Frisk opens his eyes for the first time in that day to the annoying ringtone he set up on his phone. He turns to the side in wherever he's sleeping before falling to the ground, and realizing he slept on the couch after getting too immersed in the newest Philbert season. He grunts as he falls with a 'thump!', only to rub his head and sore neck. The phone suddenly becomes the last thing on his head as he checks the aftermath of the beating he took just yesterday.
His face had several black and blue spots all over it, just enough to make people question what had happened, and leave him cornered with no good excuse to give. Surely a fall in the shower wouldn't have done that. He makes no more than a single move before soft cries come from the other room, signaling that his daughter, Valerie, was now awake. He decides not to leave that to Aspen as he goes into the baby's room, and picks her up.
"Hey, little girl… what's going on, what do you want, huh?" he coos, lightly lulling her. Valerie merely points in the direction of a flower vase, just in the corner of her room. "Oh, do you wanna see that? Okay, let's go see that," he says, taking a few steps back and kneeling just before the vase, extending his arms to allow his daughter to touch the dry clay of the vase. She makes some happy sounds at it, so he smiles down at her. "Alright, baby girl, let's make you and I some breakfast, shall we?"
He then walks into the kitchen, just past the living room. For a few moments, he doesn't have a care in the world as he places Valerie on her high chair and turns around, already starting to heat up some milk for her and some leftovers for himself. Aspen had made him clam chowder, one of his favorite foods, just last night as a way to compensate him for the damage Munro had caused on his face. He shuts his eyes tight thinking about the past events. But that's before today's headlines catch his attention.
"A shootout that took place just outside of St. Lemur's Military Hospital has gotten authorities baffled as there were no criminals involved, only cops and one special agent from the LASPOD, the special police battalion more commonly known as the 'death squad'."
Frisk's eyes grow huge. Oh no. Picking up his daughter, he runs into the living room, immediately turning up the volume.
"The event started at around 5PM just yesterday when two plain-clothed officers on a motorcycle opened fire against the LASPOD agent, who fired back, witnesses say. Their motivation is still unknown to precincts all around town, although LASPOD officials believe this was retaliation for a case their agent had been investigating."
A figure appears on screen, a salamander. "'We will not let this pass, either it being a warning to our operator or the LASPOD as an unity,'" the interviewee, Colonel and Commander of the LASPOD, Hector L. Wright, says. "'The responsible party won't walk out impune. Our next move is to bring the investigation of this event into the LASPOD itself,'" he completes.
Back to the reporter, "the two officers of the 13th Precinct were rescued alive, but died on scene. They were identified as Sergeant Lewis and Officer Woods, while the surviving LASPOD official has only been identified as B, to protect his identity. It is unclear if—"
Frisk turns off the TV. No. What… what had he done? Just as he's processing the latest events, his phone rings again. A restricted number.
"This is Frisk."
"Four gunshots."
Frisk freezes. "Y-yeah, I heard..."
"Four gunshots. Four gunshot wounds to four different areas and the bastard!" The sound of someone throwing things at a wall become clear on the other side. "Didn't! Die!" Frisk shrieks at the sound of glass breaking. Soon enough, the sounds stop and the other speaker approaches the phone again. "And do you know what's worse, Frisk?"
He gulps. "What..?"
"Is that I heard what you had to say. Back when you called me, not long ago. You told me I could kill him, and like an idiot, I bought your idea." Frisk remains silent. "I heard you like you were some sort of bigshot, and not the diminutive nobody you are. And now every honest cop in town is up to our necks, and our cops are furious. They wanna know where the order came from." Another pause. "More specifically, they wanna know from which precinct the order came, who was idiot enough to allow us to bring down a LASPOD officer. And so, I called Chief Cohen."
Frisk swallows dry. No, he did not like where this was going.
"The order didn't come from him. So I figured I'd call the officer who brought the message to us, and ask, who gave you that order, Frisk?"
"Listen… I can explain, it was just–"
"Nobody?"
He sighs. "No. Nobody, but I can explain, you see, just yesterday–"
"Do you think our operation is based on resolving petty disputes between cops? Yeah, I heard Belleville gave you a pretty black eye, but do you think I care? That's between you and him."
"You should care. How worried do you think my wife is, thinking I could get killed?"
