✭°Damianya°✭ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱᶠ

Aftermath

"Miss Anya, are you alright?" I rushed over to the wide-eyed child gazing at me in curiosity...and wonder? I clasped her small hands within mine and conjured a lollipop from my tattered pocket that had been hanging onto the seams for dear life. Her eyes glistened with unspoken happiness as tears started dripping down her face.

I evaluated the scene and how to cover this up with minimal damage. We'd need a truckload of towels then, or a mop that will be dyed red once we're finished with it.
Right now, though, my priority is to get Loid and Anya to safety, preferably their home. I stared intently at Loid, silently signaling he was in charge.

He nodded back in response, and in no time rescue helicopters in a squadron landed outside where the police were handcuffing the involved party.
Loid's car had been smashed beyond recognition, the smithereens and fragments of glass splayed across the concrete. I picked up the sleeping Anya and carefully made my way to a beaten-down, battered old truck. I flipped on the engine, and slowly the retired mechanism sputtered to life.

As I was zooming away from today's incident, I snuck a look at Loid and Anya sleeping peacefully on the passenger seat. The seat itself was so disturbing, with the bloodred stains and all the varying colours of vomit, but if one looked at the occupants sleeping with a gentle smile on their faces, one would believe they were on cloud 9.

Loid pov

Struggling to open my eyes, I rubbed my eyes, sighed and sat up in bed. I had admit, it was rather uncomfortable. I blinked hard to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Oh, that's right. The bed was uncomfortable is because I was in a hospital.

I rubbed my eyes as a trainee entered with food and medicine. I'm ravenous. Scarfing down my lunch wasn't the best impression I should be leaving them with, so I gulped down the remaining piece of salmon and seaweed before addressing "Aisha" (her nametag).

"Say, Miss Aisha, would you be so kind as to show me the room where Anya Forger is being kept? You see, that's my daughter and I am deeply concerned about her health after a, ah, particular incident." 

She beamed at me, presumably because I had called her by her name, and led me through a waiting room, past some examinations, and into a door that read: Intensive Care Unit. My eyes widened as I stepped through the door, because I saw a fidgeting Yor with sweat beading her forehead. My premonition signaled that it wasn't gonna be a pleasant sight. And it wasn't.

My adopted daughter was inhaling shallow breaths, clouds forming behind her mask as her heart rate began to increase at a rapid and steady pace. Professionals flocked around her, barking orders for more IV tubes to be inserted as Anya's arms twitched uncontrollably.

 
Some nurses convulsed at the sight of the pale, sickly green fluid that started foaming from all the cuts and welts. Hacking coughs emmited from behind the mask, and a specialist doctor removed the mask and Anya wearily opened her eyes.

"Papa? Mama? Anya wants peanuts." Nobody dared move a muscle. Anya locked eyes with me, and somehow, admist all the chaos and disturbance, she seemed relaxed.
After we got discharged from the clinic, we took a tram home. As I opened the front door once again, a lightbulb sparked above my head. I'll set the plan in motion later.

For now, let's get settled, and since Yor is our bodyguard, we offered her a room to stay in temporarily. Anya ordered 23 packets of peanuts and other candies from my phone while I carried cakes over to our neighbour who I forgot to visit yesterday. Surprisingly, she was Mr. Desmond's sister-in-law... and her nephew was visiting right this moment.