The Hospital - Part 2

That day, two of the nurses visited Fizz. They moved the rectangular box from the sill and set it on top of a rolling table so it could be moved easily around the room. There was a small insignia or sigil on the lid of the box, but the nurse moved it before Fizz could get a good look. From out of the box, the nurse brought out something slender into view.

Made of a smooth dark material, with springy joints, was a metal arm. Where it would connect at the shoulder was a small plate that matched the ones embedded in his skin. Without a word, the nurse brought the arm close to one of his shoulders and firmly connected the plates. There was a slight whirring noise when placed.

Fizz thought it was one of the freakiest sensations ever. Upon contact, there was a sting and a slight burn. Like touching a metal chair and receiving a static shock. He winced, but it wasn't unbearable. Well, that was only half true. It was the way the nurse pushed against his shoulder, jostling the plates to ensure they stayed connected. Fizz grunted and clenched his teeth against the pain.

The same process was done with the other arm. A sting, a jostle, more pain. What else was new? As each limb was put into place, Fizz stared closely at them. They lay limply on the mattress. He frowned contemplatively. Yeah, these prosthetics were nice, but how was he supposed to move them?

When the legs were connected, and the last whirring noise could be heard, both the nurses stepped back. Finally, one of them spoke. "The instructions said they should move easily. But it's all up to the user. Go ahead and give it a try."

…How?

He glanced between all four limbs. Experimentally, not expecting anything, he dramatically shrugged his shoulders. This caused that weird pins and needles sensation to return. The urge to move his joints – the real ones that used to exist – was suddenly so irresistible.

Another whirring noise.

Fizz's eyes widened.

These weren't just prosthetics. They were cybernetics. And the fingers on each hand twitched quite suddenly.

Then, his jaw set determinedly.

He flexed everything little by little. It started out with the fingers, then up the wrists, the elbows…and that's where it stopped for now. The shoulders wouldn't budge just yet. He then moved onto the legs, where he flexed the ankles and knees.

It all felt weird. Whether it was his nerves or his brain telling the prosthetics to move, he still had no sensation. No softness from the bed sheets or mattress, no metallic feel as the legs accidentally bumped into each other. But they moved by his will nonetheless.

He focused on his shoulders again, attempting to lift his arms at least a little. He was successful, but just barely. The swiveling of the plates and the metal's heaviness would take some getting used to. He lowered his arms back to the bed – As in, he dropped them quite suddenly and accidentally, and he winced at that. They felt heavier than his actual arms had been.

But he could move now, for the first time in many weeks…Months? How long had it been now?

One of the nurses commented that he was a natural with how he was already taking to the prosthetics, but he barely paid any attention to the praises.

With the cybernetics, he felt…not hollow or empty, but…Neutral? Was that the right word? It's not like he had the energy to leap for joy. But with that said, he exhaled deeply. Okay, he had limbs now. He had arms and legs again. He never knew if he'd ever have this again, and the relief was palpable. Okay, then. Relief. That was something.

A nurse spoke again, saying something about physical therapy starting this week in order acclimate more quickly to the limbs and to get better mobility back in the rest of his body. But once again, he only vaguely paid attention.

The blue box that had held the limbs was at the foot of the bed. He hunched forward a little, draped a wrist over the inside edge and, with a little help of his smarting tail, dragged it closer. He wanted to get a look at the symbol on the lid. Except it wasn't just a symbol, it was a brand logo.

In elegant pinks and blues was a heart shape, and in its center were equally elegant and very distinctive lines. These lines not only represented one of the Deadly Sins, but the logo itself belonged to Big Ozzie's Factory, who was the leading sex toy maker in all rings of Hell. Brows scrunched confusedly, Fizz traced over the symbol, which was etched carefully into the box's leather material.

Since when did the King of Lust produce prosthetics, and for what purpose?

During the several weeks he spent on physical therapy, he got some of his voice back. He still sounded abysmal to his own ears, but it was better than nothing. He asked a lot of the questions that had been on his mind.

What precisely happened to all four of his limbs? Burnt so bad that his skin practically melted off the bones.

Whatever happened to the other members of the circus? Well, they made swift recoveries and left to find work or retire early.

Did any of them visit him before leaving? A blatant no. And this one…This one hurt enough that he also couldn't bear to focus on it right now.

