and prison area they were being detained in. Pieces of straw and stone littered the cluttered dirt floor-- various coves carved into the rock siding designating living cells and quarters for the other fighters. They too milled about-- many exercising or attending to their equipment, biding their time until the impending event. A pair of equally sized, bronze-skinned twins sparred off to Sam’s right with wooden blades, thrusting and parrying back and forth like they had been doing so their whole lives. The hollow clattering echoed around the stone cavern amongst the other hubbub. Isolated beams shone through grated spots in the ceiling, illuminating the grounds with their only source of light as the Sun lingered high above. Sam took it all in, wondering now if he was even in Axiom anymore. This all seemed very different from where he had been before. Wasn’t he in a doctor’s office a second ago? His mind spun in circles, all the sudden voices around him colliding and weaving in and out of his senses.

”Who’s the rotten egg? He wasn’t here yesterday...” a different voice called out from his left. No, wait-- his right. Right?

”You didn’t hear about this?” another voice joined in, ”Mr. Fister here caused quite a ruckus during his eval. Shut down four hospital wings.”

”What? He make all the nurses faint or sumthin’? Look at dat bone structure. Yeesh.”

”Sheeeit. You wanna try and kiss him while he’s still half-out? Fuckin’ fruitcake.”

Sam could hear the two wrestling and ribbing each other as others laughed and jeered from all over. It reminded him of his early days with the Syndicate, when he was much much younger. He was the butt of all the jokes, everybody’s favorite plaything-- batted around like a ball… teased, tested, and tortured. It was all too familiar…

But it felt like home.

The murmur of the crowd died down suddenly as a larger figure pushed his way through the crowd, intrigued by the large commotion. Several guards lingered by the gates, also curious as to what had drawn so much attention, should they have to intervene. The broad-shouldered man crossed over to where Sam rested, and crouched down in front of him-- his face suddenly visible amongst all the other moving shapes. What he thought he saw, must have surely been a hallucination though-- for his eyes fell upon only half of a man. The other half… well--

”Welcome to the Mod Squad,” the man gestured, offering his own metal hand and smiling with what parts of his face weren’t covered by steel plating. A ruby red eye rested where his old one had been, moving in sequence with the other as it looked Sam up and down. He took him by the hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, where he suddenly realized just how tall the man really was. ”Looks like you showed up just in time for the festivities,” he continued, talking to Sam like he was the only one in the room. The others had already began to peel off, distracted by themselves. ”From what I’ve heard about your trip in, I thought you could probably use the extra sleep. There ain’t gonna be time for any orientation...”

Sam had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Orientation for what? Did they put him in some kind of school or something? Nothing had made any sense since arriving to the city. First he was being treated, then transferred. They knew his name… what else could they have found out about him? The Syndicate’s reach was unparalleled. It wouldn’t be long until they thought to check Axiom. And they likely already had some influence in the city. That was the way they thought.

”They call me Achilles,” he continued, leading Sam away from all the noise behind them. ”I won’t explain why, because it’s pretty obvious. Except for the part about the heel. They haven’t found my heel yet and they won’t.”

The guy had a pretty thick swagger as he went on. Men like him had already found their confidence because they could back it up. He seemed like the kind of person who was able to deliver-- and the abundance of respect was evident in the others, seeing how they reacted when he walked by them… the silent interactions and exchanges. Sam remembered having spent much of his time doing the same in his earlier years under the banner of the Syndicate. Figuring out which men had power by how they interacted with others. The men who enjoyed their power a little too much were the easiest to pick out. Entitled and empowered, but the easiest to bring down because of their reliance on those who did the work for them. Pyramids like that began at the bottom, much like everything else in this world. And even Sam…

Achilles led him into one of the side alcoves and motioned for him to sit down at the bench opposite him as he took his own seat. Looking at him straight on now, Sam was able to see his actual frame-- massive in stature and thick with muscle. Combined with the metal supplements, he truly looked like a force to be reckoned with. No wonder he ran this place. His eyes lingered outside at some of the other men as they ran through rigorous routines and exercises. The place was buzzing with activity… as if they were preparing for something. Crowd noise ebbed and flowed in the background, but he couldn’t make out which way. It seemed to be everywhere. The fights must been well underway-- the Sun at its highest point in the sky.

