NOVEL FROG Grief 7.4
Grief 7.4
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
"Fucking kill me," was what left Kenny Whitman's mouth as he closed the tap, shaking his wet hands dry rather than bother with either paper or the hand dryer.
Another fucking day. The same routine, the same bullshit, the same endless parade of entitled patients and overworked colleagues. It was enough to make him want to scream, but he swallowed the urge, as he always did.
He let out a sigh as he dropped his palms onto the sink counter, aware that he was kinda ruining the whole point of washing his hands but not really finding it in him to care. Sixteen hour shifts should be in the Geneva convention or some shit. The thought brought a bitter smirk to his lips, the closest thing to a smile he could muster these days.
He stared at his face in the mirror, taking in the haggard reflection that greeted him. The dark circles stood out under the harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom, deep purple smudges that spoke of too many late nights and early mornings. His blond hair, once his pride and joy, now lay limp and lifeless against his skull, the color dulled by stress and neglect. I look like a fuckin' corpse, man.
After a moment of staring, he tried to smile at the man in the mirror, a weak attempt at psyching himself up for the journey home. The result was more of a grimace than a grin, his facial muscles struggling to remember how to form the expression. Gross. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. I shoulda gone to college man.
He snorted as the thought flickered into his mind, like he could even afford the cost of Brockton Community College with all the bills he had to pay. Dad in prison and mom drinking like a fish — someone had to pay the bills and take care of his little brother and sister.
Shaking his head again, as if to dislodge the depressing thoughts, Kenny shuffled out of the empty bathroom. He winced slightly as the even brighter lights of the hospital proper seared into his eyes, the stark white walls and gleaming linoleum floor reflecting the fluorescent glare with unforgiving intensity. Fucking hate this place.
Standing just shy of six feet, his slender frame moved towards the hospital's exit with a sense of relief, almost unnoticed by the other hospital staff, patients and visitors. He was just another cog in the machine, another faceless drone in scrubs. Story of my life. Invisible Kenny, that's me.
As he punched out for the day, the click of the time clock sounded off in his head like an alarm, finally allowing him to finally finally let go of the slightly bland smile he kept on his face while on the clock. Freedom, sweet freedom. The thought was tinged with irony. What was he free to do, really? Go home to his family's shitty apartment, eat some shitty microwaved food, and pass out on their shitty couch? Living the dream.
Pulling the ID card from around his neck, he stuffed it haphazardly into the pocket of his windbreaker, the lanyard strings hanging limply out. He couldn't be bothered to tuck them in properly. Who cares? Not like anyone's gonna notice.
The cool afternoon air greeted him as he pushed through the glass doors, shrugging deeper into his jacket against the rain. Great. Just great. The weather matched his mood perfectly, the gray skies and steady drizzle a perfect backdrop to his misery.
Walking towards the parking lot, Kenny shook his head, muttering to himself about everything that had pissed him off since he had clocked in at 11 pm. It was a long list because of course, he had to work with a list of dickheads a mile and a half long. "Why do we never get Panacea at this place? Private hospitals got sick people in 'em too," he grumbled, his words barely audible as he hunched his head down against the rain.
Fucking Panacea. The thought of the famous healer always made his blood boil. Must be nice, being a big shot hero. Bet she doesn't have to deal with half the shit I do. He kicked a pebble, watching it skitter across the wet asphalt. Probably gets paid more too. Fucking unfair.
Before he could really pick up steam, his thoughts and quiet complaints were interrupted by a hard hit as someone bumped into him, jostling his tired frame. What the fuck? He stumbled, barely catching himself before he face-planted on the sidewalk.
The quick pat on his shoulder and a mumbled "sorry about that" were the only acknowledgments before the person hurried away. Kenny, caught off guard and too tired to react with anything more than a tired blink, watched the stranger's back as they merged into the crowd entering the hospital.
For a brief moment, annoyance flickered across his face, a scowl forming as he turned away. He didn't recognize the person, or see anything but a shock of bright blond hair with the sort of life his own never had and a face hidden behind a hospital mask. Probably some doctor's kid, running late for a visit. The thought was tinged with bitterness. Must be nice, having people who care about you.
Shaking his head again, Kenny kept on trudging towards the bus stop. "...Asshole," he muttered under his breath.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
MAY 27, 2011
11:32 AM
The pickpocket slipped on the stolen lanyard and adjusted the thing around his neck so the ID card hung conspicuously from his neck, front and center across his chest. Dressed in plain silver scrubs and with a matching hospital mask on his face, he blended seamlessly into the flow of people — hospital staff and patients alike — bustling through MedHall Private Care's wide corridors. In his hand, he carried a clipboard loaded with blank form-papers, the perfect thing to flip through whenever he needed to look busy and occupied, eyes flicking down to it every now and again.
