A breath hitched in his throat. "A date?" His first instinct was to withdraw his hand from under hers, but still kept it in place. Well, he felt like he was sitting in a cactus bush.
Her hazel eyes roamed the room around them, avoiding his person at all costs. "Well… We're holding hands," she matter-of-factly pointed out. The pause that followed was almost as painful as rubbing his wounds clean after a long and tedious battle. U-1146 decided he'd rather be binding up ugly scratches.
"… We certainly are," he finally choked out, making an enormous effort to keep his eyes glued to her flushed face.
The redhead dropped her eyes to her shoes. Why did talking with him become so difficult out of the sudden? "Forget what I just said, please."
"No, I won't," he spoke firmly, his face as straight as ever. He observed her for a couple of seconds, then added, "You want it to be?" Another pause. "A date?"
"Not sure... I don't think so," her voice was unsure and wobbly, but the message reached the neutrophil's ears all the same, with the same impact as if she had stated it fiercely.
The flush he had started to sense crawling up his face suddenly faded and turned into a cold and stiff feeling behind his neck, and an unpleasant weight in his chest. One could say his heart had been shattered, if he had one to begin with. "I understand." Dejection clouded his features well enough to be noticed by the other cell.
Her forehead creased as she saw him unconsciously sulk in his seat. "H-hold up! Don't get the wrong idea," she stammered while gently squeezing his hand. He looked up again, a speck of hope in his dark eye. "We haven't talked about any of this… ever! I need to get some things straight."
"Oh."
The redhead attempted to pull herself together while plastering a heartening smile on her face. The situation was already as awkward as it could get, so she might as well try to straighten it out. "This is so sudden, I- well, it was me who started this either way, but… I don't know," she sighed as her shoulders dropped. "I need some time. I wasn't expecting you to be so straightforward about all this."
U-1146 rivetted his gaze on the half-consumed drink, as if questioning his life choices so far. In fact, he never got the freedom to choose his life, anyway. "Take as long as you need. I'll wait for you."
"B-but, you've already made up your mind? You thought it was a date from the beginning! Cheat!" AE3803 blurted out in a lungful, restlessly bouncing her legs under the table and a slight frown on her face. It was a fun spectacle to watch her, he thought in the middle of the whirling chaos his usually tranquil mind was.
As much as he wanted to keep his cool, all he managed to get was a nervous grin and the pounding in his chest. "I can promise you I've been as confused as you for the entire evening… and even longer." The woman relaxed her features and stared at him with anticipation, their hands still clasped together as if it wasn't the culprit behind their stammering and blushing. "Your question took me off guard… I wouldn't have guessed there was a possibility of you considering this a date."
The erythrocyte chewed on his words for a while, then timidly said, "Why wouldn't I?"
His gaze traveled rapidly from one point on the floor to another, before finally settling on his slightly worn boots. "… I didn't think I'd catch your eye. I mean, I didn't get any hints, so…"
A chuckle that was halfway between playful and desperate escaped her lips. "White Blood Cell… I think we've got a little catching up to do." She buried her forehead in her free hand, realizing how dumb they were. The both of them, for once.
He nodded a bit too fast for his liking, his eyes wide open with awe. "Sure… I'd love to set things right between the both of us."
"Of course…" she mumbled.
He continued, "Comfortably… with a little more privacy." She gave him a puzzled look. "Right now we're being stalked by 4989. My bad," he grumbled quietly, casting a side look to his comrade's potential hiding spot behind some curtains. "I should've taken care of him."
Her expressive face morphed once again at the news, a crease appearing between her brows. "You knew this whole time?" she inquired, a reproachful tone to her voice.
"Yeah. I figured they'd be up to something. He's followed us up here, but I lost him a while ago. Must've not gone far," he admitted in a lower pitch with a sigh.
U-4989 smirked triumphantly at his zillion reflections on a tower of glasses. He dusted off undetectable specks on his shoulders and turned around to admire his new and shining attire. "Woah look at that, it almost seems like I'm not a guy who has germs for lunch on a daily basis," he chuckled as he looked for any hint of approval in the hepatocyte's eyes. However, the woman didn't meet his expectations.
