A Hero's Lament | ONC 2023

Humility

Indistinct babblings progressively intensified; scattered footsteps bounced off close-set walls; distant doors croaked and slammed; rhythmic beeps accelerated; a mild chill brushed perspiration; detergent tickled nostrils; silhouettes flitted between blinding light and smothering dark.

An icy grip snapped Tristan's eyes open. Bellowing indistinguishable words, straining against shackles, he glared at blurry figures, clad in oversized camouflage jackets and balaclavas, huddling around him.

Concentrating the strength gushing back to his muscles, Tristan burst free. He seized the tallest figure's lapels, hoisted them high then slammed their back against the closest surface. Scattering haphazardly, the others' shrieks ricocheted across the room.

"Where are you holding Alya?!" growled Tristan through clenched teeth.

"P-please calm down, Mr Travis! You will undo our work!" strained an old woman's voice.

In an instant, the surrounding camouflage jackets and balaclavas morphed into lab coats, scrubs and surgical masks. Two doctors issued instructions; nurses shifted from shock to action, soothing and ushering Tristan back onto the bed while reapplying assorted tubes.

The brunette doctor sat beside her trembling, hyperventilating patient and gently stroked his wrist, maintaining eye contact, smiling empathetically. Grotesque swelling and discoloration marring his angular features remarkably subsided. "No sugar-coating, Mr Travis. You arrived on the verge of death. It's important you relax. My apologies for the restraints. A recommended safety measure."

Agony plagued every bone but Tristan mustered a smile while a nurse propped him forward to fix the pillows. "Thanks for taking care of me, everyone. Where had I been found? An exclusive residence? How'd I get here? How long have I been out?"

Wincing, the white-haired doctor jotted notes on her clipboard. She raised her head to address her patient with uncharacteristic severity. "You have been unconscious for fifteen hours, a medical phenomenon unlike any I've experienced, considering the extent of your injuries. The MMDP and paramedics responded to an anonymous tip-off about an assault in progress. Except for you, they found nobody at the scene. The captain wants an interview."

Sunlight streamed through the window beside the bed, bathing patients and medical staff basking in the hospital lawns. A warm gust battled the room's chill. Cars studding the parking lot shimmered. Twitters mingled with surrounding thrums and honking horns. No clouds marred midday azure.

"Firstly, I... I'm so sorry for grabbing you like that... No problem talking to the cops," replied Tristan, blushing, swiftly recalling the assailant recording last night's altercation and dreading Captain Slovurn's knowledge of his identity. Sooner better than later...

Envisioning the crimson dyeing every fibre of clothing and hair on her patient's head when he arrived, the white-haired doctor's frown melted away. "Don't worry about that, Mr Travis. I cannot fathom the trauma you are battling."

The brunette doctor poked her head through the doorway, delivered a curt nod then addressed Tristan with visible concern. "While your recovery has exceeded our expectations, the captain's interview can wait. For now, you have a casual visitor, a young man claiming he reported the incident. How's that for a trial run? Feeling well enough to see him?"

"Sure," replied Tristan, dismissing fears that his assailants planned to finish the job. The Internet and Night Templars valued anonymity too highly to brave Mirrormeander Medical's surveillance system.

After scrutinizing her clipboard's contents, the white-haired doctor slipped her pen into her pocket then nodded at her colleagues. "Should you need anything, simply press the emergency button; a nurse will be right over. We'll give you and your visitor some space to chat."