XXII: Lost and Found

Pulling the modesty curtain aside to check on his patient, Dr. Sképsis announced that he was entering the room.

He did not need to bother. The injured party, a Mr. Barrett of Relay, was fast asleep in his bed. The doctor did not blame him. The man had been shot in the side earlier that day while performing his duty as a volunteer deputy. While his peers had determined at the scene that the wound had been a 'through-and-through,' and thus not life threatening, they still brought the young man in to be examined by a professional.

It was a good thing they did.

Gunshot wounds were nothing to laugh at, especially for those without the aid of Aura to heal them. Complications arising from the original injury were the leading cause of death among GSW patients. There was no telling what kind of internal damage might have been inflicted. A single nicked artery could have had Mr. Barrett bleeding out internally without anyone realizing it. Another issue was the environment he had been shot in. What looked like a clean injury could have become infected overnight if it were not properly disinfected.

That was why the man had to stay the night. An abundance of caution was needed to make sure there were no outstanding issues to treat. After the first twenty-four hours was when they could relax. If the wounded man did not experience any issues before tomorrow morning, and if he continued to keep the injury properly medicated, then he would be expected to fully recover.

Checking the heart monitor, the doctor found a steady cardiac rhythm that indicated everything was alright. He went ahead and recorded the diastolic and systolic readings from an earlier automatic test on his scroll. The blood pressure was a little low, but that was to be expected. His organ was working with less blood than usual. That could cause a few fainting spells, but nothing that would not be fixed with time.

By Mr. Barrett's side was his girlfriend, Lavender. She was also asleep, with her head and body tilted back in a chair to allow support. Her jacket was crumpled up to serve as a makeshift pillow. In most hospitals, they only allowed direct family members and spouses access to patients. Visitors were usually restricted to prevent them from getting in the way during an emergency. The doctor decided to make an exception in this case. This was not a hospital and the patient did not have any family members that could visit.

After taking the last of his notes, he left. Carefully, returning the curtain to the closed position, he checked for the time on his scroll. It was now late afternoon. He needed to hurry back to his office. There were a few more papers he needed to file before closing time.

As the only one with a medical license in the area, the good doctor was both the medical examiner and the general practitioner for all of Relay. While that did cover a lot of responsibilities, it was much simpler to perform his duties than it would have been in a big city like Vale. Due to the low population of Relay, he did not have many dead or live subjects to look after.

In his medical examiner role, he only had to look at a body and check a box on a form. Most deaths were simple. They were either a result of a long-standing sickness, an accident, or a suicide. Occasionally, there were Grimm related deaths, but they were rare inside of Relay. The militia did a good job of keeping them out.

As a general practitioner, most of his days were filled with giving shots and referring people to specialized doctors somewhere else. For serious injuries, he could always send them to Vale for treatment. He only had to stabilize them for travel. Since the militia lived outside Relay, he did not have to treat them when they got injured by Grimm. They had their own system.

He had been nervous at the idea of coming out into the frontiers to set up an office. After some unpleasantness in his homeland, he had been forced to move from Mistral to find a job. Staying was not an option if he wanted to continue to be a licensed physician. He found himself similarly shut out of the medical community in Vale. Word had spread about what he had been accused of, ensuring his resume always found its way into the recycling bin.

In his despair, he had turned to working for criminals. The fact that they did not care about his past, and that they paid in advance, was a bonus. After a year of performing back alley surgeries, he had been put in contact with the current Sheriff of Relay. After a few conversations with the man, he had been sold on the idea of being the settlement's only doctor. All he had to do was occasionally look the other way when Sheriff Wendeval needed a favor.

It was indeed a pleasant business he had set up. Even the lack of clients did not affect his bottom line. The city payed him a handsome sum just to be open on weekdays. His alliance with law enforcement also gave him an unfettered monopoly on medicine in the area. One phone call could ruin any other practice that tried to open. If all went well in the next few months, he could expand and bring in other doctors to work for him while keeping out the competition.