Why were the prosthetics given to him? An investor that showed interest.

If all of these answers seemed curt and straight to the point, it's because they were. The nurse that showed up each day for his physical therapy had the bedside manner of a prison guard. He was only here to walk Fizz through his exercises and nothing else, leaving a very small window to ask questions.

At least he was getting somewhere with that. He now had the energy for it. He also had the energy for the physical therapy, but that wasn't saying much, because it was all a big fucking joke.

Lift each limb individually for a second or two, flex the joints periodically, remove them and put them back on. He was also given permission to stand alongside the bed. Walking was optional, but not recommended without supervision. And that was it. In the grand scheme of things, other than for standing, that was all they tasked him with. It had Fizz scratching his head. Sure, these were fundamentals and they helped, but there had to be more to it than that. Why wouldn't they give him more to do as he progressed?

It didn't help how restless he'd become. In his sleep, he dreamed of the trapeze bars and the rushing wind, of the balance ball beneath his tiptoes, of balloon animals and spinning plates.

Then, he'd wake up. And he'd immediately reach for the prosthetic box with his single arm that he always made sure was attached. Even if it meant nearly falling off the bed, he'd snatch up the other ones to put them on. But that was as far as it got for a while, no circus here obviously.

With a contemplative hum, Fizz tapped a finger against his chin. Actually, he missed and jabbed himself in the throat, but whatever! Sue him for still getting used to the limbs. And that was part of the problem. The exercises weren't nearly enough and he was at a standstill.

He had to get creative.

The first thing he did might've been a tad reckless, but he just had to do something. He needed to get out of that bed.

One of those stands that hold saline bags was right next to the bed. It wasn't really necessary now that he could keep down fluids. Might as well put it to use. He plopped down on his back, curled himself as if doing reverse crunches, and flung his tail upward to wrap around a loop on the stand.

The bed beneath him fell away, and he swung above the safety of the mattress. It wasn't too miraculous that the stand held his weight, light as he was even with the four pieces of metal. He swayed a little like a pendulum, making his eyes slip close with a blissful sigh. It wasn't a trapeze, but it was the next best thing. For the first time in a long time, a relaxed smile spread across his face. He allowed his body to go limp and stretch itself. There was the clink of metal as the prosthetics dangled. With his eyes closed, he didn't know whether he was moving his new limbs, but the thought was reassuring that he could.

He dropped to the bed as one of the hospital staff was walking towards his room, knowing that they probably wouldn't take too kindly to him misusing something that wasn't even being used at all.

He scoffed, unbothered. "Add that to the therapy," he rasped to himself.

When the nurse entered his room, just someone giving him one of the last few doses of his pain meds, Fizz asked if any of the other circus patients had left supplies or anything behind.

A few hours later, they set a scorched crate on the floor next to the bed. Fizz hooked his prosthetic fingers awkwardly through the rail of the bed to bend down properly to get a better look. Within the box were gags like squirting flowers, a single clown shoe, various types of horns – he frowned sadly as none of them worked – some broken plates and…Aha!

Another genuine grin appeared on his face as he set the bag of balloons in front of him on the bed. Many of them were ripped and melted, but there were one hundred to this pack, and most of them were still intact.

He took out one of the balloons and put it to his mouth. He tried the usual deep puff of air, and the balloon promptly blew across the room before he could even do anything with it. He scowled and looked down at the prosthetic, waving the fingers around some. Okay, so clearly grip strength needed to be worked on before he could even attempt to make any shapes. And it was another complicated matter entirely to tie off the balloon once given air.

Several days later, and several missing deflated balloons later – where the hell did they keep disappearing to, this hospital wing had no janitor – he was finally able to tie off a balloon, and with only two fingers. It was a complicated maneuver he'd been shown by one of the other clowns at their circus. He'd never been able to get it right, but he'd never had endless time on his hands before, always needing to get ready or rest for the next performance.

By the end of that same day, Fizz fashioned the balloon into the shape of a horse. It was involuntary, he didn't even need to think about it. As soon as it was ready to be molded and twisted…Suddenly there was a horse in his hand.

He felt both accomplished and soon very bitter. But this horse, at the very least, had legs and didn't need to be a direct reminder.

