Chapter 2

When he woke up again he was happy to find her at his bedside doing exactly what he wanted her to do. Rub his head to keep the pain away. She wasn't paying attention to him and didn't notice he was awake. Instead, she was typing away with one hand on the oldest laptop he had ever seen in his entire life. She pressed enter and he felt a sting in the back of his head. He flinched and that caught her attention.

"Lay still now. It's almost over" she spoke. He was confused. What was she doing to him? when his vision cleared up he could see a black cable connecting the laptop to the chip in his head.

"what are you doing to me?" he asked weakly, dreading the answer. She looked up at him and smiled softly. That kind smile she had given him before. The smile that had made him feel safe and secure.

"trying to get rid of the brain spaghetti. It's a mess in there. Do you feel any difference?" she asked.

"No! get it out of me.. get it out.." he started struggling and tugging on the cable, but she grabbed his hand. "John, John! Don't do that.. you'll hurt yourself. Let me disconnect you properly… here" she typed a few things down and the cable disconnected itself and fell beside him on the pillow. He relaxed and stared at her with an offended expression, feeling almost as violated as before. He reached up to feel the chip in his head and found the wound left from the heist. Right behind his ear, a deep cut.

His hand was moved away and something wet and cool was being held against the place of the chip. He looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, john" she said. "I just thought I might be able to help you"

"I'm..jumpy" he mumbled apologetically.

"With good reason"

"No.. I've always been like that. It's.. it's not your fault. I just don't want anymore.. cables inside my brain"

Her hand found its way to his hair again and he sighed when the feeling of relaxation washed over him. He was definitely going to miss this treatment.

"Alright, John. I understand and I'm sorry. It's alright now"

He wondered if Delacourt had any idea of his whereabouts, and if she would even try to find him. The damn woman had never been very amiable, and he always looked at their annual meetings as a dreaded obligation. Her hand was pulled back from his head when a knock came to the front door.

"That would be my brother." Mira said and got up from the side of the bed. "I'll apologize in advance of what he's going to say to you. I called him a few hours ago when you were sleeping. I thought he might be able to help."

Fantastic, more fans. Just what he needed. An audience with another satisfied employee. Now his brain felt somewhat cleared up, he remembered the face of the young man that stole his brain data. Along with some of his friends, no doubt, all of them unknown to him. But the young man's name.. was Max. He had had an accident at the factory the other day. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized the looming figure standing at the footend of his bed. A tattooed dangerous looking young man, his arms crossed over his chest. Unmistakably wearing the Armadyne work overall.

"We missed you at work today.. boss." He said, the last word spat out mockingly. "seems like you got yourself busted up huh?"

Giving Mira an uncertain quick look, John cleared his throat and tried to sit up a little, an attempt to look atleast a little dignified in the presence of one of his workers.

"Yes. I want you to do something for me. If it wouldn't be too much trouble." He said, but the young man just laughed and peered at his sister. "Can you believe this? That fucknut doesn't even bother to ask me my name. See? I told you he was like that. Feels too good for anything.. "

John felt himself roll his eyes, a gesture that wasn't met with much kindness either as the young man bared his teeth for a moment and walked up to his bedside. "Listen here, you rich son of a bitch. I'm not planning on doing anything for your sorry ass until you tell me that I can pack my bags and leave for Elysium with my sister. Alright?"

The CEO stared at the young man in utter disbelief. "I.. I can't promise that!" He never stuttered, but these terms sounded so ridiculous, it just took the words right out of his mouth. "That isn't up to me. I don't run Homeland Security."

"Ohh, you hear that, Mira? He doesn't run Homeland Security. You dragged the wrong Elysium bitch into the house. Well then you're useless to me.. John fucking Carlyle. And I've got nothing more to say to you." The young man spat and turned to leave. The disappointed look John received from Mira rendered him even more unable to keep up his stoic role.

"No, wait! Please. What is your name?"

He could have sworn he saw Mira hint the smallest of smiles at that point, and that pleased him more than he would ever admit. But the tactic seemed to work and the young gangster turned to face him once again.

