Unplugged: The Beautiful World (#3, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter Twenty

Pain. Lots of it. And some moaning. The dirty, metallic smell of the warehouse drifts towards me as my gaze comes into focus. Matthew bends over on his hands and knees, struggling for breath. Oscar stands over a writhing Jackson, who sputters a nasally, "By nose! By nose!" with his hand clamped over his face. Leah, Victoria, and Gale stand over us, mouths agape.
"Not so tough now, huh?" Oscar hisses, glaring down at Jackson. His knuckles are bruised. "Coward."
"Danny!" Leah calls. Stars occupy my vision, and I feel a painful pulsing between my eyes. A few hard footsteps later, Danny yanks me to my feet and surveys me critically.
"What the hell--?"
"I was assaulted," Jackson spits, blinking oddly. Danny releases me and swivels his head towards Jackson, who wipes his nose, making a show of smearing blood across the top of his lip. "These punks attacked me." He jabs his thumb at Matthew, Oscar and I.
"Are you kidding me?" Oscar demands. I rush over to Matthew and slowly help him to his feet. Blood leaks from an open cut on his cheekbone and he clutches his chest, moaning into his teeth. "What is your problem, you little--?"
"Shut up!" Danny demands. I take a moment to study him. His posture is bent and his eyes droop wearily. Stress makes him look much older than he really is. "I want someone to calmly tell me what happened."
"Allow me," Victoria says firmly, face flushed. Her eyes linger for a moment on Matthew before she leads Danny away from us. Jackson peels himself up from the ground and smiles viciously, turning and limping off after Danny. Sour hatred boils in my stomach, but another one of Matthew's groans sharply yanks me back to reality.
"Why did you do that?" I demand, slowly leading him towards the Medical Quadrant. "Don't you think we're treading over deep enough waters already?"
"What? You didn't want to rip his throat out either?" He cringes and I clutch his shoulders harder, shaking my head.
"Of course I did, but..." My voice fails me as I fish around for something to say. I sigh and massage the bridge of my nose. "Are you alright?"
"I don't know," Matthew mutters, breathing raggedly. "He got my ribs."
"Yeah, I know." I walk faster and soon we reach the entrance of the Medical Quadrant. Hope rushes out, looking somber. Small strands of her bright red hair hang loosely over her forehead.
"What happened to you two?"
"I'm fine," I mutter, supporting more and more of Matthew's weight. His face turns paler by the minute. "It's not me that needs help." Hope sets her jaw determinedly and ushers us into the screened-off ward. Several cot-like beds and carts of medical equipment are crammed into the space. A few of them are occupied. In the corner, I can see Sara lying unconscious under a sheet of covers. A young assistant works on rewrapping the gauze on her upper shoulder; I find myself looking away as my stomach performs a series of nervous somersaults.
"Over here." Hope leads us to a bed in the opposite corner, where things are more secluded. I raise my eyebrows at her and she smiles grimly. "I know all about your fan clubs." Matthew laboriously lifts himself onto the bed and groans through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. A cold sweat soaks through his shirt and his breathing is much more shallow than usual. Something cold stirs in my chest and Hope bites her lip. "Enna, you don't have to stay."
"Of course I do," I reply firmly, but an odd feeling rises within me. A flashback threatens to drag me from reality... No. I won't let that happen again. "I'll be right here." Hope gingerly removes Matthew's shirt, exposing his chest. I can't help but gasp. Most of his right side is covered in a deep, reddish purple color. I bite my tongue so the pain can distract me from the horrible thoughts that course through my head.
"What's wrong?" I whisper, though Matthew probably couldn't hear me otherwise. He looks all but unconscious now.
"Looks like some internal bleeding." Hope scowls. "How on Earth did this happen?"
"That jerk, Jackson," I hiss. I find myself struggling to hold back angry tears. "We had to unload the crates with him, and things got..."
"Rough," Hope finishes with a sigh. The only thing consoling me at the moment is the fact that Hope is more annoyed than scared. She must be able to take care of Matthew, then. "I can't say it's the first time I've heard something of the sort. Living on the streets must have been tough on him." I don't have time to think about what Hope just said. She instantly gets to work: checking Matthew's pulse, feeling for broken bones, and looking for other things that I don't really understand.
"Definitely some bleeding, and a dislocated rib. How hard did that kid kick him?"
"Well, he'd broken his ribs before. When we were leaving the Base." I know that Hope probably doesn't know what the "Base" is, but she nods firmly and doesn't pry.
"Just give me some time and he'll be good as new." A wave of relief makes my head heavy, and I fall weakly into a visitor's chair.
"Thank you, Hope." I try to smile, at least a little.
"Don't mention it." She starts to bustle around and pull out medicines and bandages, keeping herself busy. "You know, I remember when you got slammed at the Depot and I had to take care of your cuts and bruises. He sat in the same place where you sit now. He was pretty shy about it, but I knew he wouldn't leave." I remember that day like it was yesterday. Luke had rigged a droid in the practice room so it would attack me and Matthew saved me from it, just in time.
"Hopefully I've gotten a little better at fighting since then," I reply. We both chuckle lightheartedly, and I start to feel myself calm down a great deal. "You know, people really appreciate what you do."
"I wouldn't go as far as to say that," she murmurs. I watch with mild interest as she injects some bluish medicine into a vein in Matthew's arm then starts unwrapping a bulky roll of gauze.
"Why not?"
"Don't get me wrong. I love helping people. It's what I'm best at. It's what I've always been best at. But sometimes..." She sighs and shakes her head. "Sometimes I wonder if it's even worth it anymore. Like, what if the Feds do find this place? What if the bombs do penetrate us? What then? There wouldn't really be a difference between the person with a nosebleed and the person with a broken rib." I shake my head a little.
"You give people something to hold on to and fight for. I think that's worth it." I lean back drowsily in the chair and watch Matthew's chest move as he breathes. Vaguely, the strange vision of the man in the dying forest zooms through my memory in double speed. I close my eyes. Maybe there's something even more to fight for.

