Chapter 6

 

Mark came to in a fading haze of painkillers and considered his surroundings carefully - more than two IVs in his arm, a catheder sitting in his little friend and a calendar on the wall that seemed to be 6 days away from Mark's last memory.

 

That wasn't good.

 

Eventually, he had freed himself from the worst of the cables and tubes hooked up to him; Mark suspected there'd be a nurse on her way to shout at him. He didn't mind the hospital gown too much, but he dreaded opening it - the odd feeling on his chest didn't just come from new scars, but indicated a general skin irritation, and that could only mean one thing. Indeed, a quick look in the mirror indicated a fresh shave, and he recalled his hair being a bit longer, too. What would be their next move? Make him drink tea? The bastards...

 

To Mark's credit, he was already in his jeans when the nurse did barge in; to her credit, she spared him the whole "You should be in bed" speech and called for the doctor at once. Doctor Fuji (emphatically insisting that he was *not* named for the mountain) gave Mark the speech, stern looks, and, finally, a bottle of strong painkillers. Mark walked outside and reached for the handrail at once; no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, staying on his feet was a serious problem.

 

He cocked his head towards the sound of a tap on the ground and followed the sight of a cane upwards to find Dr. Lothario Algernon.

 

"I figured you might need some help," he said, "with...well, raising Caine."
"Where'd you get that?"
"Met with 'nox, put two behind his ear, subjugated the UN and became President of Earth. What did you do last week?"

 

Mark glared at him.

 

"Seriously," Lothario said, "the Doctors said you'd be bedridden for three weeks or so, and I figured you'd disagree with that assessment. Hence, a cane. No hidden weapons, either."

 

Mark rested his weight on the cane. It felt strange, but it was a dang sight more comfortable than trying to put stress on his left leg. He didn't recall any injury there, but the most interesting problems always came from where he hadn't been shot.

 

"Okay," Mark finally said. "Do I get an eyepatch, too?"
"No, but I did get you a prescription for reading glasses..."

 

As far as Mark was concerned, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Lothario recoiled just in time to dodge the tip of Mark's cane; the Enforcer set it down again, then smiled grimly.

 

"Jesus Bloody Christ," Lothario said, "you were almost dead a week ago. How fast do you heal?"
"Not fast enough, obviously, I didn't manage to hit you."
"Okay, it's been fun and all, but you really should get some rest. There's nothing you can do right now."
"The hell there is," Mark replied, then opened the bottle of pills and downed a greenish one - ah, the joys of synthetic opiods. Lothario gave him a strange look.
"I'm not going to convince you, am I?"
"Nope."
"Alright then. Let's go before you start solving medical mysteries..."

 

---

 

The first rays of a morning sun touched the sheet-metal shells littering the impromptu Mysteries trailer park; in that manner, they woke Raphael "Az" Marcos from his meditation atop one of said trailers. Several minutes passed in silence, though Az could feel the Aborigines moving all over the place in perfect silence through the ripples in the air, the heat their footprints left on the still-cold ground, the vibration of their footsteps carried all the way up to him through the trailer's superstructure. The wind played over his naked chest, whispering names in a language Az didn't understand.

 

Then somebody talked to him, and he had to tune out his hyperactive senses to interact in a more normal fashion with the world.

 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asked; when his eyes opened, he was looking at a woman in jogging gear with the faint trace of Persian ancestry sculpted into her face.
"Have you been up there all night?" she asked, and Az recognised the voice of Misri - but the vibrant, piercing eyes he had admired under the cloak were now dull and flat.
"Pretty much."
"That must have been very cold."
"You wouldn't believe the waste heat seeping out of this trailer here. The central heating unit is directly underneath me, isn't it?"
"I don't know. That would make sense, I think."

 

Az shot her a curious glance.

 

"What's with the getup?"
"I'm leaving today."
"...good luck with that."
"Yes. Thank you."
"How was death, anyway?"
"...cold," she finally said.

 

She turned and walked. Az knew he'd never see her again.

 

After another hour, the sun was now burning him beyond his comfort treshold, so he uncoiled his legs and jumped off straight up, tasting those weightless seconds of free fall before he cratered again, shocking the ground as his foot, knee and fist dissipated his kinetic energy. He got up from the kneeling position and tensed the muscles of his back, then turned to warm them in the sun. He noticed one of the Mysteries walk towards him and nodded his head in respect, feeling a bit foolish for drawing attention to himself like that.

 

"How are you today?" the medicine man asked.
"The same as yesterday. More questions than answers."
"You must leave." It was not a command, merely a statement along the lines of calling the sky blue.
"I'll be gone tomorrow. I just want to try it one more time."
"We will guide you in the evening. Cleanse yourself."

 

Az picked out a spot with a bit of shade and sat down to meditate again. The spirits hadn't been helpful this past week, but maybe, just maybe, he'd finally be heard tonight. He tried to calm his mind, but the floodgates were wide open, and he'd never find his center while the question kept rushing through his head.

 

Who am I?