"Dean. Dean Sullivan." He said. The CEO extended his hand and after a moment of hesitation, Dean accepted.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Sullivan. I'm John Carlyle. I think.. if you help me. I can put in a good word for you with our Defence Secretary, would that be enough? Once again, I cannot make any promises. "

Dean nodded, a little unsure of what was happening. "Yea man, you tell that bitch I helped you. Now what do you want?" A little kindness went along way, John thought amused. Something that must have rubbed off from Mira's kind treatment of him. There was no reason to be rude to her brother after all she had done for him anyway. He could already imagine Delacourt's shocked expression at hearing his explanation of what had happened and exactly what kind of earth citizen he was recommending to her. But all that were problems to be dealt with later.

"I need you to contact Elysium for me. I'm bedridden unfortunately, but it is vital that I return as soon as possible. I wasn't attacked for no reason. I cannot explain to you why as that information I classified. There is a computer in the foreman's office on the main floor that holds a way to communicate directly with Elysium. All you need to do is explain the situation to your foreman and he'll show you how to use the program."

Dean stared at him, wide eyed. And then started laughing nervously. "I don't know, man. That foreman is an asshole. I don't think he would believe me. Besides don't you have this freaky medical implant you can use?"

John didn't know the foreman personally. He only vaguely remembered the man on the day Max had his accident. Explaining to him what had happened. He had ordered the foreman to fire Max and get him out of his factory. He shot an uncertain look at a curious and innocent looking Mira. She didn't know half of how much of a heartless bastard she saved. He reached up feel the medical implant. It was unresponsive to his thoughts, touch and probably calls from Elysium.

"I fear the heist damaged it somehow. If it was still working, they would have located me already and I wouldn't be here anymore. I would be grateful if you'd help me, Mr. Sullivan." John said.

"Yea well don't go throwing around the gratitude thing too much. You're going to pay me for doing that, rich boy!" Dean threatened, pointing a tattooed finger at the wounded CEO.

"Fine.." The Elysium citizen snapped back, getting tired of this little gangster with the brain capacity of a squirrel. "How much?"

Dean laughed and shook his head, giving his silent sister a quick look. "Is he fucking kidding me, Mira? It doesn't matter what I ask. He's so stinking rich. This man.. This very man! Bought the planet. He basically fucking bought the fucking planet. That shitty fucked up blue ball that fucks up your view from the window everytime you take a shit. Isn't that right, Carlyle?"

Getting used to his vile language and aggressive attitude, John sighed impatiently. "How much?"

Dean sniffed, shifted his weight and looked around as if he was embarrassed for what he was about to ask. "I want a million dollars in cash. In a little fucking leather suitcase with my name on it." He said.

A million dollars, really? The urge to tell the young man that if a million dollars would fall out of John's pockets, he wouldn't care to turn around and pick it back up. It was nothing, and it proved yet again that Mira inherited all the brain cells in the family, leaving Dean with none to work with.

"Fine." John shrugged and flinched when he hurt his chest. "I expect you can have this done by tomorrow? I take it you're coming back from your shift?"

"I'm back on tonight. I work night shifts in your 24/7 factory as well as day shifts. Because the pay is so fucking bad I can't get my kids through fucking school if I wouldn't work my ass off like that. Your paycheques suck, Carlyle. But we have a deal. One Million. And the suitcase?" Dean said.

This time Mira interfered. She had seen quite enough. Her brother needed to state his opinion, and he had every right to do so. She knew all about the conditions he had to work in and the young children he had to provide for. But leather suitcases didn't make any difference in that situation.

"Dean, stop being childish. Why would it matter in what container the money was brought to you? Be glad you're going to get it. I think it's time for you to go, he needs rest." She said. The CEO was grateful for her help and tried to thank her with a reassuring smile, indicating that he felt alright. The gesture was interpreted the wrong way by her brother who narrowed his eyes at the wounded man.