"You had no right!" he shouts. Frisk flinches. "Do you have any idea, as small as it is, of what you just did?! You just put me and my brothers in risk!" Another pause. "And that, I won't accept."
"Sir, if you would just… sir?" He's met with nothing but a hang up sound. Okay, in a scale of 1 to 10, how screwed was he? Possibly a 20, he figured. He did not like Koslov's tone the least bit. He merely looks down at the baby in his arms, and lightly smiles, bringing her closer. But that's before a spillage sound catches his attention. "The milk!"
Laura has a rather troubled night of sleep, as she spends two hours awake between every thirty minutes of sleep she gets. Images from the shootout still haunt her, and she wakes up in a jolt just in the last shot is fired. After repeating that pattern for three times, she decides she really won't have a good day's sleep, and so moves on with life. She brews herself some coffee, cautious not to wake up her guest. Then, she just picks up her phone, and sends a text.
"Buster? You there?"
"Good morning. Yeah, I'm here. Did you have a good night… day's sleep?" is the male koala's first message, which is followed by a laugh emoji.
"Couldn't sleep all that well. You?"
"Same." Is the first message. Another one soon follows. "The shootout just keeps playing in my head, I keep imagining that, if Munro hadn't taken them down, they would've come for us."
"They probably would have. The LASPOD doesn't know if they were targeting all of us." Buster just replies with a scared emoji. Laura chuckles at that. "I honestly cannot tell what makes someone so in love with this kind of life."
"A sort of call only they understand," is her simple response. "How's he doing, reacting to anything?"
"Not yet. Wait, a doctor just walked in."
"OK, message me when they leave."
While he doesn't reply, Laura just moves over to the counter, serving herself a mug of steaming coffee and some bread with Newtella. Not the healthiest way to start off a new day, but then again, her mind wasn't in its healthiest state now.
"Does Munro have a pneumonia history?"
The message lights up the screen. Laura quickly unlocks her phone. "Yeah, he had pneumonia twice in his life. Why?"
"The doctor said he's starting another case of it."
Laura looks down. "How bad is it?"
"Not very bad. Since it's an early stage, they're going to give him antibiotics to prevent it getting any worse."
"Good, yeah… antibiotics are good." She clenches the phone in her hand before sending in another text. "Anything else?"
"Four gunshot wounds," the reply arrives. "And here I was, thinking I had it bad."
"You can't compare both of your situations… yeah, it was only one bullet with you, but you laid there bleeding for how long? Munro was brought into a hospital moments after he was wounded."
"He's older."
Now that was a valid point Laura couldn't argue with. The older you got, the more injuries had an impact on you.
"I wonder what did he do to make them so willing to kill him. Are you watching the news?" Another message soon arrives.
"No, why?"
"Turn it on OBS News."
Laura goes over to the living room, immediately turning on the TV.
"A shootout that took place just outside of St. Lemur's Military Hospital has gotten authorities baffled as there were no criminals involved, only cops and one special agent from the LASPOD, the special police battalion more commonly known as the 'death squad'."
The report goes on to give further details, and it even shows an interview with LASPOD's Commander, whom she had talked to a few hours prior. "Are you watching it?"
"Cops?"
"Yeah. Two cops. Kinda makes you wonder if the ones you call when you're in danger aren't the corrupt ones, huh?"
"Kinda makes you wonder how many more of those there are."
"Laura, cops are corrupt since forever. If they weren't, what would we need the LASPOD for?"
Laura doesn't know why, but that message makes a lump go up in her throat. She takes a deep breath. "What else did the doctor say?"
"Can I call you?"
"Sure." Moments after, the phone rings, and so she picks up. "Hey, Buster."
"Wow," he says. "I can tell you haven't slept a wink just hearing you. You sound bad."
"I'm not on a very good day. What did the doctor say?"
"I'll get him in line. Just a sec."
"Okay."
"Hello, is this Laura Fisherman?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"Miss Fisherman, I'm Medical Captain John Adler. I believe we have met before, when Belleville was shot in the shin the first time."
"Yeah, I have a… very vague memory of you. You are a peacock, right?"