Achilles squinted against it. ”I’ve been in this place for over five years…” He began, slowly… his eyes unflinching. ”I’ve seen men come and go… some even on their own terms. I’ve seen men with thousands of people in the palm of their hands in one instant, killed in the next. I’ve seen courage, and bravery, and cowardice… I’ve seen betrayal… all the strengths and weaknesses of the human condition…” He finally turned his attention back to Sam, looking him straight on in all his seriousness-- faint glints from the Sun reflecting from his metal features. ”But I’ve never once seen them throw a man into the pit on game day!”

From the depths of his belly erupted a hearty laugh, bouncing off the cavernous walls around them. Sam raised an eyebrow at the paradox of a man in front of him-- a self-proclaimed hero with the most confusingly light-going disposition for someone who had supposedly seen ‘all of the strengths and weaknesses of the human condition’. The laughter continued as Achilles wiped his one watery eye clean, the tear duct apparently still fully functional.

”You must have given them quite the show yesterday! I’d have killed to see Sarge’s face, that fuckin’ prick.” He laughed again, slapping his leg in hysterics and clapping his hands. ”I already like you,” he exclaimed vigorously. Sam now noticed that his voice had the faintest hint of some Spanish accent, both fluid and sharp at the same time. ”If they thought it was this important to fast-track you here, then you may be of some use to us. As it seems, we have something in common...” he mentioned, gesturing at the gauntlet on Sam’s hand with his own metal fixture. Achilles wiggled his fingers, showing off his own equipment’s functionality with a wink. Sam looked down at his, seemingly unimpressive for what it was capable of-- covered in dust and silent. Or maybe just asleep? He flexed his fingers, recalling the sensation back in the examination room when his shock collar had caused some kind of reaction with the gauntlet. It had to have somehow built a charge from that. It was the only way it made sense. Sam brought his hand up to his neck, realizing the stupid collar was still attached. His fingers traced its edges, fumbling blindly for any kind of locking mechanism or something. But no luck. It was then that he saw that Achilles didn’t have one. He must have noticed Sam’s gaze drop too. ”I haven’t had one for years…” he breathed, reminiscing.

”Why...?” Sam asked, the first word he’d spoken that day coming out more raspily than he intended. He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar again as if it would give anymore than it had. Achilles reached to his hip and unclasped a leather flask, tossing it over to Sam who caught it, graciously. He leaned forward, running his hands together as he thought of where to start. There was simply too much to get him up to speed on. Sam took a long pull from the flask, the cool liquid running down his throat like gold. He wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand, feeling the cold sensation travel all the way into the pit of his empty stomach as it stirred to life.

”This festival is more than just entertainment,” the Spaniard began, breaking Sam’s train of thought. ”This city-- it’s a machine. And we, the people-- are its gears. Part of being here is understanding that. To survive, we must all play our part...” He looked up to Sam for the next part was the most important. ”My part… is here. There is an auction, of sorts, after each game… should you be lucky enough to have an after.”

Sam narrowed his eyes as he processed Achilles’ choice of phrasing. ”Games?” It seemed like an odd way for a city to spend its time, sitting cozy at the end of the world.

Achilles ”Blood sports, mostly. The basest form of entertainment, and the cheapest too. We perform, and they pay. The survivors are patched up and shipped out to the highest bidders. You give them a show your first time out and you won’t have to worry about being here long. Some of these kids last days, others... months. Hope to whatever God you believe in that you aren’t here any longer than that.”

It all seemed so frivolous and needless in Sam’s eyes. But he had been away from cities for a long time now. Maybe things had changed, but he couldn’t see how an entire people could get behind something so barbaric. He took another sip of water… while he still could.

”I know it’s a lot to process, but there is one catch…” Achilles continued. He turned back out towards the courtyard. ”Tell me, what do you see?”

Sam followed his eyes, looking out at the fighters-- training as if for war. Many of them had similar injuries and modified features. One man moved gracefully on a motorized leg, squared off against a taller man with a see-through abdomen. They danced around one another launching flurries of attacks back and forth quite impressively. The bigger of the two thrust his leg out, catching his opponent as he tried to counter around him-- sending him face first into the dusty gravel of the training yard. The victor thrust his weapon into the air, laughing-- and then reached down to help his conquest back to his feet, helping dust him off. There was an obvious camaraderie here amongst the men, a hint to the potential longevity of his stay if the cards didn’t play out in his favor.