"Are you getting fucking sweet on my sister now? Is that what's going on here?" Dean said and took a step in his direction. "I don't care where you come from, or how rich you are or whoever the fuck your friends in high places are.. this is my little fucking sister.. and if you touch her.. I'm going to make sure I get the right boys to handle you. And I'll sell your ass to whoever's willing to pay the jackpot. Am I clear, Carlyle?"

"Charming." John sneered arrogantly. "I can assure you, Mr. Sullivan. I didn't volunteer to be here. I don't enjoy it any more than you do. No matter the company."

Dean huffed and turned to his mildly alarmed looking sister. "Keep an eye on this fucknut. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon." With no other words of goodbye, the young man left. The CEO leaned back into his pillows, feeling exhausted from the ordeal. Because of his exceptionally high immune system, he was a fast healer, but he still needed rest. Mira sat down on the side of his bed and gave him a small smile.

"You alright?" she asked.

He nodded slowly and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. "I'm very tired. I'd like to rest now."

Perhaps his answer had sounded a little too cross, for she didn't respond. She tucked him in wordlessly and left him to rest. He didn't have much time to regret his tone before he fell asleep.

He dreamed about the faces of his attackers. His memory of the whole event returning to him in their full extent now his brain was healing. He also dreamed about his last talk with Delacourt. She had confided in him about her secret ambitions and even bribed him into helping her execute them. He couldn't care less about who was president of the thing he build himself, all he wanted was to secure the future of his company.

When he woke up again, it was dark and the faint noises of a television erupted from the livingroom. Feeling rested and the need to apologize for his earlier tone, he decided to get out of his bed, wrap one of the blankets around himself and face his young savior. Who hadn't failed to bestow her kindness on him once. She sat huddled in a quilt with a bowl of popcorn in front of the glowing screen and looked up in mild surprise when he appeared in the doorway.

"Everything okay?" she asked, her mouth full of the buttery snack.

"No.. I mean yes.. I.. May I sit down?" He said, pointing at the seat next to her. She nodded vigorously and removed the bowl, creating room for him. For a while, they simply sat there, side by side, both wrapped in their individual quilts. He looked around the small livingroom. He hadn't been able to before in his state of delirium, and eventhough it was dark, he could make out the colourful wallpaper, a different one on each wall. Mismatching furniture and almost ancient kitchen appliances.

His attention was drawn to the television for a brief moment. She had been watching the news. Forest fires. What else was new?

"Are you feeling a bit better?"

He looked up when he heard her question. Her eyes showing nothing but kindness and now also worry. He nodded to reassure her. "The talk I had with your brother simply wore me out. I just needed to rest." He explained. She nodded in understanding and smiled.

"You'll be sleeping in your own bed soon, don't worry. This must look like an absolute dump to you, doesn't it?" she chuckled, but it was without joy. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He didn't want her to think he was ungrateful, much less unkind or impolite about her living facilities.

"Well.." He started carefully, letting his cold eyes roam the room once more. She made an unamused face at his antics and huffed in annoyance.

"I don't need your judgement, Mister Carlyle." She shot at him.

"I was going to say I find your home very welcoming. But that is more credited to its owner than the way it looks, I think."

She blinked at him for a moment, surprised at his words no doubt. "Thank you. What does your home look like?" she asked. He shifted a little, making himself more comfortable and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes, feeling safe enough to do so, and contemplated his answer for a moment.

"Very white and spacious. I don't spend much time there. I spend more time on earth than I do at home. Maybe that is not a very desirable trait to entertain, but my work simply won't allow me much time away from my office."

She reached out to gently comb his hair back and he couldn't resist a small sigh of pleasure. No Med bed in the world could give him the feeling she gave him when she touched him like this. He had hoped she wouldn't cease her ministrations once he would start showing signs of recovery and get more talkative. It didn't seem to alter her ways at all. He was about to doze off once more, when he voice called him back from his almost slumber.

"Are you hungry? I could order a pizza or something."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her suggestion of cuisine. He wasn't very hungry, and he didn't think pizza would be a very wise choice to eat right now. Much less a nutritious choice. But he didn't want to be rude to her. After all, she had saved his life when no one else cared if he lived or not.

