Dull light cut away the dream in an instant, the chattering, rhythmic gunfire falling away to the distant sound of a knife chopping against a cutting board, filtering through the thin floor. The blinds held back the morning sun, thin rays cutting bars across my eyes and the wall behind me. My hand flung itself up to block the light, the other gingerly landing on the mass of bandages against my side. I glared lazily at the whitewashed popcorn ceiling between my fingers, tail lashing against the bed with a soft snap. The time flickered against the back of my hand, blurring and coming back into focus until my hand fell away.

  //10-24-2099 - - 10:19//

  Grasping the blankets and mattress in my claws, a growl rumbled from my chest as I pulled myself up to sit. Sparks of hot pain flashed against my side even as I fought to only use my arms. I gave an intentional blink, but the lights remained off.

  //Wireless home system disconnected -- buy one today for only 79.99$!//

  As my feet hit the kitbag on the floor, I stared at the near-barren room. The warm coils of the space heater lit a small, gridded half circle along the floor. Small clouds of vapor blew from the top of the humidifier at the foot of the bed. Two doors ran along the wall opposite me. One was heavy with a deadbolt lock. The other yawned open to an unlit closet. As I surveyed the room, a sharp stab of pain ran into my side as I twisted my torso, doubling me over.

  My kitbag lay under my feet, open and rifled through, Val's careful packing disregarded. My medical kit lay in front of it, plastic wrappers strewn around it. A small picture lay face down in its frame to one side. Each breath felt like a war I had to fight. My cybernetic arm, its holoskin inactive, moved gracefully despite the pain, digging through the medical bag. But as I drew out the bottle of painkillers, even the cybernetic arm began to shake, the pain jumbling the neural impulses that commanded the limb, as I fought to open it.

  The chalky pills went down slowly and hard, catching twice in my throat. "Dammit all." A hiss trailed along under the words as I stared at the back of the photograph on the floor. Even if more stars of pain burned in my side, I scooped the photo from the floor gingerly, wrist twitching, before I tucked it away in the bag. With another pained reach, I grabbed my jacket to drape over my shoulders, pulling on a set of boxers and loose pants.

  Cooking meat, simmering spices, and the softest curl of bitter incense bubbled from under the door at the other end of the room. More chopping was heard. Pans clattered and water sprayed. Flashes of the previous night invaded my thoughts, the sign 'Zion's Kitchen' unlit and dull over large double doors, most prominent amongst them.

  With a soft snarl, I pushed to my feet, teetering as my tail swung to balance me, tip cracking painfully off the bed frame. "Today... is not my day," I muttered through a yawn, slowly trudging to the door. The steel knob was freezing cold against my scales as I pushed it open to an empty, quiet hall. The spices grew stronger, almost causing my eyes to water, even as sweet barbecue twirled with them in midair, catching on my secondary tongue as it flicked out. The growling of my stomach almost overpowered the pounding of my head.

  A flashing envelope slid into view.

  //During Sleep, you received (18) new messages! -- Reading most relevant//

  Val: Hey Vidr. Heard you made it alright. That Axiom really wanted you dead. Call me if you need to talk.

  Granger: Already heading out of town. I'd say you should too... but I know you got some stuff nailing you down. Once things blow over, let me know how I can help. You've always had my back. 'Bout time I paid it back.

  Martin: See ya, Scales. Stay smart. Stay safe.

  Supervisor Gibson: Last message to you all. I won't be making it out of this one. But good luck. Axiom really wants you all gone. Corporate wanted to know what you found... but none of you have any clue. And I believe that. Quod alii possunt vivere.

  My eyes screwed shut as I staggered to the wall. They burned softly, my tail lashing against the floor. It lasted a long few heartbeats as I leaned the side of my head into the wall. I swallowed dryly, shaking it off. From down the stairs at the end of the hall, I heard a soft synth chime blend into the music that lilted softly through the heavy door. A soft humming voice ran underneath the synthetic piano notes as a digital drum dropped an easy beat.

  As I shouldered through the door, people from all walks littered the many open tables. Beat cops talking with punked out elves in the corner. A suit and his two bodyguards, each dressed in Lichgarden corporate uniforms, sat at a large sweeping bar overlooking the open kitchen, chatting with regular folks. A group of dwarves, saurids, and humans were locked in chess matches along the far wall. Serving staff whirled through with platters covered in chicken, curry, and other foods. Each table had an ashtray at the center next to burning incense. A small group played the music from a balcony overhead.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  It made me freeze. Standing next to the staff only door in a bloodstained jacket, shirt discarded for the bandages running along my midriff and side. My claw clutched at the bandages as one of the Saurids looked up at me, tongue flicking out. Their eye ridges raised underneath the thick plumage that seemed to cover them almost head to toe, drumming their slender claws against the board, before they returned their gaze to the game with a subtle "Checkmate. I'll be right back." Her voice was soft, even as the dwarven man across from her groaned in weary frustration.

  She pushed up from the table, arms crossed as she walked up, tail flicking, its large fan of feathers flexing curiously. "Well, you look like shit." She leaned slightly to one side, head tilting the other way. "You, the guy Maestro dragged in last night?"

  "I... guess so, yeah." With a cough, I rubbed at my neck. "Where did he go?"

  "Mmm. Dunno. Sit down. I'll have someone bring some food over. Let The Selector know you're up. Then maybe someone should get you in a shower." She tittered, shifting her weight to the other side.