"Are you sure this is positively necessary for your mission in our establishment, mister?" the hepatocyte who had grudgingly lent him a spare uniform inquired, annoyance visible on her features and her hands fastened on her hips.
The neutrophil in disguise gave a serious expression out of the sudden and answered, "I assure you it's of vital importance, ma'am. For the sake of this body, a crucial task has been put on my shoulders and I will carry it out diligently." With a determined look on his face, he straightened his vest and fixed his bowtie as the final touch before the glasses, which served as a mirror. As engrossed as he was while fiddling with the uniform, he completely missed the eye-rolling of the other cell who left shortly after. U-4989 had come up with the brilliant idea to disguise himself as another cell as soon as he spotted all the fancy-looking waiters and waitresses. Of course, his pale-dead complexion and hair hadn't been considered.
Satisfied with his appearance, he turned around and poked his head out from a pillar in the bar. His eyes scoured through the crowd in the purplish center of the pub. Ah, there they were. The golden pair. With a crooked smile, he reached for the transceiver stuck in his apron pocket, bringing it close to his mouth. "This is U-4989. I found the airheads. Over," he spoke in a low voice. The frantic back and forth of the waiters wouldn't allow the neutrophil the clearest view of his targets.
"Good job, little man! Where are you at? Over," 2048 came in briefly after.
"Is she in love yet?" 2626 added.
4989 clicked his tongue. "Duh. I'm in the liver, in one of the lobules. I'm even dressed as a hepatocyte, he'll never find me," he proudly explained. The neutrophil in charge of the plan was about to make a sardonic comment, but 4989 spotted something that made him bounce in his spot. "G-guys! Holy shit, they're holding hands!" he excitedly hissed, feeling his eyes about to pop out of their sockets.
"No way, you gotta be kidding me. That can't be 1146," 2626 said without the slightest hint of surprise in his voice.
"No, but it is! Why would I lie, fathead? Oh, wait, wait, they don't seem very happy. Are they breaking up!? Wh-" Before 4989 could broadcast anything else, he felt a menacing, concise tap on his back and someone clearing their throat.
The frowning hepatocyte towered over him with a chilly expression, black hair framing her face and adding up to the coldness on her features. "Some customers have been complaining about some weird guy spying behind the bar. If you don't know how to keep a low profile, I must ask you to leave." The neutrophil stared up at her in horror, the booing and cackling of his comrades on the other end of the radio adding to his embarrassment.
His mouth felt unpleasantly dry out of the sudden. "I-I…"
"If you want to stay here, you'll have to behave normally and act as a waiter." She dragged him up by his arm until he was fully standing, and then mercilessly tossed him some notes and a tray. "The orders are on that list. Go fetch the drinks in the bar and shake a leg." And just like that, she left once again. 4989 felt like a myelocyte holding a knife for the first time. Had they not been made of resin, he would have accidentally stabbed his teacher at least once.
The neutrophil with the unruly mane knew he wasn't fit for incognito missions. Still, he managed to keep up his little game and wait on the furthest tables from his victims he could find. Although his diverted attention and his inexperience when carrying a tray didn't make him the best waiter, he had no choice but to pull through. His witty nature mixed with his clumsiness was a source of great amusement to the customers, though. Thankfully, the all-seeing eye of U-1146 was out of combat since he was sitting turning his back to him. He felt safe and sound in his little area, away from the boss hepatocyte and the soul-penetrating stare of his best friend. He even allowed himself to smile and chat with the other cells.
So calm, so quiet. Until he spotted U-1146's receptor pop up with the usual strident squeak, that is. 4989 saw his life flash before his eyes as he dashed through the room to get his also noisy hat from under the bar. A cold sweat broke upon his forehead as he leapt over the bar counter, grabbing and hugging his cap to muffle the alarm sound. The neutrophil bit it in sheer frustration, he had no option but to flee the establishment to fulfill his duty. Through the single door in the room. A door his friend would also use in a few moments, too.