As he pushed through the sliding glass doors, he paced through the lobby. The reception area buzzed with activity, but no one paid him any mind. Families huddled in clusters around the waiting area didn't even look at him as he moved with a calm, calculated pace. He was just another face in the crowd, navigating through families wrapped up in their own worries. He cut across the lobby, eyes quickly glancing at signs but not wasting a moment by staying still, the thief maintaining a careful balance between intentional movement of someone needing to get somewhere and the deliberate slow pace of someone whose shift was far from over.
Snippets of conversation drifted past him as he wove through the throng. "...need to schedule a follow-up..." "...in the cafeteria, I think..." "...the doctor will be with you shortly..." He let the words wash over him, not really listening, just using them as background noise to blend into.
Moving with that measured pace, it took him barely half a minute to find the staff elevator and waiting for it took at least twice that. He couldn't afford to stay still for long, an easy way to get caught. Nerves creeped slightly higher as he continued standing there with his face down towards the clipboard in his loose grasp. Come on, come on... he thought, resisting the urge to tap his foot impatiently. Don't need anyone getting a good look at me.
When the door finally opened with a ding, he had to hold himself back from letting out a slight gasp of relief, his eye flinching as he stared at several other MedHall workers. Shit. Okay, play it cool. You belong here. He stepped into the elevator, giving a brief nod to the others as he positioned himself at the very front, using the brief ride to mentally review the floor plan he had memorized a few hours before.
The elevator hummed as it ascended, the soft ding of passing floors punctuating the silence. He could feel the eyes of the other occupants on his back, or maybe that was just his paranoia talking. Fuck, why does this thing move so slow? It's like it's taunting me.
When the doors finally opened, he stepped out with the flow, offering a brief nod to a nurse passing by, moving fast enough that she couldn't really get a good look at him or his lanyard but not too fast that he looked like someone to notice.
Spotting an empty gurney along the corridor, he gripped it firmly, adopting the role of a worker moving equipment. Pushing the gurney helped him blend in, making his movements across the hospital floor less conspicuous. He pushed the gurney slowly, peering occasionally at the clipboard as if confirming his destination. All about the details.
As he walked, the intercom crackled to life above him. "Dr. Weiss to OR 3. Dr. Weiss to OR 3."
After almost two minutes of traversing around the second floor like this, he spotted what he was looking for and allowed himself a slight smile beneath his mask, quickly moving at a relaxed pace toward the staircase entrance. There we go.
Parking the gurney neatly against the wall, he slipped into the stairwell and quickly made his way up the stairs, not so fast that anyone paying attention would notice something though. He needed to break up his path as much as possible given the cameras in this place, and as a bonus, it let him avoid the crowded main elevators during the shift change. The less opportunities he had to interact with hospital staff, the better. Less talking, less chance of fucking up.
The stairwell was quiet, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. He took the steps two at a time, his breathing steady despite the climb.
Upon reaching the fourth floor, he took a moment to reassess his surroundings. This area of the hospital was quieter, the urgent pace of the emergency and general wards replaced by the relative calm of specialized care units. He made a point of stopping to sanitize his hands at a nearby dispenser, one eye on the flow of staff and visitors.
Navigating towards room 412, he slowed his pace, peering occasionally at the clipboard as if confirming his destination. The hall outside the room was momentarily empty—a perfect bit of luck. Glancing behind him for a quick moment, he nodded to himself and slipped into the room, easing the door shut with a gentle click that barely disturbed the air.
As he pushed the door open, the scent of fresh flowers mixed with the sterile tang of medical equipment greeted him. The room was bright and inviting, well-lit and filled with Get Well Soon cards lining the windowsill and bouquets of flowers he knew were replaced regularly, adding color to the space. He placed the clipboard on the counter with a soft clack, the sound stark against the quiet of the room.
The quiet of the room enveloped him as he walked further into the room, his movements precise and cautious as he came to a stop right in front of the foot of the bed. His fingers moved to the mask, removing it from his face and slowly pocketing it.
Greg Veder looked at the girl laying still in bed, a sad smile on his face. "Hey there, Emma."
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Emma lay there, peaceful and untouched by the chaos of the outside world, chest rising and falling slowly. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room, a constant reminder of her precarious state. Greg stood by her bedside, his eyes fixed on her face, a mixture of emotions playing across his own.