”They’re broken…” Sam realized. Just like he was. The epiphany escaped his lips as it came to him, both men staring out into the grounds at the others, everyone just trying to get by the only way they knew how. Wherever they all came from, they were the same now.

”We’re called the ‘Mod Squad’ for a reason,” Achilles jested. ”Most of these men are lucky enough already to still be alive. And many more have already seen worse things than they are about to see in the fighting pit. We’re more prepared than most going in. You look like you’ve seen some of the same.”

That was an understatement. There were clear dangers going into a situation like this, but Sam was no stranger to trying to stay alive. His instincts were real and they were seasoned. ”So I’m a slave to the games until someone buys me?”

Achilles nodded, shrugging his shoulders. ”If that’s how you choose to make sense of it…”

Sam licked his teeth, wondering what he had gotten himself into. Another situation he had to fight his way out of. He hoped to have put that kind of life behind him and headed for better pastures… but once again, he had put himself at another’s mercy. It was high time he broke this cycle.

”Now, for the bad news…”

Sam sighed, inwardly. Bad news? What the hell was the first part then?

Achilles straightened up, holding his metal hand out as if Sam hadn’t seen it yet. ”We don’t come cheap.” Sam looked at his gauntlet again. More of a curse than a blessing, lately. ”I wish you had the luxury of setting your own price, but they aren’t just bidding on us… they bidding on what we can do.” He pointed at his eye, as if to make a point. ”This shit’s got night vision...”

Sam managed to smile in the first time in forever. Embarrassingly enough, his cheeks felt a little tight.

”Point is… we come at a price. I know you’re new here, but the wealthy… the affluent? They exist in this place in a big way. And they’ll be out there today. Catch their eye and you’ll earn your ticket home. All you have to do is give them the show they want.”

He nodded his understanding and braced his hands together, burying his face between. He had been causing a lot of scenes lately, and just when he was prepared to finally keep his head down...

He was about to become the scene.

# # #

Sam leaned near the front gate with some of the other fighters, killing time until they were summoned to the pit. There wasn’t much else to do unless you felt like walking around restlessly, as several of the others had decided to take up. His eyes though fell towards an older man with peppered hair and a patchy beard. A soiled, loose tunic hung around his bony frame, masking how skinny he truly was. His lips moved slightly as he mumbled a silent prayer with his hands clasped tightly together. He wondered if he would have prayed, had he any beliefs left in him. And as Sam looked around, he noticed that much of the rest of the grounds had grown silent too in anticipation. Achilles paced by the front gate like a caged tiger, gripping his hands into fists and relaxing them again like some kind of ritual. Sam wondered how he managed to survive all these games-- and whether his disfigurements were a product of them or just a prop. Raucous cheers poured out into the warm summer air as an audibly massive crowd reacted to something over the walls. The pulsing rhythm of a unified chant thrummed through the very ground they stood on, repeating and repeating.

Achilles stopped in his tracks, grinning as he stretched his arms out to the sky. ”It ends… and it begins.” Sam jumped as the others all sprung to their feet, readying themselves. He followed suit, standing too-- though he wasn’t sure why. Another fighter must have noticed the perplection evident on his face, because he nudged Sam with his arm and nodded towards the arena. ”If they’re chanting, it means death is coming. It’s the last kill.” The one speaking was practically a kid… barely even 18 by the looks of him. But he looked like he had seen all this before.

Footsteps paraded down the thin walkway outside the metal facade, and in one giant motion, everyone gravitated towards the front. Achilles pounded his chest loudly, with large motions-- howling out warcries. Those who were familiar with them fell in unison as the volume grew and grew, filling the whole yard. Bodies rushed by him, eagerly racing towards the gate as the guards arrived outside-- bemused by the group’s energy.

”Is the Squad readyyyy?!” the lead guard bellowed out above the commotion as he fished out a giant keyring. The jingling alone sent the squad into a frenzy as they clamored and pounded and shouted aloud. It almost matched the intensity of the overarching din of the crowd, ever-present and growing with each passing second. Something was happening.