The horse didn't last long, though. He hadn't tied the balloon as well as he could've, and it popped loudly.

With a shake of his head, and a slight scowl – because goddamn, would his horns ever stop feeling unbalanced – he took out another balloon and kept going.

Soon, much to the annoyance of the staff when a balloon would pop, every corner of Fizz's hospital room was adorned with endearing little balloon animals. There were birds, dogs, butterflies, spiders, and many more. And he was only halfway done with the pack.

Fizz tapped his toe to an imaginary beat as he gazed proudly around at his collection. He was currently propped up casually by his arms. And while the shoulder plates chafed a little against each other, it was a welcomed change.

There was a snap and a pop coming from the doorway.

A balloon figure that he'd free-formed had been hanging from the door handle, like a little ornament and not really any distinct shape. A nurse walked in and had stepped on it when it floated to the floor. The nurse was about to make a comment, until he saw all the balloon animals that seemingly appeared overnight.

Fizz smirked. "Well," he started. "It's not like any of you have gotten me cards or flowers or anything. I gotta do all the work around here."

The nurse gave him a genuinely offended glower that had him smirking wider. Rolling his eyes, the nurse walked towards the bed, and Fizz noticed the phone clutched in his claws. "There's a phone call for you, Fizzarolli. A very important one."

Fizz hesitated to take the phone. No one outside of the hospital had bothered to contact him. Why start now? "How important," Fizz asked.

"Very important. I wouldn't keep him waiting. He's been wanting to chat since the start of the fire."

Fizz looked at him sharply. "He?"

The nurse nodded.

Fizz's eyes widened, and his heart nearly stopped. He took the phone, and the nurse walked out of the room. Fizz stared at the phone. It couldn't be him? Could it? He abandoned Fizz in the middle of that fire, a fire that would haunt the majority of his nightmares for years to come. Unless…Unless he had an explanation. Unless he just…wanted to hear he was okay.

Inhaling sharply, Fizz brought the phone up to his head. He inhaled again for good measure. "…Blitzo?"

"What the fuck is a blitzo?"

His heart dropped disappointedly to the pit of his stomach, and a hitch in his breathing felt too much like a sob. But fucking whatever. He closed his eyes and scowled harshly at nothing. After a short series of grounding breaths, he began speaking.

"N-Never mind," Fizz said. "Uh-"

"This is Fizzarolli, ain't it?"

"Uh," he repeated. "Yeah. Who is this?"

Fizz nearly dropped the phone as the heavily accented voice on the other end boomed with exuberance. "Well, there we are now! How's my future star holding up? Miserable I bet! Can't say I blame you. Been meaning to scrap that shitty hospital for ages now."

The accent was Australian, and loud. And absolutely unmistakable.

Fizz's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Are you," he whispered. "M-Mammon?"

"The one and only! The biggest dick in charge of this ring!"

Fizz huffed an astonished laugh, a wide smile spreading across his face. "H-Holy shit! I can't believe it. I…I've been a fan nearly my whole life!"

"Aw," he cooed. "Ain't I flattered. Enough to bring tears to the eyes."

Fizz's voice had reverent stammers throughout. "Well, it's just…It's an honor to finally meet you, sir. I mean, what can I help you with? No offense, but…Why call me?"

"Needed to make sure you weren't wasting those new arms and legs, now didn't I?"

Fizz blinked. "You gave me the prosthetics? But I thought they were from the Lust ring."

"They are," he confirmed. "Asmodeus and I have deals when it comes to inventions between Greed and Lust. I cashed in a favor." He paused just to chuckle at his own joke. "The limbs came from his factory. Hopefully they last you a while." He said this last part sort of carefully, a little slower, almost insistent.

But Fizz paid it no mind. "Well, thank you," he said graciously. "And-And tell the King of Lust I said thanks, too. I…I can move again."

"I bloody hope you can," Mammon remarked. "It gave me a change of pace. A little…charity, you could say."

Fizz tried not to cringe when charity was mentioned, not wanting to feel slightly insulted by that, especially while talking to the king of this ring. Fizz shook his head and changed the subject a little. "But how did you even hear about what happened to me?"

"I own this ring, don't I? Nothing goes on without my say so. One hell of a fire, wouldn't miss it for nothing. Besides, I had to make sure the shining star of the All-Imp Circus made it out. The ringmaster really talked you up."