He walked up to her side, pushing the rolling table full of flowers aside. The blond leaned back slightly, rubbing his face with one hand, and stared at her for a long moment. He breathed in deeply, the air somehow both clean and suffocating. Shit, Em. You don't deserve this. Any of this. The thought weighed heavy on his mind, a constant presence in the back of his head.
"...A lot's happened since the last time I was here," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt strange on his tongue, like he was telling a story that wasn't quite his own. Understatement of the fucking century, Greg. He chuckled dryly, the sound more a puff of air than anything else. "Like you wouldn't believe. You know how I took over the ABB? Which is still really weird, I gotta tell you, but I'm kinda just rolling with that. Either I do it or the city goes to fucking hell... again."
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face. The artificial lighting gave her skin an ethereal glow, making her seem more like a porcelain doll than a living person. Fragile. That's what she looks like. Fragile and breakable and... fuck, I can't lose her.
"The Empire kinda declared war on me for that." He tilted his head to the side. "Or, I guess, they declared war on me for blowing up an Empire drug hideout by throwing a van at it. Kidnapped Sparky too," he frowned, lines on his forehead appearing. The memory of that night was still fresh, the fear and rage a bitter taste in his mouth. "For unrelated reasons... never really got an answer on that one."
Sparky. His best friend, pretty much his brother. They took him to get to me. Because of me.
The guilt gnawed at him, a constant ache in his chest. He paused, running a hand through his hair. It was disheveled, sticking up in odd directions, a testament to the number of times he'd raked his fingers through it in frustration. "My mom's doing good. I've got a couple guys tailing her every time she goes out... just to make sure she's safe. Good guys, I trust them."
Mom. The thought of her sent a pang through his heart. She doesn't know. Can't know. It would kill her.
"Brockton Bay's a mess... and it's gonna get worse. I... it's insane but nobody else is gonna do it or could do it or would listen to me if I told them about it. I gotta keep it from falling apart," he murmured, more to himself than to Emma. His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. I have to. There's no one else.
"I got New York Asians gunning for my city. I got Boston Asians trying to poach my people. Assassins and mercs coming out of nowhere to take my head," he continued, voice growing softer with each word until he was almost hissing. His tone was incredulous, a mix of anger, frustration and pure confusion. "How they think they can do this to me — to my fucking city..."
My city. My people. My responsibility. The thoughts pounded in his head, a constant mantra driving him forward. He walked away abruptly, pacing back and forth by the bed, movements almost erratic. "I fought one, and then out of nowhere, five jumped me the next day. I can't believe it…"
Five of them. Five fucking capes, all gunning for me. The memory was a blur of pain and rage, of desperate struggle and frantic escape. He shook his head. "They beat my ass, Emma."
He gestured directly at his chest with both hands, an incredulous expression on his face. "Me! Like…" he grit his teeth, almost growling. "Like, sure I get the fundraiser, because I was kinda playing around… majorly playing around, but this was me in my element. Hardkour, one of the best me's, and I got frogstomped by a bunch of fucking no-names."
Hardkour. The ninja, the shadow, the lethal protector. The perfect persona he'd created… largely accidentally, but still…
And I failed. I fucking failed. The admission burned.
Finally, he stopped pacing and looked at Emma again. His expression softened, the hard line of his mouth relaxing into something more tender. "But I'm still here, Em. Still fighting." His hands twitched at his sides, eager for action, for purpose. "Because someone has to."
His teeth sharpened in his mouth, anger spiking.
"I'll rip off their heads if they think they can take away what belongs to me," Greg hissed, his voice a whisper. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared off at nothing, eyes fixed on the wall but seeing something far beyond it. The rage in his voice was palpable, a simmering fury that threatened to boil over at any moment. They think they can just waltz in and take what's mine? Hell no. Not on my watch.
It's why he did what he had to.
Last night. This morning? Hours ago.
Before he could think twice, or hesitate.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
EARLIER THAT MORNING
Energy crackled from his fingertips, vivid blue and yellow, as Seo stumbled back, caught off guard. The man's eyes widened, shock and confusion warring on his face as he stared at the teenage cape in front of him. Shit, did I overdo it? Greg thought, a flicker of concern crossing his mind as he watched his second-in-command clutch his midsection.
The Japanese man took a few shaky steps away, one hand pressed against his stomach as if expecting to find a wound. He stared wide-eyed at his boss, disbelief etched into every line of his face.
Seo dropped to one knee with a thud on the wood floor, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the room. The others—Jonouchi, Wesley, and Joon—started forward in alarm, their hands twitching towards the fallen man. None of them made a move in Greg's direction, something he couldn't help but notice.