The door switched open and Achilles stepped out first, posting up by the door to see his men out-- like a captain and his team. They filed through in ones and twos, headed down the path alongside the allotment of guards towards the arena. Sam fell in line, following suit like the others as dirt turned into stone and then into metal. The sunlight faded away behind them as the parade of fighters half-jogged onwards towards uncertain circumstances. The guards suddenly grew more heavily armored and armed as they drew nearer to the actual fighting grounds. A large arched double set of doors gave way into a staging area where the room widened. Sets of weaponry, armor, shields, and gadgets were laid out on various tables, waiting to be picked. It seemed as though they would at least be going out swinging.

His eyes wandered immediately towards a large round shield pieced together by chunks of scrap metal. He grabbed it by its handle and examined the weight of it in his hand as others around him scrambled to claim items around him. Satisfied with the feel of it, he hung it loosely by his side-- looking back to see what else may be of use. Much of it appeared to be too cumbersome or restricting, which he knew he would regret later. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the praying man from earlier-- standing along the edge of the wall with empty hands. He showed no signs of interest in the dash and grab taking place in front of him. Perhaps he expected to die either way or-- simply didn’t care.

Sam almost pitied the man. Time was, nothing mattered to him either. The days bled together into years. Wasting away into the wasteland like another piece of dust. The crowd grew louder now-- feeding off of itself, and Sam could feel it in his bones.

One more fight. That’s what he kept telling himself. You’re almost there. Just one more.

And then you can come home…

         

Eddie's face was beginning to draw downward, seemingly more sallow by the minute as the truck lumbered down the crackled road, toward the gray lump on the horizon that grew incrementally larger by the second. The bullet wound had finally stopped gushing, but the loss of blood was beginning to take its toll. The color was nearly drained out from his normally ruddy, somewhat sunburned face. He leaned against the window as one hand lost control of his makeshift compress. "Ike. I need a nap."

Ike's icy eyes narrowed as he glanced reflexively at Eddie as he slumped toward the door and began to curl his head into his neck and relax against the stable surface. He returned his gaze to the road snappily as he reached out a long, muscular arm to tap at Eddie, carefully at first to avoid adding injury to the shoulder. "Hey, man, sit up!" he barked authoritatively. "You fall asleep, you might not wake back up. Think you can hold out a little longer?"

Eddie yelped but didn't struggle as he slumped back into a more comfortable position. "Jesus, dude, I just want to close my eyes."

Instantly, Ike's fingers flashed upwards to mash a button nestled into a control panel on the ceiling, a cord crudely dressed in miscolored strips of duct tape snaking toward the back hatch of the truck. A loud buzz was muffled by the closed window along with the sound of the wind whipping over the exterior of the vehicle. "Astrid, we're nosediving. Better get up here."

The response was immediate. "Eddie, Eddie, Eddie," Astrid's voice rapidly chirped out repeatedly as she worked to contort her frame through the window separating the cab of the truck from the back bed. Within seconds she had skillfully looped her way through the porthole after pushing her foot off of the wooden frame and accelerating ahead. Immediately she twisted back around to shove an arm behind her and through the window to grasp a clean towel and a handful of gauze, then yanked a small white bottle from a pouch on her belt. After untwisting the plastic lid and shaking a couple of tablets into her palm, she stuck them into Eddie's mouth before she began to inspect his wound visually at first. She frowned deeply. "Pull over, please," she stated firmly toward Ike, still eyeing the burgundy pit barely visible through Eddie's blood-stained slate-gray jacket.

"You kidding?" Ike scoffed, also not daring to take his eyes off of his main priority: the road. "You don't tell me how to do my job, I won't tell you how to do yours."

"If you don't pull over, I might not be able to do my job at all," Astrid returned coolly, doing her best to not lose her composure. A little hint of strain growled into her tone as she unpocketed a set of surgical sheers.

"My job is to get you to a medical facility, which is right there in front of us," he responded with double the frustration as he jabbed a pointer finger at the windshield briefly. The city still loomed ahead like a prize.

"It'll still be there after we pull over and help him!" she insisted strainedly as she worked her fingers to force the scissors to chew through the tough fabric of Eddie's work jacket, quickly cutting a large section out and chucking the blood-soaked blades down by the man's feet when she was finished. She peeled the piece away and began to examine the wound more closely before reaching for the saline solution on her utility belt. "I might have to use forceps to take the bullet out and we can't afford to—"

"—ahh, SHIT!" Ike belted out very suddenly as he quickly and widely wound the steering wheel in his gloved hands.