* * *

Fake Enna

"What is this?" Jeremy demands, barging into my apartment unannounced. I nearly jump out of my skin. He stalks over to the couch where I lounge, stomping so hard that small droplets of dark red liquid spill over the rim of my wineglass. He slams a familiar pad of paper onto the coffee table, and I lower my eyes to Drake's design. The air suddenly turns cold, and I take a moment to formulate a safe response.
"What do you mean?" I stand and wipe my face of all emotion. A glimpse of the past--of the Academy of Global Doctrines and of crowded city streets--flashes through my awareness for an instant. These small similarities to the real Enna have started showing up more frequently, and the effort to repress them has proven considerably more difficult. Jeremy lowers his face to mine, and I fear--for a moment--that the fury in his eyes will burn me.
"You know exactly what I mean." He grabs the paper and holds it right under my nose, but I don't take the bait. I continue to calmly stare him back in the eyes. "We are represented like no more than the mindless public! They are portrayed as enslaved! Do you know how dangerous it could be if they discover and exercise their true power?" I finally lower my gaze to the paper, where miserable poor people glare at the hulking government elite. I think it's what the people would respond to. I see nothing wrong with it. But if Jeremy thinks I should, then I'd better alter my way of thinking. Anything that weakens the State should be eliminated...
"You are absolutely right," I mutter. Jeremy looks at me for a moment, surprised. "I apologize for this disgrace to the Regional Government. Drake is to be punished at once."
"Drake... Yes, of course." Jeremy backs away from me, looking both humbled and triumphant. "You had nothing to do with this, of course?"
"Why would I?" I reply icily. I try to fit all of the contempt I can muster into my gaze. Jeremy bows a little and smiles sympathetically.
"I will alter the logo personally and make sure that this boy receives his due punishment." I nod respectfully and Jeremy exits my apartment. A dull, empty, guilty silence encloses me when the door slams shut and I sink back onto the couch. The paper lies ripped on the table, dividing the chain in half.