"That's me alright. So listen, Belleville is on the early stages of pneumonia. I know what the common idea of that disease is, but don't worry too much. I'm prescribing him some great antibiotics so it doesn't evolve."
"Or so I've heard," she confirms. "What else?"
"All of Belleville's lower region is infected because of the bullet he took to the bladder. It is no reason to worry as it seems to be recovering well. There is no risk of it spreading throughout the body and, most importantly, no risk of it reaching his heart. It's too early for me to say anything about his shin. Not enough time has passed for it to start glueing back together, but given his history and calcium levels, I wouldn't worry about that. Same goes for his arm. Now, the bullet to the chest… although it wasn't too close to his heart, it gave us trouble. The pneumonia was one of its results, the coma being the other one. Some blood got to places where it shouldn't be, his pulmonary alveolus for example, and this is the reason Belleville is gonna cough some blood when he wakes up."
"Is he stable?"
The reply takes a while to arrive. "Too soon to determine."
"What is the… chance of survival?"
"I'd say 70%." Laura's heart sinks at that. She shuts her eyes tight, barely supressing a sob. The doctor soon catches up with that. "Miss Fisherman, your fiancé is in a good place. This is one of the three best hospitals in the United Stangs. There's nothing to worry about."
Laura takes a deep breath. "Because he's not your kinsman," she spats out, her tone angry.
"Erm… pardon?"
"'Nothing to worry about', that's a load of bullcrap! There's everything to worry about! Are you too stupid to understand what's going on?! My husband is in a coma, with four different injuries, seems to be getting worse by the minute, and you're telling me there's nothing to worry about!" she shouts.
"Ma'am, please. I meant no–"
"Screw what you meant! Guess what?! Telling people not to worry about things doesn't make them worry any less! And if you had an ounce of empathy in those butt feathers of yours, you'd stop saying stupid things like–" she can't finish the phrase as the phone is snatched from her hands. She almost jumps at that.
"I'm sorry, I'm so terribly sorry," Ash says into the speaker. "She's hanging by a thread here and… yeah, sorry, man," she then hangs up. "Laura! What was that?!"
"He's an idiot!"
"Who even was that?"
"A doctor," Laura says, in a sigh, rubbing her temples.
"Shouting at the person who's taking care of your fiancé was not a good move." Laura slowly nods. Then, she just moves over to grab a cigarette. "You're gonna smoke in here?"
"No, I'm going out to the balcony. Will you join me?"
"Sure," the porcupine replies, already going to the door.
"I know it wasn't a good move, Ash," Laura says, turning to her friend. "But it's just..." she sighs. "Mun's going down with a pneumonia case. And Dr. Nitwit there was telling me not to worry, that it was no big deal."
The girl merely shrugs. "Not trying to mess with your nerves, but… you shouldn't worry." Laura's eyebrows curl into a surprised expression. "He wouldn't tell you there's nothing to worry about if there wasn't. They're the professionals, they know when there's no risk."
"His chance of survival is 70%," the woman comments, looking at Ash straight in the eyes. "And while it may seem like a lot, in percentage terms, it's not." Ash just moves over, and hugs her friend, Laura returning it the best she can. "Not an excuse, I know. But I just… I don't know what I'm going to do if he dies, Ash," she says, tears in her eyes.
Ash is at a loss for words. In lack of verbal action, the porcupine just tightens the hug.
"Hello? Hellooo?" Dr. Adler says into the speaker. "Guess they hung up," he comments, passing the phone back to the koala in front of him.
"'They'?" Buster asks.
"Yeah, I was talking to Miss Fisherman and then another voice spoke up."
"Probably my girl– my friend's voice. She's spending a few days with Laura."
"Ah, well. It must've been her," Adler says, writing something down in his clipboard. "Well, I'll call in the nurse to give Belleville another dose of those antibiotics. I'd imagine Miss Fisherman wouldn't be happy if this evolved into something acute."
"She wouldn't. None of us would."
"I'd imagine that. Well… try not to worry too much. He's strong. At his age, having these injuries, it's surprising he didn't kick the bucket."
"Do me a favor, never let Laura or Ash know that."
"Who's Ash?"
"That porcupine that was here last night."
"Ah. Alright. This stays here," he says, crossing his fingers. "I'll go get the nurse. Anything you need, Mr. Moon, just press that red button. A nurse will be soon here to assist you."