Whistling down the hallway of his facilities, which he had bought with a loan from the city, he found his office just the way he had left it. Clean and immaculate. Every scrap, paperclip, and pencil were accounted for. There was only one new addition. A man was sitting in his chair.

"Hey Doc! How has it been?" Greeted Deputy Dwrg while setting his dirty elbows on the desk.

"Mal." He returned evenly.

"Oh? Is that any way to greet a friend?"

Friends was a strong term for what they were in relation to each other. Mal was more like somatic pain in the gluteus maximus that the doctor could not treat. He was the Sheriff's favorite messenger boy. Whenever Wendeval had something unseemly he needed done, the good doctor would get a visit from the deputy. So far, they had engaged his services twice. It looked like they were going to make it three for three.

"What do you want?"

"Since you asked so nicely, there is something we could use your help with." A quizzical look crossed his face. There was a bit of concern in his voice. "Be honest. How is my old friend Razz doing?"

Perhaps, the doctor thought, he had misjudged Dwrg. Maybe there was nothing odd about this meeting. He was just checking on the well being of one of his volunteers. The medical professional had never known the deputy to have a caring side before. It was a little shocking.

"Good, despite being shot." He began reciting what he had told the girlfriend. There was nothing too confidential that the doctor could not share with a friend of the patient. "Mr. Barrett might need a transfusion if his blood pressure remains at current levels, but he should make a full recovery and be discharged by tomorrow evening."

"See, I think you are mistaken." The deputy's lips turned into a sneer that showed off his overbite. "I think he is a very sick man. Terminal, you might say."

"Excuse me?" Sképsis was taken aback by the insinuation.

"You know. We think it would be for the best for everyone if he had a little accident." He spun in the chair. "Complications happen, even to healthy individuals."

"For everyone? Or just you?"

"Everyone! Razzy boy knows some things that would be personally embarrassing to the Sheriff if they got out." Now up from the chair, Mal brought himself closer and whispered. "Let's just say that if he squeals, we will not be the only ones that go down."

The doctor recoiled at the pointed threat. This was a demand he had never gotten before. Sure, he had falsified a few forms, but what was being suggested was beyond the pale. He was so shocked that he did not have time to come up with a proper reply.

"Well, think about what I said." Deputy Dwrg patted the other man's face on the way out. "I will leave it in your capable hands."

The cruel man laughed as he exited the room.

The Mistralian physician did not understand how he had gotten himself into this situation. He thought coming out to work here was a gift from the gods. It turned out to be his worst nightmare. They had their hooks in deep.

He sat for hours in his office by himself. Staring at his paperwork, he was at a loss for what to do next. The ethics debate raged in his head. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. That was his oath. But he also had to help himself. What was one life compared to his own?

The sound of a throat being cleared caught his attention. He breathed in relief when he found it was not the deputy again with another outrageous request. His assistant was standing in the doorway. Under the gaze of his advisor, he started to act pensive. They had been working on his confidence issues, but it took longer to shake some habits than others.

"I have finished the paperwork for tomorrow." The aide stuttered. "Is there anything else I should start on that will help for tomorrow?"

Yes

"No. Thanks Raúl." He could not ask him to do it. He did not want to put the kid in such a moral quagmire. Not knowingly. "I appreciate it. Why don't you take the rest of the evening for yourself?"

"Really?" The personal assistant blinked. "What about the patient?"

"I can take care of him for the rest of the evening. You deserve a night off."

"Thank you, sir! I really appreciate it."

The younger man practically tripped over himself as he gathered his things. The doctor idly wondered what he would do with this break. Sképsis knew what he would do in the younger man's shoes; Go out and try to forget about his troubles. Unfortunately, there was no escape for the doctor.

Once Raúl was gone, the doctor stumbled over to the assistant's desk. Pulling out the chair, he plopped down into the seat and wheeled closer to the workstation. Sighing, he pulled out the drawer.

