Four Painful Years

>Awaken.

MAXWELL: “...ie!”





MAXWELL: “Julie!”





TRENT: “She’s conscious. Not for long, though.”
TRENT: “Multiple broken ribs. One’s gone through her skin. The other just missed her lung.”

LUCA: “Going that fast I’m surprised she’s not dead. This is what happens when you try to play hero.”

TRENT: “Hey, she made a hard fight easier, alright? That guy was on so much juice it would’ve taken a solid hour to lay him out. Even for you.”
TRENT: “Either way, the pain’s probably going to put her under again soon. It’s for the best.”

MUSTAFA: “You must be in such agony… Thank you, Julie. You are a true friend.”

LUCA: “Uh, did you forget that she's the one who led him to us?"

MAXWELL: “An ambulance is on its way, Jules. You’re going to be fine... They’re gonna fix you, promise.”
MAXWELL: “Hang in there, okay?”

Beyond the searing pain, you feel a pair of lips touch your forehead.









MAXWELL: “You are one crazy chick...”

>Regain consciousness some time later

You think you’re gonna hurl.

When you open your eyes the entire room swirls like a vortex. Colors bloom and desaturate at random, and an annoying voice keeps nagging you take out the trash, said trash being the contents of your stomach. Luckily for you, your stomach has no contents. You and your stomach reach a compromise, and you dry heave for ten whole minutes.

It seems you’ve been taken to the hospital. Great. Part of you was hoping you’d go out in a blaze of glory so you wouldn’t have to deal with this part. You can always tell which doctors have seen your medical records and which ones haven’t yet bothered. The ones that have always treat you like a friggin’ child.

The sterile environment comforts you a little. You were always in and out of the hospital as a child, so you’ve naturally come to associate minty greens and the smell of antiseptic with the effects of your medication. Actually, you feel pretty great, considering. You did break your ribs after all… though you’re not sure how you know that.

Your phone is on the table beside your bed. There’s a web of cracks all over the screen. Just perfect. According to the clock, you’ve been out for two days. Forty-eight hours wasted.

Peering out the window past your IV stand, you idly search for any flying landmasses or weird birds. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe… Maybe none of that happened. Well, your neighbor brutally assaulting you in the pharmacy and following you to the warehouse where you murdered him using company equipment probably actually happened, you have the injuries to prove it. But maybe all the other weird stuff was just… a hallucination.

Whatever… At least the bastard got what he deserved.

…

You didn’t really have to kill him… did you?