Somewhere in For’af
11:00 EPT
The little battery-powered TV flickered in the background, illuminating the darkness that greeted Hah’fiidh as he came home to his tiny first-floor apartment. It was all he could afford; like most students at the University of Dannistaan (For’af), he was on a tight budget. As it was, he had only gotten into the Law program on a scholarship. He had to commute more than most students would accept, but it would do and it was home.
With the riots and military cordons, that commute had gotten quite a bit longer. What few buses operated in For’af changed their schedules seemingly daily. If that was not enough of a sign of dark times, there was the unending voice of the Party on the airwaves, countered however meekly by voices of moderation from elsewhere in the nation. Hah’fiidh saw this more firsthand than most; the DNP had a great deal of presence among the younger students at the University, and more than a few dangerously verbose adherents among the faculty. Even now, he could hear the voice of Kelly Minn’ow Jones…or rather, a speech played back by the closing broadcasts of the evening news. Hah’fiidh crossed the room and shut it off. There was silence, a sudden eerie silence, disturbed only by the distant thumping of the upstairs neighbors’ music and a car driving by.
The silence was disturbed by a deafening crash. The front window of the apartment disintegrated into a sheet of sharp fragments as a hunk of concrete and twisted rebar flew through it, smashing into Hah’fiidh’s back and pinning him to the ground. He gasped and clutched at the thing, his whole world lost to a hell of hideous sensations. He could feel that he’d broken a rib or ten, and there was a horrible stabbing feeling in the side of his his neck where a piece of rebar had gone through. He could feel the wet flow of blood down his back and neck. And he could hear the sound of a man’s voice - the thrower, no doubt, taunting him in Mandarin. At least, what little could be made out over the sound of a revving engine.
…A revving engine?
The cacaphony was disturbed by a deafening crash. Hah’fiidh twisted on his side to look, and was immediately confronted by a sharp pain in too many places to count as the thing rolled off of him. The whole area around his doorway was indented as if some sort of huge truck had smashed into it. The engine revved again, interspersed with the gleeful howls of Bai Lungese voices, and the door caved in. A huge fender, fortified with the crude reinforcement of brutish mechanics, stood where the door had been, replaced now with a cloud of splinters that dotted Hah’fiidh’s arm as he shielded his face.
The howls and jeers and the engine were suddenly disturbed by a third sound: Rifle fire. The distinctive crackle of the guns of the Dannistrian Army echoed down the empty street, and the engine revved again, scrambling in reverse. It could be heard barreling down the empty street. Hah’fiidh forced himself into a sitting position and looked out the window to see no less than five APCs in swift pursuit.
There was silence, a disturbing eerie silence.
Hah’fiidh coughed hard into his hand. There was blood flowing down the front and back of his shirt, blood all over his arms and face…but none on his palm. That was good. Struggling, he forced himself to his feet. The pain was sharp, but he could bear it. He knew he needed medical help - and thank Hal’vo, he was still covered under his parents’ insurance policy - but it would have to be soon. He picked up the phone to call an emergency number. Hah’fiidh reached down and checked that it was still connected, then tried again. Still dead. Curious, he flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. Apparently he had been pre-empted as the gang’s first target by a telephone pole.
Checking as he went that he could still walk, Hah’fiidh trudged his way through the splinters and glass that littered the floor of the apartment and stepped out of the gaping hole where the door had been. Sure enough, the city lights still shone in all directions - it had only been his little part of the neighborhood that had gone out. And that meant that the nearest hospital would still be functional. The nearest hospital, as he knew it, was Mercy of Hal’vo, seven blocks to the north. He would have to walk, for he had no car and nobody in this neighborhood would lend one, but the emergency room never closed and he could make it.
Hah’fiidh was distracted from both his plans and the pain in his back by a pitiful groan from the sidewalk beneath his feet. There lay a young Bai Lungese man, seventeen at most, clad in a bloodied white undershirt and jeans. He was bleeding from not less than five gunshot wounds. One had hit him right in the gut, two in the shoulders, and two more in the legs. He was in terrible shape, and would die soon…unless he got help.
In the reflected glow of the city lights, the young Bai Lungese man’s features were clearly visible. He was, by any reasonably account, as ugly as sin. Scars from a life in BL-Town dotted his face, shaven head, and arms wherever crude tattoos were not. He was missing more than a few teeth and several fingers on his left hand. His clothes were dirty, bloody, and poorly made. With what little impotent strength he had he cursed Hah’fiidh in a feeble voice and a foreign tongue.
In that moment, Hah’fiidh’s eyes were opened, and he saw.