Inside were several vanilla folders and a bottle of malt. On the very top of the pile was what he was looking for. This was fortunate for him. If he had to root around for it, he might have lost his nerve to do what must be done.

Moving the folder to the top, he opened it to spread out the contents. Reading through the chart, he scanned until he found the line in the patient's medical record he was looking for. With a marker of white liquid paper in hand, he traced out the critical information and substituted it with something vile.

Replacing the folder to the top of the stack, he argued with himself. Giving in, he took the liquor out and poured himself a double. The bottle had been a gift from the Sheriff when he had opened his practice. It was meant to toast all the good works he was going to provide the people of Relay.

He could only hope that one day he could be forgiven for what was about to happen.

〇-〇-〇

"Eight, Nine... Ten!" Schaffer exclaimed before lowering himself to the ground.

The faunus was on his second set of pull-ups on the bar they had installed in the barracks. The shared living quarters were empty. His bunk mates were out celebrating something. He was not sure what since it had happened after he had been dismissed for the day by the commander. There was now a lot of uneasy energy in his body he needed to blow off. A quick workout seemed like a healthy way to do so.

While others had suggested he go out with them for the night, he was not feeling it. His mind was still a whirl after what had happened over the last few days. He knew he would not be good to be around that evening. Misery might love company, but that did not mean it needed to be shared.

"Schaffer!" Called a stern voice from outside the building.

"Yeah?" He answered.

"Ms. Lee wants you at the orphanage in ten minutes." Peeking out of the blinds, he saw that it was Kohl. Of course, he would not go out partying. "Get your butt in gear."

"Alright."

Knowing it was not a good idea to keep Ms. Lee waiting, he quickly changed shirts. It would not do to meet her in his sweaty fatigues. She was up there with Cora in terms of being an important figure in the community. Disappointing her was a surefire way of ending up as the low man on the totem pole around Tocsin. It only took a few seconds to get himself together and out the door.

Making his way through the town square, he was accosted by a few of the merchants. They knew him as a member of the militia. That meant he had more to offer for trade than others. Navigating his way through the stalls and screaming sellers, he cut through the center by ducking under the bell yoke to save time. Once through, he jogged the rest of the way to the old children's home.

Standing outside the fence, he paused to take in the sight. The building had not changed from the time he had lived there. Even the gate was the same. It still made a horrible screeching noise as he opened it. No amount of oiling would ever fix that rusted hinge.

The only difference was in the name. Ms. Lee had changed it to reflect her new stewardship when she took over as the administrator. Irrationally, that alteration had stung him deeply. The nostalgia was too strong for him to accept the alteration. To Schaffer, it would always be Casa de Corazón.

Stepping inside the building, he was expecting to see Ms. Lee waiting on him. Instead, one of her body men was hanging around in the main entrance. The masked man approached him. Schaffer tried not to flinch when the other man spoke.

"You are wanted upstairs in room 203." After giving those instructions, he walked away to join his compatriot who was standing outside the main office.

"Okay… Thanks."

He had no idea where Ms. Lee had gotten those guys. They were dressed in the attire of the White Fang, but they did not feel like the members he had met before. Something just seemed off about them. Those two were built like soldiers rather than demonstrators.

The White Fang was a peaceful organization who coordinated public events to push forward faunus rights in the other kingdoms. Its leader also happened to be the chieftain of Menagerie. He enforced certain rules on the membership to keep them nonviolent. The new masks did not help sell that image of tranquility.

Passing a few rooms on his way to the stairwell, he realized something. If the guards were down in the lobby, then that meant Stella Lee was nearby. She did not go anywhere without them. So why was he going upstairs?

Deciding he was not going to get any answers standing around, he continued onward. Down the hallway of the second floor, he found the room he had been directed to. The door was already open, so he let himself in. Inside were two people. A man and a woman. One he recognized and the other he did not.