The chirruping of his hat went in one ear and out the other, trying to mock and taunt him but failing to do so. U-1146 should have felt happy he had an actual excuse to run from his embarrassment, yet at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to stay. For once. He let these thoughts materialize. "Just this time, I wish I could dump this hat and stay with you for a while," he admitted while gently squeezing her hand, ignoring the rising heat on his cheeks.
The erythrocyte sitting before him shook her head, a soft smile touching her lips. The loose ringlets bounced with the motion. "It's okay, White Blood Cell. The body always comes first!" she grinned ever so brightly. "I had so much fun, and you have to go now. It's more than enough for me," she reassured while patting the back of his hand.
Although far from being convinced, U-1146 rose from his seat with a calmness unfitting for an immunologic emergency. He adjusted his hat for the umpteenth time in the day and excused himself, not without giving her a sincere smile and a thank-you. With a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, he then strode towards the front door, hiding a pout under the bill of his cap. That was when he caught sight of U-4989 looming around the room dressed in a waiter uniform, the white, squeaking hat being the last remnant of his designed attire.
Despite all the cells in the room looking steadfastly on them, U-1446 paid no mind to it. It was more than enough to handle the erupting angry feeling in his stomach at seeing his friend in that precise place and outfit. 4989, who had been pussyfooting his way to the door, froze in place and bit the insides of his cheek. "4989," the taller neutrophil started in a menacingly low voice. "I won't bother asking if there's a single good reason for you to keep spying on me. Get out of my sight and go change at once." After his short, concise reprimand and a dirty look, he ran past him and stormed out of the room.
4989 clutched the fabric on his chest to prevent his mitochondria from bursting out and let himself slide down to the floor. "S-sir… Yes, sir," he managed briefly after his friend had left. The boss hepatocyte was glaring at him, again.
After staggering behind the bar to get back into his uniform, 4989 placed his ringing hat on his head and signed AE3803 off with two fingers. She waved at his back as he rushed out the door after his friend. What had been going through her head when she noticed his presence there? The erythrocyte was quite easy-going, so he shouldn't worry about that. They had more important matters to take care of. It became clear as day when 4989 arrived at the lobby of the building, which was as crammed as ever, the only difference being the cries of terror echoing across the marble halls. He fought his way through the sea of terrified erythrocytes and startled hepatocytes, who presumably ran for their life.
He caught a glimpse of his comrade standing a few meters before him, stance wide and knife ready to slash. His uniform was already dripping wet with fresh cytoplasm. The inflammation was evident although there weren't many immune cells at sight. They were understaffed, again. Without apparent hesitation, U-1146 swooped in on a female hepatocyte, life flowing out of her as he pierced her throat with his weapon. 4989 was quick to follow his example. Some of the hepatocytes had a baroque-looking mask over their eyes, who busied themselves smashing the floors and walls to smithereens using ornaments and furniture pieces that had been ripped off.
The younger neutrophil sliced through two other infected cells, saving a group of cornered hepatocytes from certain death. Once he stood back-to-back with his best friend, he allowed himself to ask, "Holy cow, what is going on in here? This place is abnormally bustling, even for the liver."
1146 surveyed the crowd intently, providing a safe way out for the unharmed hepatocytes while wiping out the not-so-lucky ones. "It seems to be some kind of… ugh-" he grumbled as he got ambushed by two newly infected cells, rubbing them out with flawless precision. "Hepatitis," he explained with a huff. "We'll need the adaptative division to provide further information."
Hepatitis A is an inflammation of the liver caused by the hepatitis A virus (HAV). HAV is an enterically transmitted virus that replicates predominantly in hepatocytes within the liver before excretion via bile through feces. The virus is primarily spread when an uninfected (and unvaccinated) person ingests food or water that is contaminated with the feces of an infected person. The disease is closely associated with unsafe water or food, inadequate sanitation, and poor personal hygiene.