"Don't." His voice was firm, authority hedged with aggression, and they responded like he expected, freezing as he turned toward them with blue eyes slit like a reptile. He wasn't sure if it was the eyes or the tone, but they seemed like deer caught in headlights when he looked right at them. Probably the eyes.
Seo's coughing subsided, the sound harsh and grating in the quiet room. The man raised a shaky hand, wiping the tears from his eyes as he took in a slow breath. He looked back at the three and coughed again once, a final, shuddering thing. "I-I'm f-fine, fuck... Chest's a bit prickly, but I'm fine, Jesus, fuck."
His voice wavered as he regained his breath, the words coming out in a rasp. He looked up at Greg, confusion and a hint of fear in his dark eyes. "Wh-what was that?"
What was that? Good fucking question. Even as battered as he was, Greg found something to focus on, ignoring his pain as he answered calmly, "That was my power."
He scanned their faces, the four of them reacting like he expected. Seo stared in confusion, his brow furrowed as he tried to piece together what had just happened. Joon's eyes widened in realization, the gears turning behind his glasses. Jonouchi simply tilted his head, not giving away much, but Greg could see the calculations happening in his mind. Wesley just blinked, probably still a few seconds behind.
Greg frowned, the expression pulling at the open gaping wound on the side of his face that exposed his teeth to the world. "A part of it, I guess." How do I explain this?
Joon, eyes wide behind his glasses, asked, awe clear in the Korean man's voice, "You gave him powers?"
Huh, that's how, I guess. Greg almost laughed, the sound bubbling up in his throat before he swallowed it back down.
Seo, still on the ground, echoed in shock, "You what?"
I gave you a piece of me. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Greg bit them back. Theo and Sparky might be willing to accept the whole "I'm magic" thing but he doubted four grown men would be as quick to jump on that bandwagon.
Jonouchi's eyes narrowed on Greg's fingers, the digits still crackling with residual energy. Okay, maybe one of them would.
Wesley, piecing things together, threw out a guess, "Like Teacher?"
Fucking Teacher, really? Greg almost snorted at the comparison.
Seo, still on the ground, snapped his attention to Wesley, now more than slightly alarmed, "Like who!?"
Fuck, not the reaction I was going for. The teenager shook his head and clicked his tongue in annoyance, the action harder than he expected as the flesh in his mouth was still piecing itself together. "No, not like Teacher," he waved off the comparison. "This is yours."
Seo slowly rose to his feet, his legs shaky but holding. "No mind control." It wasn't a question, but the nerves were still there.
Greg gave him an understanding look. "No, no mind control. Jesus, what do you take me for? I just gave you a bit of my own power. It's yours now. Not much right now, but it should grow with you."
Seo blinked, the man glancing down at his arms as he flexed them. "Shit."
Shit indeed. Greg continued speaking, his voice low but clear, each word carefully chosen. "If we're at war, you need to be able to fight with me."
Wesley's confused face shifted into a grin, the gold-chain wearing gangster leaning forward with excitement. "You mean…"
Greg nodded solemnly. "All of you, I can trust," he said, his gaze sweeping across the group.
He held up one hand, the index and middle finger glowing intensely. The yellow light was particularly vibrant and dense, the solid gold of Reinforcement, outshining the blue. "I'm giving you a gift. Use it well and I'll give you the rest."
What he was doing was different from what he had done to Theo or Sparky. None of them were going to be near even what Sparky was that first day, but they'd be stronger than they were now, at least.
Faster.
Tougher.
Human-plus, if not superhuman. Not like any of them would ever have a power like Theo's, and that didn't even have anything to do with him. Especially not with an unfinished Awakening.
If anything, really, it was closer to what he had done to Emma. And, honestly, that was as important as anything else. I have to know. I have to know if it'll work.
"No more ABB. No more 'Azn Bad Boyz'. If you're gonna be like me, we need a new name. We are the Ronin." Greg's gaze dropped, eyes narrowed as his two fingers blazed with dual light. "Jonouchi, come here."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
MAY 27, 2011
12:12 PM
Creak.
Greg was thrust out of his thoughts as the doorknob rustled, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the quiet of the room. His head snapped to the side, eyes wide as his heart jumped into his throat. Shit, shit, shit! His mind raced, scenarios flashing through his head at breakneck speed. Okay, okay, think fast. Gotta hide, gotta-
The door cracked open and an older nurse in silver scrubs stuck her head in, the fluorescent light from the hallway spilling into the room. The graying woman knitted her eyebrows together in a confused frown as she blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. Please don't see me, please don't see me...
She scanned the room, her gaze slipping over Emma's still form, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound. Her eyes swept across the seemingly empty space, passing over the corner where Greg was perched without a second glance. "...Odd," she murmured, before gently closing the door, leaving as quickly as she intruded.