"Mr. Schaffer? It's good to meet you." Out came a hand from the woman.

"Cyan? Right?" He knew her from hanging around Cora. The two were practically joined at the hip. Rumor was that they had moved in together. If so, he would owe Sappy twenty lien for a bet they had made.

"Yes. Deputy Cyan Roscoe." She pointed to the other man. "And that is Qrow Branwen."

"Yo!" He waved from the desk he was sitting on.

Despite the casual greeting, there was an odd edge to him. The loose clothing, black hair, and crimson eyes were out of place. He would have fit in better as a ghoul that would jump out of a closet to scare children. Judging by his grin, he knew what effect he had on other people and relished in it.

"Qrow is a huntsman. He is helping me with an investigation I am carrying out." She explained. "We have a few questions we hope you can answer about Cobalt Bleu's death."

"Oh." He shuddered in realization of where they stood.

This was Cobalt's room. He had not stepped foot in here since he had moved out ages ago. That was no excuse. He should have realized it sooner. There were a set of Colby's favorite sneakers on the floor. A pair Schaffer had bought him for his birthday. His last birthday.

"I'm sorry if it is upsetting." She had noticed his knees wobble and guided him to a chair near the other man. "But we could really use your help."

"Right. Sorry. I'll give you anything you need."

He was glad for the chair. His legs felt weak. He had forgotten. How could he forget? Was that how it was going to be from now on? To act like Colby never existed? What kind of man did that make him?

"How did you know Cobalt?" She gently probed.

"We, uh, we both grew up here." He started when he felt the tremors subside. "Mrs. Corazón put us in touch before she passed. She thought we might have something in common because we were both born in Vacuo."

Schaffer smiled at the memory of a shy toddler hiding behind a pillar. The closest thing the militiaman had to a mother tried to coax the child out to meet him. Once they were over that barrier, they had bonded fast. Before the private knew it, the boy was following him around and trying to take part in practice drills. The former Commander, Kohl, had started calling them the dynamic duo. Those were better times.

"You would walk him home from school, correct?"

"Yes." Cobalt would walk with the militia early in the mornings to the boat that would take him to Patch, but Schaffer would pick him up in the afternoons.

"I'm sorry I have to ask this." The private knew what her next question was going to be. It still hurt to hear it. "But we were told you did not pick him up the day he died."

"No." He hung his head.

"Why?"

That was a question he had been asking himself for the last few days. It kept him up for long nights by himself. They were not going to like the answer any more than he did. He had made a fatal mistake.

"He told me he had the day off."

Even though he was looking down, Schaffer felt their gazes on him. They did not say anything, but there was judgment in the vacuum. He judged himself too. The silence was damning.

"He told you what?" There was a disbelieving tone to her voice now.

"He said the school was closed down for a holiday." His shoulders sagged. "I-I didn't know his school schedule that well. I took his word for it."

"So, he lied to you?"

"Yes."

It was difficult to think about, but Colby had been untruthful. He had never done anything like that before. That was probably why Schaffer fell for it. Cobalt was a good kid who always told his big brother everything. At least, that is what the faunus thought.

"Then why did you go looking for him?" The huntsman joined the conversation.

Schaffer had forgotten about the other man until his gruff voice chimed in. Bringing his head up to look at the guy on the desk, he shivered. Those ruby eyes of his bore into the militiaman's very being. There was no hiding from them.

"We had plans for the evening to meet up to work on his sparring skills." Since Cobalt had only joined the preparatory huntsman school last year, Schaffer felt as if he could help. While he was not huntsman trained at all, he knew some basic fighting stances from working with his captain.

"It did not go as planned?" The deputy guessed.

"He never showed up at our meeting place." Augustus shook his head. "I asked the other kids if they had seen him, but they said he never came home. I got worried, so I went out looking for him. I spent all night searching the trails. That's when…"

He felt his throat close and his eyes begin to water. Every moment of the discovery was seared in his mind. The small body, lying there under the red moonlight as the tide rolled in around it. Those jagged claw marks on his chest. The expression on Colby's face. Every moment.