"You mean Cash," Fizz asked. "Is he still alive? Or his family?"

"Dunno," Mammon replied, rather offhandedly. "Only ever talked with that Buckzo bitch a day before the fire. Damn shame about it all, by the way. Really hope that bastard's got warranties on everything." Mammon belted out another laugh, and Fizz couldn't help the anxious and awkward chuckle that scratched his throat.

"But yeah," Mammon continued. "Buckzo said you, uh, had potential, star material, and…what's the word I'm looking for…suggested I try and recruit you. I'm a damn good talent scout, if you haven't heard."

In amazement, almost not believing what he was hearing, Fizz fell back against the bed's backrest. "You…You wanna recruit me?...You really think I can be a star?"

"As of right now? No. Not a fucking chance."

Fizz's shoulders sagged.

"Just look at how fucked you are. Can't put that scalded face on anything, at least not for now. Hmm, maybe some makeup… And that chewed up voice ain't even fit for radio. But!" Mammon's voice suddenly took on a tone that was both reassuring and enticing. "But people love an underdog. Rags to riches! You up and walking yet?"

Fizz straightened his back a little, feeling some hopefulness at the sin's change in tone, despite the bit of mental whiplash. "Um. Not quite there yet." He'd tried walking a little on his own, but the plates of the prosthetics dug into his skin awkwardly. And after a few minutes, felt quite painful. The progress for this was slow.

Mammon wanted to hear none of that, his voice extremely enthusiastic and coaxing. "Well, quit wasting time and get moving. As soon as you're up and walking, then we'll be getting somewhere. But we gotta make that sooner rather than later. Can't keep your future fans waiting, can we?"

"No, sir," Fizz instantly shook his head in agreement. Truthfully, it was always difficult for him to interact with fans. He was awkward, didn't quite know how to express his thanks, and he also never knew when fans were genuine or…well, downright vile. But maybe working alongside Mammon would change that for the better.

Mammon continued. "You see. I know you got what it takes to make the big leagues and the big bucks. And medical shit ain't cheap. I stuck my neck out for you, and I need you to meet me halfway."

Fizz nodded. "Yeah, no, I get it. So what do you have in mind?"

"We get you some gigs, make some money to pay me back, and I give you a…decent stipend to live off of."

Fizz nodded again. "That sounds fair, sir." He cringed. "But…I think I still got some ways to go with these limbs. Sometimes they don't exactly feel right."

Mammon merely snorted. "I'm sure they're fine. I'm sure you'll be fine. But let's sweeten the deal. You wanna get back to being a clown, right?"

Fizz nodded vehemently. "More than anything."

"If you can get to walking by the end of next month, you can have private access to my theatre's backstage practice arena. And fuck it! I'll even mentor you. Show you some of my tricks." There was a slight mumble on Mammon's end. "When's the last time I fucking mentored anyone? Shit."

An even wider smile spread across Fizz's face. "You wanna be my mentor, too? Yeah…Yeah! That sounds great, sir."

It almost sounded like Mammon was grinning. "And who knows? Maybe, just maybe you'd qualify for one of my yearly pageants at some point."

Fizz breathlessly laughed. "I…I don't even know what to say. It's been a dream since I was a kid!"

"You better hurry up and get better, then! Kick some arse and power through. Don't want you getting lazy on me now. Unless you don't wanna be a star? A clown extraordinaire?"

Fizz was positively beaming. "No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I…I won't let you down. You won't regret this."

Mammon's voice dropped a little, some of the exuberance leaving and being replaced with a slightly lower tone. "I better not. Got too much invested in you." The line went dead.

It was an odd way to end the conversation, but Fizz understood it loud and clear. The sin was no doubt busy running an entire ring and had to hang up quickly.

The last couple years, Fizz had made a name for himself here in Greed. It would make sense that Mammon, practically the king of clowns, would invest a lot of time and effort on him. And Fizz didn't want any of this, opportunity-wise, to go to waste.

Fizz leaned towards the windowsill to grab a balloon animal. He then laid back in bed, and he gently bounced the little animal up and down in the air. It was a frog, the smallest frog he was capable of making with the balloons he had.

Alongside his new limbs, which he would definitely get used to as quick as he could, his future seemed a little bit brighter.