"Please, it's just Buster. And thank you. Cross my heart I don't need it, tho," he jokes.
Adler playfully points at him with his pen. "Of course."
With that, the peacock exits the room, leaving Buster and Munro alone with two operators, these, an elephant and a fox, silently chattering away and fidgeting with their phones. Buster just looks at them for a bit. The elephant is the first to notice his uninterrupted glance.
"Is there anything you need?" he asks, his voice deep.
Buster shakes his head as if snapping out a trance. "Ah, no, not really. Just… what a situation, huh?"
"Belleville had a great hunch. Our intelligence department had been looking into 22 cops, 20 now, crossing out the two he wiped out. Only confirms that they are as guilty as sin. It's not the first time we see those names. Those crooked bastards won't see what's coming at them. They shot the wrong operator. Did you hear about Major Fergunson?"
"No, not really. Who is he?"
"A Major," says the fox. "He was killed by the same guy who put Belleville here. A… Frisk, is that it?" The elephant nods at his friend. "Him and that damned Major Jones, sometimes I just feel like squishing her–"
"Hey," the elephant says, in a warning tone. "A civilian is present."
"Right. Sorry, Mr. Moon."
"Please… just Buster. There's no need to formalities."
"In that case, you can call me Carl," the fox says.
"Mark," the elephant says, saluting with his right hand.
The koala smiles. "Nice meeting you two."
"Equally," they say, almost at the same time.
Buster just chuckles. "You know… you can drop the formal act, if you want to."
"Can't. As amazing as it might seem, we're working. Can't be caught low guard if someone comes to finish the service," Mark says, cocking his gun. "Combatants forged in fire..." he begins.
"To defend and protect," Carl says, raising his gun.
"Special Operations," Mark completes. Both soon put their guns back in their holsters.
Buster lightly claps, chuckling. "You know, I can't imagine–"
"Moore, Kelly!" The cry comes from an operator who rushes into the room. "You have to see this."
Mark is the first to stand up. "We'll be back in a bit, Moon."
"Anything you need, scream," Carl adds. Both then leave the room, lightly dimming the lights. Buster merely pats the covers laying upon him. He looks out the window at the town below, and then looks at his comatosing friend, wincing at the sight of a mask, possibly aiding him to breathe.
"Out of all things that could happen, huh?" he chuckles.
Silence.
Buster clears his throat.
"One moment you're going to a nice restaurant with your fiancée, and in the following, someone comes along just to ruin that. It's horrible."
Silence.
Buster takes a deep swallow.
"But I can kind of understand the feeling. I mean… that day, Ash was going to arrive, and we were gonna have dinner together. At 8PM. Then, at 11, my latest play would open, we would watch it together… and then head to her apartment. Just… to be together, you know? And then, someone stepped in just to ruin it."
Silence.
"But I'll tell you this… as bad as it might sound, a coma is actually relaxing. To me, it was like the best night of sleep I've ever had in my life."
Silence.
"But of course you know that… because you're going through it, just like I did."
Silence.
"Ah… what makes someone get out of their retirement to go chasing the bad guys I'll never understand… but you do, right? You did it. You got out of your retirement because you wanted to catch who did this to me."
Silence.
Buster doesn't know why he's still expecting an answer, a movement, any sign that his friend was well.
"And… you didn't imagine they'd do the same to you… or did you?"
Silence.
"Because if you did, well… you're crazy."
Silence.
He laughs, a little.
"I… I can imagine you'd make a terrible joke at suicidal instincts right now."
Silence.
"If you were awake."
Silence.
Buster shifts in bed a little.
"I… I miss your jokes... friend," he reaches out to pat the man's shoulder. "Just the way you could walk in here and make an absolutely unexpected joke about anything, brighten the mood of everyone present. You know… it's kind of a gift."
Silence.
Buster gulps.
"I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say is… thanks, Munro. For like… everything. For being around, for doing your best to protect those around you, for being there for Ash when I was out of it…"
He pauses.
"For voluntarily accepting the idea that you might end up here. It… it does takes some guts."
Buster's anxiety hits the roof. He just wants a smart remark, a sarcastic comment, a characteristic laugh, anything.
But he gets nothing.