The militia member did not recall when he had done it, but he had managed to radio Cora. If she had not answered, he did not know what he would have done. When she arrived, he broke down. Throughout that night, he had sobbed into the commander's side.

"You found him?" He nodded. She hummed and moved on to a different question. "Do you have any idea why he lied or where he might have gone after ditching you? We are trying to trace his movements."

"I have no clue." He answered honestly.

"Is there anyone you can think of who might know? Was there anyone he was close to around here or at Signal?"

"No. Not as far as I could tell. Cobalt tended to stick to himself." Schaffer shrugged. There was one thing he did remember. "He did mention a few of his classmates, especially a girl named Yang, but I never actually saw them hang out. She was the reason he wanted to spar that evening. He was trying to impress her."

The two interviewers shared a look at that piece of information. Some unseen idea passed between the two of them. There must have been something interesting about that revelation, but Schaffer could not tell what.

"Is there anything else you can think of that might help our investigation?"

Augustus racked his brain, trying to think. Unfortunately, all the conversations he had with the boy seemed normal. Nothing was out of place or seemed suspicious. He had no clue anything was going to happen. After a few minutes, he gave up with a sigh.

"No. Nothing."

"Okay. That is all I had. How about you Qrow?"

"Sure. I have one question. He was training to be a huntsman, correct?" The man waited for the private to nod before continuing. "Did he have any weapons?"

"Yeah. He used a pair of tonfas that had extendable blades in the tips." The militia had pitched in to buy them. Cora had even taken the boy to Vale to pick out the materials. Everyone was excited to sponsor him. "They could also shift into machine guns, although we did not enable that functionality."

"Why not?" Asked the deputy.

"He was still learning. We thought it would be safer to wait until he had more training."

"Where are these tonfas?" Qrow added while uncrossing his legs. They looked at him in confusion, so he elaborated. "If the kid was returning home from taking combat classes, they should have been on him, right? The searchers did not find anything, and I know they are not here. I checked."

"Maybe he left them at school?" Cyan offered.

"No. He would not have done that." Schaffer interjected. "They were always glued to his side. He was afraid of losing them and letting everyone down."

"Cool. That's all I had." The huntsman stood up, looming over the seated faunus.

"Thank you for your time." The woman placed a hand on his shoulder and offered him a card with her other. On the rectangle was a number. "If you think of something that might help, or just need someone to talk to, please call me. I know Cora would be willing to lend you a scroll."

He mumbled a thanks as they exited the room. They were already chatting as they made their way down the hallway. One of them had let the door close on the way out. It blocked him off from the rest of the world. No one saw as he started to sob again.

Rising to his feet, he still felt feeble in his legs. He did not want to leave yet. Seeing the bed open to him, he decided to lay down in it. He felt dead tired. The interview had taken a lot out of him, despite it being brief in length.

Staring up at the ceiling, he thought about his little brother. There were plenty of times Schaffer thought about adopting him, but he had never pulled the trigger on it. He always had an excuse not to. He was too young to be a parent, he did not want to move out of the barracks, and other such nonsense. Thinking back, he could have made it work.

Colby might still be alive if I had.

He buried that thought. That would not help anything. What was done was out of his control. Instead, his foggy brain moved on to other events as it shut down. Thinking back, the conversation with the two outsiders was a little strange.

The private was greatly confused about the last question. Why did it matter where Cobalt's weapons were? Would finding them help find the Grimm? He did not think so. In fact, why did they need a deputy and a huntsman? There must have been something else going on.

As he closed his eyes to rest, he decided to let it all go. He would have to leave it up to them to figure out. They were the experts after all.

〇-〇-〇

Taking aim at the tin cans, Mead fired his new pistol.