Astrid looked up in just enough time to see a glimpse of a scuttle of horses visible through the left hemisphere of the windshield, accompanied by a series of banners with a flashy design she wasn't able to make out from such a distance. She dropped the bottle as she felt one side of the car suddenly become much heavier than the other thanks to the sharp angle the truck suddenly spun into very purposefully. She worked to maintain any semblance of cool she had left as she reached forward to grab a hold of Eddie's stronger shoulder to steady him. "Ike, what happened??"

"Tsunami Syndicate," he growled, his hostility clearly directed at them. "We're taking the long way home."

"But Eddie needs-"

"Doc, just trust me on this," he pleaded. The truck throttled frantically, careening along a rocky section of unpaved road, opening up into a downhill pathway. "Mining sites. Been behind the wheel a million times here. Old stomping grounds!" he professed proudly as he glanced into the rearview mirror to smugly gloat at the scene he'd so deftly extricated them from. The orangey minerals gleamed from the narrow walls of the ravine sandwiching them into an old section of a canyon that had apparently at some point perhaps been carved out by the Columbia River.

Astrid, on the other hand, bit her lip in concern as she continued to keep Eddie anchored to his seat, eyes wide open in terror as she watched ravine walls speed by dangerously. "Ike. I don't understand," she started carefully, working to drain the emotion from her voice and dry it out as much as possible, "I don't know why we're going through here."

"I don't expect you Beau Monde to understand," Ike rattled out, his thick dark eyebrows slanted downward over his eyes that were still fixated forward as he stomped the gas pedal abruptly, "but out here on the Wasteland there's a threat bigger than anything else… starving, exposure, none of them hit like the Syndicate. You see them coming? You go right back from where you came and hope they didn't see you."

It was then that a billowing rush of red and gray dust blasted through the narrow pathway, spraying the windshield with rocks and debris as the truck continued to power ahead. "Landslide, not to worry!" Ike hollered in an an attempt at reassurance.

"You've got to stop so I can help Eddie!"

He narrowly avoided scattered boulders and rocks hardly visible through the milky dust clouding the path. It was clear that he did indeed know the place well. Any other driver might have already crashed into the walls, but something else entirely guided Ike while behind the wheel. "Jesus, Doc, there's nothing you can do on the side of the road you can't do from here," Ike countered rancorously.

"Don't call me 'Doc'!" she jarred out very suddenly and angrily, the side of her nose twisting up into an vexed snarl that bled into her voice.

Ike compulsorily snapped his eyes from the road and opened his mouth to bellow back at Astrid, but before a single sound came out there was an unmistakable THUD! from the driver's side, and a long black blip barreled up noisily from the hood of the truck, miraculously bouncing across Ike and Astrid's vision and deflecting upwards and off of the passenger's side. A giant crack spidered out over the windshield like lightning as what seemed like a solid metal chunk SMASHED! upon it from the right side before there was silence.

The look of panic on Ike's face was more than uncharacteristic—it was flat-out unrecognizable to Astrid. She then felt herself cough, followed by a sharp bar of pain across her sternum and shoulders as her body slammed up against the gigantic back of the front bench seats of the truck's cab. She bolstered her arm's hold on Eddie, whose fast-acting meds had thankfully kicked in quickly. The other arm instinctively reached forward to protectively grasp a hold of the ball of Ike's right shoulder. Both of his hands didn't leave the steering wheel, practically white as he guided the truck to a stop as it screeched ahead through the thick dust. Finally, they came to a halt.

Ike finally felt himself breathe after a long moment, then irritably swatted Astrid's small hand away. Astrid frowned as she sezied her arm from around Eddie and jetted out from the backseat of the cab. Ike was hot on her heels. The path behind them was streaked in deep tire treads serving as a play-by-play of what had just befallen them. After more of the dust cleared over the seconds that followed, it became evident that that thing that had bounced off the hood wasn't a thing—it was a person, slumped dangerously against the rocky wall.

Astrid turned to Ike, who'd just caught up with her and was just as stunned as she was. Her jaw dropped as her eyes met his fearfully.

"Now you got what you wanted, Doc," he retorted quickly to fill in the gap of silence.