4989 let out a bitter laugh as he said, "Do you really think they'll arrive on time before we're buried under a pile of dead and living hepatocytes? The infection rate is terrifying." He caught sight of an ownerless mask waiting on the floor for an ill-fated cell, so he mercilessly crushed it under his boot.
His colleague glanced at him from the corner of his obsidian eye. "I already called for backup," he commented while effortlessly casting some of his throwing knives at their opponents and bringing them down.
The wavy-haired neutrophil nodded halfway convinced and got lost again amidst the ocean of infected hepatocytes. U-1146 harbored the same fear as his friend. He had accepted the fact that the emergency forces that would arrive wouldn't be generous, so they had to take care of it until the Kupffer cells joined the battle, as close as they were. Tardiness was the signature mark of the macrophages, after all.
So they waited, and fought. A couple more neutrophils arrived at the place, yet it wasn't enough. The number of infected cells increased at a blistering pace, and 4989 couldn't have been more right — the scarce leukocytes and red blood cells were about to be crushed to death by the infection. Pipes all across the building had busted, making the floor slippery and difficult to fight in, and the power had gone out. That meant the elevators were out of service, and the corpses were starting to pile up and hinder the movement. 1146 strongly hoped that the Kupffer cells were taking care of the upper floors, as it was where they were more numerous.
Then, just like a divine gift, a new cell type stepped in to save the day. Well, maybe they wouldn't save the day, but they surely would patch up the walls and fix the pipes, providing some breathing room for the neutrophils and the Kupffer cells. Their little rubber boots squeaked in the bloodstained floor, announcing their timely arrival. "Let's go, everyone! We need to fix all this mess!" At the sound of the whistle, the little platelets split up and scampered around the bodies and the deafening brawling, unaffected by the gruesome scene.
U-1146 felt a hopeful smile flicker across his face as he overheard the babbling and squealing of the children, giving him an extra boost to keep parrying the attacks and slicing through the humid air, in spite of the crippling pain in his limbs which implored him to rest. Furthermore, the nutrient supply had become scarcer and scarcer due to the food poisoning which led to hepatitis, and it was starting to take its toll on him and his comrades.
He retreated a couple of steps, almost tripping over a lump on the floor. After staggering to regain his balance, he glanced down just to find a dead body. Under the nasty mask which covered her lifeless eyes, U-1146 took notice of her tan complexion and playful freckles. Their waitress. Drawing in a stuttered gasp, his repressed thoughts flooded out violently as if a dam had burst.
How'd she get here? When did she get killed? Was it me?
The infection has already reached the 12th floor. Red Blood Cell is there. Is she scared? Hurt?
Her health is delicate right now, yet I insisted on taking her out. She should've stayed home. Safe. I can't get to her… I…
A gush of horrified erythrocytes hurried by him, one of them mindlessly bumping with force into his back. The shock tore him out of his paralyzing thoughts. He wished the clumsy cell that had run into him was her. None of the red blood cells who rushed in front of him had mesmerizing bright red hair. He squeezed his eyes shut at the distress spiraling through his insides.
And then, an exploding sound followed by a cry. Dozens of platelets came in running from a puff of smoke and ashes, coughing with tears running down their cheeks. Their leader counted them despite her tears to check that nobody was missing. The only platelet wearing their cap backwards tripped over and fell to the floor near the battleground. The neutrophil quickly finished off three more virus-infected hepatocytes and rushed up to pick up the child from the floor. He escorted him to a safer spot behind some debris as he dried streams of tears. "Are you hurt, backwards-cap-kun? What happened?" The child kept sniveling into his stained fists, so the man placed a reassuring hand on top of his small head. "Is there something I have to take care of back there?"
He shook his head slowly, sniffling. The neutrophil used an oddly still clean spot of his sleeve to wipe the ash smudges off his face. "N-no… We can't do n-nothing about it…" the platelet managed between sobs.
The man arched his brows. "Nothing about what, backwards-cap?"
"The pipes. We couldn't fix all of them. We need m-more nutrients, we're so tired." The kid lifted his glossy eyes at him, brows furrowed. "Mister Neutrophil, you're all bloody. You m-must be tired too," he said in an almost inaudible whisper.