The bouncer felt the muscles in his arm strain with the shot. The kickback was incredible. If he had not set his feet, the pressure escaping the barrel would have blown him over. There was a reverberation as metal clashed with tin. The hollow noise let him know he hit what he was aiming for. It felt like luck that he struck anything at all. He watched as the silver cylinder flew backwards into the empty field beside the main house

Striding over to the fence to check the damage, he lifted the can for inspection. The object had a small hole in the front. The opposite end, however, was completely blown out. The raised portions reminded him of a peeled banana. Twisted fragments were also scattered on the ground near where it had landed.

Mead came to conclude that this was the most formidable gun he had ever handled. The pure power that this firearm could deliver was beyond anything he had ever encountered before. If it caused that much damage to a can, what would it do to body armor? What about Grimm plating? He had no problem thinking it could punch through anything if given the right circumstances.

Carefully holstering his weapon, he went over to check on Tiny. The man was also testing out his freshly provided firearm. When he took a shot at his target, Mead saw the former boxer's feet drag a bit in the ground. Judging by the explosion that followed, he must have been testing out the Dust rounds. Based on the flames that sprouted from the impact, they must have been fire Dust.

"Yikes. Now that could ruin someone's day." Mead quipped.

Tiny snorted at the comment while pulling out the clip of his gun. He replaced it with another from his belt and took aim down range. When he took his shot this time, he managed to hold his ground. The projectile missed the can he was aiming for. Instead, it impacted the fence post. Frost bloomed across the wood.

"You wanna try?" Tiny asked as he held out the clip of red tipped bullets he had just been using.

"No need. I already have a good idea what they can do now."

"Suit yourself." He exchanged the clip in his gun again and fired.

That shot caused an arch of electricity to flare up into the sky. If Mead blinked, he would have missed it. He knew for certain that a strong enough voltage could bypass aura. One of the tools he carried around at the nightclub was a taser. It was helpful for when he had to deal with empowered individuals. He would need to make sure he ended up with a few of those ammo rounds when they eventually confronted their huntsman.

"Is it okay to waste those?"

"We have sixty rounds of each type." With his next shot, they were now down to fifty-eight of the electrical variety.

If Tiny was not concerned, then Mead would try not to be. Besides, it was not like it was his money they were wasting. Whoever their mysterious benefactor was, they must have expected that not all of the ammunition was going to come back to them.

"Got anything to drink?" Mead asked. The air was a bit thick from the discharge that lingered. It made the older man's throat dry and scratchy when he breathed it in. "I'm feeling parched."

This also seemed like a good time to transition from work related topics. He did not want to spend all of his time thinking about what was coming up. It was either going to go well or it was not. There was no point in fretting when this was as prepared as they were going to be.

"Yeah. Check the fridge inside."

Trudging away towards the red brick home, he had made it to the screen door when he heard another explosion. That now made fifty-seven rounds left. The fixer shook his head as he let himself into the house.

The inside was just how he had imagined it would be. Tiny was not the most hygienic of people. Dirty socks, broken plates, and opened bean cans littered the sparsely decorated living room. The lone piece of furniture, a green couch, had an odd brown stain on the front cushion that was partially obscured by a dirty magazine's unfolded pinup.

With a shudder, Mead tiptoed over the debris to get to the kitchen. The new space was just as bad. The sink and counter surfaces were crowded with dirty plates. The stove top was greasy with a strange red resin material that caked the metal. He would have been surprised if they or the floor had ever been properly washed.

The refrigerator next to the stove was a sickly yellow. Mead could have sworn it was white originally when he had bought it for Tiny. Opening the door, he found an inside that was stuffed to overflow with alcohol and food. He almost choked on the rancid smell that escaped for the first few moments it was ajar. The aroma was not the only thing that got out.

The contents almost fell on to the ground before his reflexes kicked in. Reaching out, he grabbed a few bottles and packets of meat before they hit the tile. Working quickly, he set the drinks down and pushed the rest back in. With a little bit of effort, he managed to close the refrigerator door.