"Son of a bitch, Ike," she hissed back exasperatedly, then snapped off on her feet back to the truck. Her heart was pounding fast, spilling up into her throat and sending sprig after sprig of toxic-feeling but cathartic fear through her bloodstream. She yanked upon the car door and reached a hand up to pat Eddie's better shoulder. "Hey, Eddie, are you-"

"Right ash rain, Doctorh Klaritt," he drawled back loopily. Good. He was talking. At least he was talking. That was the silver lining—he'd pull through. He shakily wobbled his hands toward his seatbelt. "I'b sho sharry, I should be out helping you and Ike…"

"No, no, no, no, Eddie, stay right here," she assured him gently as she coaxed his uninjured shoulder back to relax him against his headrest, "just don't fall asleep. You can fall asleep when we take the slugs out, all right? We've got to haul someone out."

"You mean we hit shumwun?"

"We're not sure yet. It could have been anything. But if we did it was a mistake," she rattled aloud in the same lightly-singsong tone as before. She clamped her mouth shut once she realized that that response had been more for her own good than for the sake of filling Eddie in about what had happened. She nodded courteously as she checked the security of his seatbelt."I'll be back." She shut the door and made for the back of the truck to open the gate and peek in at the two rescues from the mine. The small screens flickering along a black panel inset into the side of the interior featured no danger, and they were still strapped in securely. She breathed a sigh of relief, then turned and dashed back toward Ike and the still stranger.

"Is he okay?" Astrid asked hushedly as her eyes focused on the figure. Her heart still pounded like a heavy drum thanks to the fast rush.

"He's not dead, if that's what you're asking," Ike growled back defensively. He sauntered to the body and motioned for Astrid to follow. "Not physically dead. But see those chains?" As he approached the still body, he nudged his boot along a couple of rusty, stressed iron links connected to a blistered wrist. "Joe Schmo, here, has the good fortune of being marked. We gotta leave him here. He is dead."

Astrid stuck her hands on her hips protestedly and shook her head. "That's not going to happen, Ike." She walked past him slowly, stepping deliberately and relaxing her stance as she meandered ahead. Her dark eyes trailed from the dilapidated boots adorning the man's feet, up the tattered clothing that featured a splash of blood, then fixating on what looked like an engraved column-style vase stuck awkwardly from his wrist nearly up to the elbow, almost like a cast for a broken arm. She'd never seen anything quite like it before. That explained the windshield. The man's face, expression neutrally positioned thanks to his unconsciousness, was caked in dust. It even gathered in chalky chunks in his hair. She kept down on the ground next to his shoulder and gently reached to touch him on the unadorned arm. "Hello?"

"Didn’t you hear me say we're leaving him here?"

"And don't you hear me say that's not happening?" she immediately volleyed back quietly as a hand pulled the wound-up cords of a field stethoscope. She gently set its round drum against the still man's neck, cradling it below the underside of his straight jaw. "We're responsible for him. We can't leave him out here."

"No way." Ike shook his head and held his hands up firmly. "I know you doctors and your oath. You lot are too damn obligated by some nonsensical thing."

Astrid was tired. Not just physically, but tired of arguing with Ike. This was too much. He'd been one of the drivers she'd worked with closely in her year of shifts in the Axiom Wasteland Area Triage. Ike's practicality and quick thinking shot him to the top of the list in terms of his talent for fast transportation that had saved countless lives, but also made him quick to point out errors. Typically the two did have a harmonious working relationship, even cordial at times—but Ike's demeanor and mannerism today seemed more intense than usual. She'd never seen him hit an object like that. Ever.

She took a deep breath and decided to try. "Ike. I know you're tired. It's been a day. But we can't leave him behind or we're going to get sanctioned. That means the both of us losing our licenses. Together. Along with Eddie. We can't do that."

"Look. I don't want any trouble from Axiom, but the Syndicate will do more than just take your damn medical license. They'll string you along on a chain like Dusty McGee, here," he indicated toward Astrid's newest patient.