Greg rolled his eyes from where he was perched at the corner of the room above the door, hands and feet spidered onto the walls as he clung to the surface with his [Adhesion]. Odd? I'll show you 'odd', lady. I'm the King of Odd. The Emperor of Eccentricity. His body relaxed as he released his grip on the walls, unique abilities allowing him to descend silently to the floor, landing with a soft thud on the linoleum.
Sneaking Lv Up! X2 (Lv 13)
"That's probably my cue to leave," he muttered to himself, though his feet carried him to Emma's bedside instead of the door. He stood there, watching the sleeping girl silently for a few good seconds. She looks so peaceful. Like she's just taking a nap, not... He swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. No. She's gonna be fine. I'll make sure of it.
"What I did with Sparky... it was more balanced, more... intentional." He paused, looking down at his hands as he raised them up to his face, both now glowing with an intense light — one with a bright gold aura, the other a steady sapphire. The colors danced across his skin, casting strange shadows on his face. Yin and Yang. Balance. That's what I need.
The thing he had noticed about what he had done differently with Sparky compared to Emma was down to the simple fact that he had simply been panicked, near-hysteric. Just flooding Will with a touch of Mana in her system when all he wanted to do was keep her from dying. It was a Hail Mary, and he hadn't quite finished the job. I was so scared. So desperate. I didn't think, I just... did.
Sparky's had been an equal flooding of Will and Mana, on top of having been far less damaged than Emma had been. Theo had been a test case, both unharmed and flooded with equal amounts of Mana and Will, without even a proper attempt at Reinforcement.
The other test cases — granted, only four of them — just confirmed what he had already assumed he had done to Emma.
All Greg had really done back then was Reinforce Emma's body permanently, with a little bit of Mana to keep it going. He had been thinking about it for weeks now, the thought popping into his head when he compared Sparky and her.
Then Theo and her and Sparky.
And then finally, his four lieutenants.
The four had gotten what she had, and remained fine. It was only now that Greg could properly understand what he'd done.
An incomplete job.
Yang, but no Yin.
All body, little mind.
He was pretty sure the person's subconscious could handle the rest, but he had to give them what they needed, in equal amounts.
So, now he had to fix that. It's all about balance. Push and pull. Yin and Yang.
Slowly, deliberately, Greg placed both his palms over Emma's hand, feeling the delicate bones under her skin. Her hand was cool to the touch, almost unnaturally so. "I tried to Reinforce you before, just pouring whatever I could into keeping you here. But it wasn't enough, was it?" His voice cracked a little, the words catching in his throat. "... God, I hope this works."
He pushed the energy into her, the light from his hands enveloping them both, casting strange, dancing shadows across the walls. The room was silent save for the hum of machinery and the soft whisper of energy flowing from him to her. Please, please let this work. I can't lose her. Not like this.
Greg waited.
And waited.
For several minutes, the room remained silent — the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft hum of the energy. Greg's eyes remained fixed on Emma's face, searching for any sign of change, any flicker of movement. Come on, come on...
But there was nothing. The only response was the unchanging beep of the monitor, the unwavering rise and fall of her chest. His shoulders slumped, the energy fading from his hands as the realization hit him.
It didn't work. Why didn't it work? He pulled back, standing up straight as he glanced back at Emma, her face still the picture of peaceful slumber, unaware of his efforts, his desperation.
"Fuck."
He shook his head, and as quietly as he entered, Greg left the room.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
MedHall Private Care
Patient Medical Report
Unit: Long Term Care
Room Number: 412
Date: May 27, 2011
Patient Information:
Name: Emma Barnes
Date of Birth: July 19, 1995
Age: 15
Medical Record Number: 254-897-310
Incident Report:
Date of Incident: May 27, 2011
Time of Incident: 12:32 PM
Details:
Patient, comatose for approximately two months, abruptly regained consciousness, displaying acute distress and confusion; coma was spontaneous, not medically induced.
Observations:
Responsive to external stimuli
Exhibited severe agitation
Exhibited confusion with no recall of events leading to hospitalization
Physical exam revealed no new injuries or deterioration
Actions Taken:
Administered anxiolytics for distress
Conducted neurological evaluation
Ordered brain MRI and blood tests
Current Status:
Patient stabilized under sedation; remains in intensive care with continuous monitoring. Psychological support arranged for post-awakening recovery.
Doctor's Notes:
Sudden awakening with this presentation, while concerning, aligns with observed reactions in cases of spontaneous emergence from coma.
Signed,
Dr. Marion Lund
Attending Physician
MedHall Private Care
May 27, 2011