Looking down at his retrieved beverages, he found that they were both imperial stouts imported from Atlas. Happy with the discovery, he left the kitchen while gripping the bottlenecks between the fingers of his left hand. He had every intention of joining his associate back outside. That was the plan until an oddity caught his eye.

In the corner of the house, near the sliding door he had entered through, were a pair of objects. Mead would have missed them entirely if the light had not caught one of the items in the right spot. A glimmer reflected off the dark metal as an invitation. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he decided to take a look.

At first, Mead thought they might be some odd exercise equipment. They resemble rebar, except smooth all around. A rubber handle ran perpendicular to the metal. Examining them more closely, however, he came to a different conclusion. They were a kind of blunt weaponry, like a club that the police would use to break up protests.

Are these also from Tiny's supplier? He thought.

Movement behind him alerted the bouncer to the fact that he was no longer alone in the room. Looking over his shoulder, he found that Tiny was now inside the house. He looked at Mead with a curious expression. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask about his findings.

"Hey big guy. What are these?" He questioned while picking up one of the clubs with his free hand.

Carrying it over to the former boxer one handed was rather difficult. It was much heftier than he thought it would be. If the person using the weapon could get some momentum behind a swing, Mead could easily imagine it cracking a skull wide open.

"Ugh." The former boxer took one look at the object and clutched his head.

"You alright?" Mead reached out to check on the man. That was a mistake.

A thrown elbow caught him in the face. The force behind the strike, plus the surprise, drove the fixer to the ground. He ended up throwing the bottles over his shoulder, causing a breaking clatter to echo in the room. Before he knew what was happening, the other man was on top of him, raining down punches.

Reacting to the danger, he let go of the rod he still held on to and brought his forearms up to block the assault. It saved him from taking direct hits to the face. Fists impacted his sides and arms as the savage attacker tried to get at him. Mead was not sure how much more he could take.

Suddenly, the flurry of blows stopped.

Slowly, the nightclub doorman brought his hands down. Tiny's eyes were glazed over. The only reason Mead knew he was still conscious was that his chest was rising and falling rapidly. Seeing it as his chance to find out what was happening, the man reached out to touch him. That was his second mistake of the evening. Meaty hands were around his throat faster than he could have imagined.

"Tiny…" Mead croaked.

The possessed man ignored his pleas. He just kept increasing the pressure. Mead's own hands scratched and clawed at the vice that was keeping the air out of his lungs. Nothing would dislodge the death grip. Things started to go dark. The very edges of his vision became blurry and grey.

Reaching out in desperation, he grabbed the stick from before. With a weak grasp, he brought it down on Tiny's shoulders. It did nothing but seem to spur the attacker to increase the stranglehold. In a last bit of desperation, he clicked a button. A spike came out of the far end. Seeing his salvation, he jammed the pointy bit into the berserker's forearm.

Tiny howled in pain. Letting go of Mead, he cradled the now bleeding arm. The bouncer took the opportunity to crawl away. With every motion, he took a deep breath. Looking back to see if Tiny was going to try to finish the job, he saw a shocked face.

"Al?" He asked with uncertainty. "What happened?"

"You tell me!" The other man coughed as he sucked in more oxygen. "You just started beating me around like I owed you money."

"I'm sorry... I just lose myself sometimes."

"No kidding." He attempted to stand on wobbly legs.

Rubbing his neckline, he double checked his surroundings. Glass shards and liquid spread out on the ground from where the bottles broke on the wall. Tiny stood there, blood dripping down onto the carpet. That was something that needed to be fixed.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" The fixer pointed at the injury.

"Bathroom." The former boxer curtly replied.

Dropping the baton, Mead set off to find the medical kit. He groaned. It was depressing how much of his job involved cleaning and patching people up.

Chapter Next: The Takeover (9/18/20)