This bleeding hunk of flesh, this pathetic mass of wasted humanity, this…thug…was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. It was not a brief moment, not a glimmer; once Hah’fiidh had seen he could no longer be blind. He could not let this man die, he could not let him suffer and die out of sight on these uncaring streets. Wincing in pain, he hobbled back into the hole that was a door and came back with an armful of shirts and towels, which he used to bind the bleeding as well as he could. With a grunt of effort that felt like being stabbed in one rib that was definitely broken, Hah’fiidh hoisted the man to his feet, wrapping the gangster’s arm over his shoulder and supporting his feeble steps. The pain reminded him of knives, of fists, even of some old Anglican missionaries’ description of hell, but he walked still. He could not let this one die.
The first block was quicker than he expected. The street was empty, so Hah’fiidh did not have to find his footing. Every step still felt like fire, but he thought he could manage. He persuaded himself that he could manage. He could still hear the Bai Lungese man breathing, though he could also feel his blood flowing out of a poorly bandaged shoulder wound, but not too much. That was just something that had happened. They could not stop.
The second block was slow. A car passed through, packed with a chattering collection of young women. Hah’fiidh waved at them, trying to get them to stop, but upon looking at him they sped away. He trudged on.
The third block ended at an intersection. There were not many cars, but enough to make crossing difficult. He tried flagging those down too, but their reaction was the same. Hah’fiidh waited for an opening for what felt like an eternity. As he waited, a group of young Dannistrian men approached down the perpendicular sidewalk. They saw the Bai Lungese man and stepped forward with a vicious glee in their eyes, but then stopped and saw Hah’fiidh. Something changed, and they turned and walked away the same way they had come, their joy replaced with disappointment - or was it shame?
At the end of the fourth block, Hah’fiidh was terribly tired. He could see the well-lit tower of the hospital at the end of the sea of darkness, standing like a sentinel and beckoning him. And yet he could feel that the Bai Lungese man’s breath was ragged, his bleeding worsened. And he heard, new sounds - gunfire and vehicle engines, from many directions. This raid was not the only one. And yet Hah’fiidh knew he had to go on, each troubled step by step. He could feel his own breath failing him, his own blood dripping down the remainder of his shirt, but he had to go on. Had to. Had to…the thought frozen in his mind, Hah’fiidh realized that his body had frozen too. He was too exhausted, too worn and bleeding to take another step. He struggled to keep his balance and that of the Bai Lungese man, to remain standing and take another step.
The world exploded in a cascade of light. A spotlight shone down upon the two, and Hah’fiidh heard the thumps of an AC’s massive footfalls behind them. A woman’s voice spoke, but Hah’fiidh could not listen. He heard only the sound of APCs screeching to a halt and the footfalls of medics.
Emergency ward, Mercy of Hal’vo hospital
“We’re sorry, Mr. Tan’aar’sen.” The nurse slid in between the curtains that surrounded Hah’fiidh’s bed. There were no individual rooms; the whole ward had been hastily converted to curtain-partitioned cubicles. Mercy of Hal’vo was a busy place that night. The nurse bowed her head as if in apology; she was elderly and slightly overweight with thinning hair, but Hah’fiidh was stunned at just how beautiful she was, for he saw truly now. “He…your friend didn’t make it. We did what we could.”
He said nothing for a long time. “Thank you.”
She stepped out, wordless; no doubt she was busy, and what could she say? The curtains ruffled and swayed and went still, leaving him all alone. The doctors had said that the damage wasn’t as bad as it looked, but he would have to stay there for a couple of weeks while the bones set. The insurance covered most of it. Most of it - but certainly not all. He would have a hard time explaining this to his professors, as well.
Hah’fiidh was distracted from his worry as the curtains ruffled again and a man in a doctor’s coat stepped in. He was of English descent, by the look of him, with light skin and a neatly trimmed black beard. He wore surgical gloves, and the coat looked like he had just stepped out of an operation. Most curiously of all, he wore a simple chain around his neck that supported an elaborate symbol of a single golden teardrop. He was, Hah’fiidh saw, almost blindingly beautiful.
“Hah’fiidh Tan’aar’sen.”
“That’s me.” Hah’fiidh responded to the strange doctor’s address.
“You did well back there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You did well back there.” The man repeated himself. “You did something that was impossible. Something that could not be done. And so you will do again, for you are the champion of love and love is needed in this world.”
“I-” Hah’fiidh was confused.
“Do not worry about how to respond to that, or think too long about it. See as you now see, and do as you have done. I have no more to say.” Dimitri turned and slipped through the curtains again. “Rest now.”