Astrid blinked vacantly as she directed her gaze back up to the far taller man. She had no patience for this. She'd begged and begged the Medical Bureau to task her to Wasteland Triage instead of the Axiom Beau Monde Emergency Center, which was far more quiet by comparison. She had great love for her pediatric patients and expectant mothers, of course; upon Astrid's certification, neighbors and family friends were eager to beseech who'd once been the poor little girl who'd showed up in such bad condition for medical help, conducting a thriving small practice and even making house calls. Anyone who looked at Astrid would have seen the living embodiment of a person who'd overcome unfortunate, terrible challenges and instead pushed through to not only overcome them, but also to succeed. She was a triple-boarded medical doctor who'd spent lengths of time in all Seven Cities on the continent below the 49th parallel, the head of her own household after her aunt and uncle bequeathed their Axiom home to her after departing back to their own origins, with a willing staff of longtime family attendants who'd happily overstayed the terms of their freedom contracts after stepping off of an auction block in the outer ring of the city. She had neither the time nor the desire to invest her time or efforts in pointless people, or pointless things in general--but the work in Beau Monde began to feel more and more pointless as the trauma training incident played over and over again in her mind the more that time waned on. The recurring nightmares with the symbol hadn't stopped, either. It was becoming difficult to even be happy for her clients when she was far more comfortable to being happy alongside with them; the moment that registered in her mind, she knew she needed a change. It was only right, after what had happened after the training. The heartbreak didn't go away like she'd been told it would. She needed to ensure for herself that what had happened all that time ago would never happen to anyone like that ever again as long as she was staffing Triage.

Astrid tilted her eyes back to the man's face after a moment. Silence followed as she carefully probed the stethoscope's pad along the side of the man's throat. Finally, there it was. A heartbeat. Strong and regular. Good. She breathed a sigh of relief and absent-mindedly streaked a thick layer of dust off of his cheek with her thumb to reveal a normal complexion. He wasn't cold. You poor thing. This could have been so much worse, and I'm glad it wasn't, she reflected inwardly.

She knew what to say to Ike.

"I remember you telling me your great-grandfather was a thief who was taken in by Triage," she recollected matter-of-factly.

"No, no, no, my grandfather wasn't being chased by the damn Syndicate," he rushed back, jolting a finger in the air.

"What can I say, Ike?" Astrid shrugged as she pocketed her stethoscope, quickly checking the lengths of his arms, legs, and ribs for any broken bones. None. She nodded and stepped to crouch low beside the unconscious man, snaking an arm between him and the rock behind him and pushing him ahead to fit her hands into his armpits and begin to drag him to the truck. He was a lot bigger than she was, but that wasn't going to stop her. "We don't have time to waste, we've got four to bring into Checkpoint," she hoofed between breaths. Her heart was still pounding. "Your story means a lot to you, and it means a lot to me. You know why I'm out here."

For once, Ike didn't say anything. He sighed and crossed his arms as he watched Astrid struggle to bring the unconscious man from "point A" to "point B," then finally gave in. Within moments, the stranger was laid out on the backseat bench of the truck with his knees slightly drawn up, not detectable by a glance in case they came across the slaver party again. Astrid crouched in the trough between the benches, directly behind Eddie and beside the new patient.

Ike looked at Eddie far more calmly than before. "You all right, man?"

He nodded drowsily. "Geeshush, I'm fihhne, you guysh."

"All right, man." Ike glanced at Astrid through his rearview mirror, his expression considerably softer than before. He gave a nod. "You all right, Dr. Claret?"

She smiled. "Can you get us out of here fast?" Ike mirrored a smaller version of the smile as he hit the gas and the truck roared back to life and back into motion.

Astrid turned to shift her eyes back to the stranger and reached to carefully skim the excess dust from around the man's nose, mouth, and eyes, and raked a few fingers through his hair to shake out what hadn't already fallen out after he was transported to the truck. No use in him waking up to more dust. He was already probably in for something of a rude awakening, anyway, if Ike ended up being right. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she again thought of that awful day.

She then tuffed her sleeve over her knuckles and began to polish off the metal surface of whatever was clamped around his arm, admiring the strange designs. What was this, exactly? Some kind of torture device? Tracking?

Suddenly, it didn't matter. A mark on the skin of his bicep, just above his elbow. The mark. It was the mark. She'd never seen it in front of her face. Only after she closed her eyes and was swept off helplessly in the maelstrom of the same nightmare over so many years.

Her jaw dropped. She couldn't say anything. She could only stare at the mark, occasionally lamping her eyes up at the stranger's face. She had so many questions.

The path ahead far more clear now that the dust had settled. Back to Axiom.