“The woman sits still; her slight shoulders creeping towards one another as they continue to hunch until they appear to touch with a squint…not unlike a creeping unibrow as she looks over the wounded man she failed to seduce in time.”
Emi sits a little straighter, then pulls back her shoulders. Can you please stop narrating? Sitting alone in a rat-infested sewer with a missing liver and a freshly made cadaver is miserable enough as it is. And I don’t think being meticulously cut open with a scalpel counts as a wound.
“I’ll stop narrating if you stop being a pussy and make a decision: Will the good doctor find you dead or alive when she returns?”
What year is it?
[CURRENT DATE: 2083]
No…not literally. I mean, no one uses that word anymore.
“Good?”
Well, yes, but no. I was referring to your cat pun…
“While the undereducated woman continues her clunky dialogue, cold air swirls the stench of exposed intestines until it permeates further into the former Assassin’s poorly functioning nose. A white-furred rat returns, as if called by the wind, leaving a trail of red as it climbs up the dead man’s soon-to-be-decaying body. The sound of water churns behind the concrete walls of the operating room, the already well-fed rodent scurries off into the darkness like he just remembered he has an allergy to bleach. Emi stares down at Liam’s liver long enough to count the spots, her hand clutches her own stomach like she is holding a necklace of chocolate pearls she planned to give the dead man as a Valentine’s Day gift—though she is, in fact, only holding her guts in place to stop anything further from falling out. That’s when she asks, for the tenth time on this day, the question everyone knew she would.”
How much more time do I have?
“Life expectancy: four hours. But I have been wrong before—it might be closer to one.”
Emi sighs, the release of air pushed by her lowering shoulders. Luckily for Emi, Bee continues to block the pain receptors that would otherwise consume her every sense and thought. Nonetheless, the world around her appears to be covered in much more fog than is really present in the cool sewers. Emi reaches a bloodied hand down toward her could-have-been-lover-turned-organ-donor and closes a hand, along with her eyes, over his spotted liver.
[WARNING: SANITATION VIOLATION]
“Not to mention several dozen additional major procedural errors.”
Emi opens her eyes and freezes them there as if stunned. Sanitation violation? What kind of useless alert is that?
“One that has saved more lives than any other. You can’t just stick your hand in someone’s stomach and pull out their organs. You’d think this was common sense, but apparently not.”
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
What else am I supposed to do? The torturer is gone and I’m in a sewer—which ironically is known for sanitation.
“No need to use derogatory terms—surgeons have a hard enough job as it is.”
If anything, she’s a mad scientist.
“That’s sexist…women can be surgeons too.”
Do you have any advice or are you going to continue sitting idly by criticizing my every thought?
[SYSTEM ACCESS REQUEST: ARMS]
Command: Access denied…stop asking.
“Then you choose death?”
I guess so. Not that it matters; I’ve already died four times…and I have at least nine lives.
Bee gives an obviously fake laugh through the speaker in Emi’s neck, distracting her long enough to take control of her hand and send it soaring towards her face, where it proceeds to slap her across the cheek while Bee explains, “Cats don’t really have nine lives, just fast reflexes. And you don’t either unless she has a good use for you—apologies, there’s that misplaced word again—enough to wake you up…in which case you’d be better off dead.”
Emi, back in control of her own hand, rubs her stinging cheek. What the…I said access denied!
A sound shoots through the tunnel. Bee hears it, but little else. “Ssshhh!”
Was that…
This time Bee raises Emi’s hand to her mouth, shushing the woman with her own finger: “SSSHHH!”
The sound of the second gunshot is unmistakable though it sounds far off—but moving closer like the bubbling that follows the cracking open of a soda—in the darkness of the deep sewers: POP!
Command: Thermal Vision.
[MODE: THERMAL VISION]
The cold walls glow purple around her while Liam wavers between yellow and orange from the heat that continues to leave him. Do you think it’s him?
“Yes.”
Emi doesn’t realize just how upright she is suddenly sitting. I knew he would come for me.
“That was the plan, after all.”
Wait, you knew my father’s plan all along?
“Your father? Ah, that explains your perfect posture…and why you have so many memories of him calling you a stupid child...”
Emi’s head drops, but her hands ball into fists: Who is coming?
[Queen Bee: She thinks you’re her daddy.]
[Jashi: Lol. Don’t ever call me that again.]
Bee’s exclamation echoes off the damp walls: “Holy fuck! Did you see that? I think I killed him! I got an ‘Lol’ out of him!”
Jashi soon approaches, the sleeves of his pinstriped shirt rolled up past his elbows when he offers a groan, then a hand. “Need a hand?”
Bee answers first, “No, just a liver transplant.”
Emi starts to swing, hitting Jashi everywhere and nowhere at somehow the same time; the fact her guts are falling out softens the impact of the punches.
In total calm amidst the storm of soft punches, Jashi asks, “Do you want to put her under or should I?”
Emi stops her pointless swinging, “Uh...how about no one does any such thing. I don’t trust any of y—"
"You can do it, I'd like to watch," Bee answers Jashi's question.
Jashi lowers the fully reloaded gun that just knocked Emi unconscious with a hard click against her unevenly shaved temple.
Queen Bee speaks from her still active speaker, “She’s dead—you may now begin the lifesaving procedure. I recommend following proper procedure regarding tying down her hands—they tend to operate chaotically.”
Jashi looks around, soon finding strips of rope rolled up in a drawer beneath the well-lit x-ray of Emi’s missing organ. “Did you get what you came for?”
“Yes. You can expect a spike in profits just as promised.”
Jashi fights back his thinning smile while he ties Emi’s hands down on the railings of a nearby rolling bed that is as soft and warm as dry concrete. As the ownership group of Jashi Farms heads into the darkness, water falls from the ceiling, covering the operating room and bleaching what remains of Liam’s steaming insides.
Jashi frowns down at Emi’s corpse. “You still haven’t found her a more useful outfit?”
Queen Bee responds as if accused of a crime. “She was a bit more preoccupied with the mission than anticipated; it didn’t seem like the right time to bring up shopping.”
Emi will soon be given the choice of heading for the next dungeon. Should she go or stay in this part of the island's open-world to continue levelling up?