It was true. He was exhausted. He had lost the count of the hepatocytes he had slaughtered. Sweat and blood trickled down his face, and he didn't even know if it was his or not. He couldn't feel the pain anywhere. "It's alright. What about the building's power? Is it back on?" He soon had to return to the battle. The gurgling and screeches of newly infected cells was becoming piercingly loud.
The child shook his head once again, his pout becoming even more evident. "Another pipe exploded near the distribution board. It's completely ruined now."
The neutrophil's forehead creased with visible concern. Could it get any worse? The only cells that could lend a helping hand were the Kupffer cells, and now they were definitely trapped in upper floors. Weren't there emergency stairs? The neutrophil squeezed the boy's shoulders to get his attention. "Tell me, did you hear about the macrophages coming on your way here? Or B cells? Anyone?" he asked with a slight tone of despair to his voice.
The platelet nervously tore his gaze from him, and then shrugged. "I'm not sure, Mister… I'm sorry." He was dangerously close to tears again, so the neutrophil sent him a confident look, as if telling him that everything would be alright. Would it be, really?
U-1146 took the little one's hand in his and stepped out of their improvised shelter. Realization washed over him like a cold, numbing wave. The gate. He had focused so much in his small area to keep the gate in mind. It was impossibly blocked, clogged with piles of corpses and thousands of infected hepatocytes pressed together. If the doors couldn't open, the supporting forces wouldn't be able to get in.
The man closed his eyes, and gave himself a minute to think, to deliberate. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, and even allowed himself to chuckle softly. The platelet glanced up at him in confusion. Sometimes, an immune cell had to make these decisions, without asking or hearing the opinion of their loved ones. It was sad to live that way.
The child tugged at his hand, restless. "Mister Neutrophil, what are we to do?"
He shifted his serene gaze to the source of the voice, all the distress now absent from his features. "Will you help me with something, backwards-cap?" He answered with an energetic nod, his brows still knitted together. The man gently patted his head. "Good."
He squinted through the smoke, the mob of infected cells roaming before the gate. He had learnt about that ultimate onslaught in the bone marrow, the words 'dangerous' and 'last resort' ensuing in the same sentence. Big, fearful young eyes glanced up silently at their teacher, soaking in his grim explanation. It was part of growing up as a neutrophil. From a tender age, superiors would drill into their heads a harsh truth: they'll work their tail off during their first stages only to become cannon fodder.
There was no way he could be certain about its outcome. It would end the enemy, alas he could be dragged down with it. Fifty percent chance of survival. A make-or-break step.
Glancing down again at his tiny companion, he said, "It's an extremely dangerous maneuver, so you have to pay close attention." He crouched down to meet the platelet's eyes. He explained the plan to follow clearly and concisely, noticing how his little face scrunched up slowly in worry again.
"But Mister! I can't…!"
"I've seen you achieve impressive feats. This should be a piece of cake." The child protested for a bit longer, but the neutrophil convinced him to get on his back all the same. Then, he stood up and grabbed his transceiver, his other hand securing the child. "This is U-1146. Call for backup again in a few minutes, 4989. Over."
His colleague pipped over the radio after a few seconds, the noises of brawling along with his voice. "This is U-4989. Can't you do that yourself? Ugh! Eh… I'm on a roll right now!" he screamed at the device, agonizing cells whining in the background.
"Great, I'll leave it to you, then. Take care. Out." He stuck the transceiver back in its place and glanced over his shoulder. "Ready, backwards-cap?"
"Yes…" the child didn't sound quite convinced, but there was no turning back.
Damn, he thought. I should have told her before… Before any of this occurred.
He finally lunged forward, his legs unstoppable now, and his mind clouded with apologies, apologies he owed to the cells he held dear. Rushing to a certain death. He instructed the platelet to jump off him in that moment, and he obeyed. Realization broke over him as a searing pain darted through his body, his nucleus drilling its way out and exiting his core.