  I grunted, slowly shuffling into the nearest seat and landing heavily into it, even if it jammed my tail against the back of the chair. Hissing softly, I fought the limb to slot into the space in the center of the chair's back, snarling with the dulled throbs of pain in my side. Finally comfortable, I closed my eyes, head tilting back.

  Minutes later, the thick scent of hot fried chicken and its spicy, smoky, herbal sauce dragged me away from the temptation of sleep as it clawed at the edges of my mind. On the table lay a stack of pieces piled high, water and fizzing soda next to it. The waiter lit a fresh stick of incense in the holder, the burning sage trailing smoke into the air lazily.

  The growling of my stomach rumbled low as I set to eating. Flaky crust, juicy, chicken, and the thick sauce melted in my mouth as the food swiftly disappeared. The annoying dribbling of its grease down my chin was forgotten until after the last piece was finished and the two drinks were emptied.

  With heavy breaths, I ran wadded up napkins along the scales of my chin and jaw, tossing them onto the plate. As I leaned back, a man stared back from across the table, unfazed by my clipped hiss. Thick black dreadlocks were tied back like a bundle of data cables, silver hairs threaded through them like veins of precious metal, bordering his face. Dull umber skin that framed kind brown eyes, the soft creases that came from years of genuine, quiet smiles, highlighting them gently. A short, cropped black beard hung from his face. He leaned back gracefully, adjusting his gold and green striped shirt, head tilted to one side.

  "Welcome to Zion's Kitchen, my scaled bredda." His voice came out in a light Jamaican patois that settled easily in the air, like the soft curls of incense that coiled from the stick at the center of the table. "Why don't I and I have a look at what The Selector can do for you, now that you are here and safe, mm?"

  "I..." With a heavy breath, I fought to sit straighter against the blooming pain that stabbed into me. "Wish I knew? I don't have a great grasp on the situation," I sighed.

  "Then let's reason it out, and see what we see, no?" The Selector leaned his tall, wiry frame forward, hands folding on the table. "Let me tell you what I seen, then we go from there."

  "Your boss, Jah rest his soul, hired me and mine to rescue your team from Corporate killers. Axiom, by his measure. Said they wanted something you all supposedly have, seen?" His head tilted the other way, empathy shining from within his deep brown eyes.

  I leaned forward, head in my hands. "Gibson was a good man. I... sorry. Still reeling from that news... I have no idea. We had a client-" For a moment, my corporate training made my mouth snap shut with a pop. "Ah- Guess client confidentiality doesn't matter, now..."

  "Calm my bredda. You lost much in no time. Such is how Babylon is. Have some water." He waved at a waitress, who placed a fresh glass down before sweeping away.

  "I... man was named Watson Agreo. The whole thing stank, but... man got a personal trial of our platinum package only a day or two prior... Biomon went off and called us. He'd been shot. Cursed? Something weird like that. I don't deal with that aethyr shit." I brought the glass to my snout, sipping gingerly. "But while we were stabilizing him, a bunch of Axiom third parties dropped in, to finish the job and us, I guess."

  "Mmm. Not surprising, but I still fail to see how it hooks your team in, seen?" His fingers tented gently, one eyebrow raised.

  "Dunno. Axiom got our higher-ups on the line, made us bring Watson to an Axiom clinic in the Gem Plaza. Maintaining neutrality and all. Gave us some cred chips for our ‘discretion.’ Knew I shouldn't have fuckin taken it," I said with a snarl.

  "Sugar is always tempting, even if it's poisoned. No one is perfect. I see you, seen?" The Selector gently raised his hands, gesturing for calm. "So, your involvement with this Watson sent this all flying into the fan. We'll have to learn more. But for now, I and I can reason out what we can do to help you. Gibson paid a pretty penny to see you all free. I could have you on a plane to The Bahamas tomorrow, if you like, mm?"

  My eyes narrowed, tail flicking against the floor.

  "Right. Not your cuppa tea. Seen. Didn't reason you were that kind of man. You stay where the fight is. I could have you do some work for me, then, if that'd suit you." His smile turned into the softest smirk.

  "What do you need?" Carefully, I leaned back.

  "Your work in the subway car you left for my cleaners. That was some nasty killing. A doctor who can heal and harm with his medicine. That might be helpful. But when you walk the shadows, you gotta walk the light too, seen?" He gave a soft hum.

  "Not... really?" I tilted my head carefully.

  "Gotta work in the day and the night, bredda. Your healing hands could do some good for the folks here, too," he hummed. "I’ll set you up as a paramedic with a local ambulance service. During the day, you save lives. At night, I team you with some folks, and we see what havoc you wreak, seen?" An easy smile creased across his face.

  "I..."

  "Take your time. Think on it. I and I don't gotta rush. Even if you say no. I'll still line you up a place to stay. Work to do. What Gibson paid me to do." The weight of his words was genuine. "I'll see it sorted. Just take some time. Breathe, my scaled bredda. Cry if you need. World may keep moving, but I'll hold the door open for you, seen?" He stood. "Jah be with you."

  "Thank... thank you." A weight lifted from my chest, before a much heavier one nailed me into the chair, cold and frozen with grief and fear, burning deep in my stomach. My foot bounced off the ground twice, before I fished in my jacket, pulling out my box of cigarettes, a new crack running up one of its plastic sides. With a quick snap of my lighter, the cigarette burned, hanging from my lips, as tears slowly slid from behind the hand over my eyes.