"Pizza sounds great."

She smiled at his answer and jumped up from the couch. "Good! Let me get my phone." She skipped out of the livingroom, like they had both just decided to adopt a puppy together. He closed his eyes again to get a few more minutes of repose, but she returned just as quickly and happily.

"what kind would you like?" she asked, handing him a fold out of a grungy looking take out restaurant. Oh boy, one without food poisoning would be great, he mused silently. He looked at the pictures of the various types of pizza's. When did pizza with meatballs make its entry into this foul world anyway? It probably tasted as bad as it looked, if not worse.

"You pick one.." He said, handing back the fold out. "Something light would be fine. I can't say I have a lot of experience with pizza. Atleast not in the last 20 years."

"Really?" she giggled. "My god, what have you been living on up there? I couldn't live without pizza. If they don't have pizza on Elysium, I chose earth." She smirked at him proudly and pulled her cellphone out of her pocket. "Pizza Margarita for John Carlyle coming up then!" she walked away, leaving him behind with an amused expression on his still pale face.

He listened to her ordering the meal in the adjoining room and wondered if he was expected to set anything up for their little dinner party. The coffee table looked good enough. Unless she wanted to eat at the dinner table, which was clobbered with boxes and stacks of laundry. Not wanting to be useless while she was arranging dinner, he reached out to replace a stack of fold outs from several stores and companies laying on the coffee table in an attempt to create room for the pizza boxes. A medical fold out fell to the carpeted floor and he reached down to pick it up.

Living with lung cancer and what to expect.

He blinked at the sheet of paper. Two happily smiling elderly people on the front cover. As if the disease only claimed those who had had their whole life behind them. He looked up when he caught her gazing at him in the doorway, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Are you ill?" He inquired softly, holding up the fold out. She grabbed it from him roughly and shoved it into the drawer of a messy looking desk, slamming it shut.

"It's none of your business." She said. "Pizza will be here soon."

"I can help you." He offered stoically, but she shook her head quickly.

"I don't want your help. I'm fine. It's stage one. I'm on Miporol.. I'll be fine. Nobody knows yet.. Not even my brother. " she gazed at his collected expression, almost void of any emotion. "I have a 65% chance of survival. That's pretty damn good." She continued, folding her arms across her chest.

He looked away from her defiant stare and sighed. He wouldn't force her, nor was he someone to beg. If she didn't want his help, then fine. So be it.

"The offer stands anyway." He stated matter of factly.

After a moment of silence she slowly sat back down next to him on the couch, gazing at the glowing screen of her old television. A game show was on, one that nobody ever watches, yet survived for years. She rubbed her arms as if she suddenly felt cold and swallowed thickly.

"The day before I found you, I was diagnosed. I haven't quite gotten used to the idea yet. I'm sorry.. It's a lot to take." She spoke softly. "I thought I just had a chest cold that didn't stop bothering me."

He was silent. He could have talked about the invention of the Med Pods, but he knew she knew about their existence. He had offered to help her, but he had spoken impulsively, something he hardly ever did. Cause how to get her to Elysium without getting berated by Homeland Security he didn't know. He even took Delacourt able enough to send that vile agent after his shuttle should he try to take Mira home with him. Then again, he build the whole thing, he could do whatever he wanted with it. He ran that show, no matter what the government told itself.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed she had scooted closer to him and was leaning against his arm. He looked down at her tearstained face, almost buried into the blanket he had wrapped around himself. Very gingerly, he moved his arm away and she sat up quickly, muttering her apologies.

"It's alright. You may lean against me if it offers you comfort." He spoke stiffly, not at all used to these sort of situations. But she had offered him comfort when he needed it, and so he would return the favour. He moved his arm around her as she leaned against his side, mindful of his wound. Together they watched the widely despised game show, the volume on a near mute. Two wounded strangers that had found solace in eachother's company, awaiting a meal that cost more lives per year than cancer.