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New York City has been less safe that then jungles of Vietnam, and that's saying something. Sinjin is in and out of consciousness for hours, then finally comes to his senses sometime in the early morning the day after getting his ass kicked by two unknown mutants. He tries to sit up and finds that's a bad idea, not just because he's burned and beaten but because he's cuffed to his hospital bed.
"What the hell?" is what he means to say, but it comes out incoherent thanks to his jaw being wired shut. "For fuck's sake someone get me a pen," is a little clearer, clear enough to attract the attention of the police officer by the door.
"Seriously?" Sinjin is vastly unimpressed.
For the next few hours, there's a constant back and forth — scribbling frantically on Sinjin's part, calls from the hospital and the officer on duty to various authority figures out in the world.
"I'm the victim here," Sinjin notes, in neat capital letters. "I got jumped by two people because of my work."
The wheels of justice move slowly in New York. "We'll get it cleared up," the officer promises, seeming a little sheepish, at least. "My wife likes your books, by the way."
"That's…that's great." Sinjin knows sarcasm doesn't translate well into text. Not without context. "I'm glad."
The handcuffs doesn't come off but at least they loosen his right hand so that he can write. Nurses come and go and, finally, there's some morphine. Sinjin takes stock. His chart is already a quarter-inch thick. A pair of surgeons come in to poke at him and argue over whether or not to do anything about the broken bones in his face.
"I like being pretty," Sinjin points out. That only gets him a snort of irritation.
"Worry more about that eye," the surgeon in favour of surgery suggests.
"He's young, he'll heal up if we get it all in line," the other says. They agree to disagree and call in someone else. Sinjin stares at the ceiling and prays for someone sympathetic to come along and give him a cigarette. He misses Vietnam.
*
No one is allowed entrance. The police guard at the door seem to suggest that they mean it too. When Kitty Pryde came by the conventional way with a bouquet of flowers and bottle of liquor in tow, she'd been told to beat it. Which is why she shoots the guards a serene smile and rounds a nearby corner.
A glance is cast over her shoulder, and, when she's fairly convinced no one is looking, shedisintegraies into a million little pieces and walks through the wall to see the very burnt reporter.
She shivers when on the other side — the feeling of the room is enough to have her draw her arms around herself. When her eyes fall on the man in the bed, however, her arms drop, the colour drains from her face, and her mouth gapes. A second later, she collects herself, the flowers and bottle are set on the bedside table, and manages, "John! Oh my gosh — " her hand reaches for the handcuff, which is turned intangible, and pulled through Sinjin's wrist. "What on earth happened?!"
*
Sinjin still has the pen and paper. "Mutual friends," he writes. "Director wanted to see me." It's nice to have his arm free, that helps. The other one wasn't much use to begin with after the fight with Lilith. He pats Kitty's arm reassuringly. He'll be all right. Of course, he can't see himself right now and he's full of morphine so his perspective is a little off.
*
Kitty's eyebrows draw together and she grabs the chair on the other side of the room to pull it up to Sinjin's bedside. "I…" her eyes lid and her posture tenses. Angrily, her nostrils flare, her hands ball into fists, and her jaw tightens. When her eyes open, the fire deep within them is palpable. "They sent people after you?! Of course they did," she finally sits. "I'm sorry this happened to you. What exactly happened?"
*
"Jumped by a kid with knives? Japanese? Part?" Sinjin isn't sure about that, but he knows there were knives somewhere in there. "Woman, Japanese, too — guessing." He's pretty good at telling who's who, though. "Claws? Nails? Fast. Beautiful." He exhales slowly, doesn't dare shake his head, but the memory of it is nauseating. "Both kept coming."
*
"Knives?" Kitty's nose wrinkles. The expression doesn't change, and the fire in her eyes doesn't fade as her gaze remains steadily on Sinjin. She sucks on the inside of her cheek and contemplates the information. "It wasn't — " she inhales a long deep breath. Her cheeks puff out as she exhales quickly. "Were the knives… attached to his body? Like.. maybe part of his body?" She frowns further.
*
This isn't something Sinjin wants to think about. "A sound. A clicking?" He remembers that. "Blades on the hand. Cut concrete." Now that he's back there, he remembers them shining, missing his cheek by a fraction of an inch and driving into the sidewalk next to him. "Right here." Pointing to the pillow by his head. "Like this." He indicates on his left hand where it looked like the blades were in the boy's hand. Maybe literally in his hand.
*
If at all possible, Kitty's expression turns angrier. Her fingers tighten further into their fists. Her lips curve down into a frown. Her shoulders tighten. "They were… metallic?" The frown deepens. She knows a Japanese kid who has claws that retract like that, but they definitely weren't metallic last she'd seen Akihiro. Her expression turns pinched. "And there were two of them? A man and a woman — " she repeats for herself. "Were they… were they healing? I imagine you didn't just let them assault you…" she cringes.
*
"Both. Healing." The sense of helplessness, of not being able to control the fire enough to kill either of them, is like a black hole. The memory of wanting to kill them makes Sinjin's stomach churn and he shudders. For the moment, he's grateful he hasn't eaten. Being sick with his jaw wired shut is not something he wants to experience. "Yes. Metal. Right into the concrete."
*
The souring of Kitty's expression has her chin dropping and her eyes honing on a spot on the ground. She pinches the bridge of her nose. "So." She lifts a single finger, "A Japanese kid, with knives in his hands that clicked when he made them come out could heal, and attacked you." She stands and begins pacing the room. "I know… I know you said there was a woman too. I am listening, I just — " her eyes flit about the room. "I know someone who — " her shoulders tighten. "They took him. We freed him. There's no way he'd go back…" her eyes narrow. "…is there?" Her eyebrows draw together sharply. "When I left, they'd implanted…" she taps on her temple. "There was this trigger. They set me off. I couldn't control myself. I had no control over my behaviour. My actions weren't… It wasn't.. I couldn't…"
*
"She got orders from somewhere. He listened to her. Both lucid." Sinjin runs over it in his head. "He talked first. Asked for a light." He feels stupid for talking to the kid, for being nice. His eyes sting with what he'd like to blame on frustration but it's actually just exhaustion and fear. His handwriting gets shakier as he he goes on. "Said yes. He thanked me."
*
Kitty hums softly. "He asked for a light…" she repeats. "I. Akihiro, if it is you, what the hell did you get yourself into?" Her eyes stare at Sinjin a few beats. "Can I do anything for you? I can come and go — they can't stop me," not easily, anyways. "I'll try to track these two down. I promise."
*
"Be careful. Put the cuff back on," Sinjin writes, forcing his hand to stay steady. "I need to disappear. As soon as cops let me go, and they will." They will, unless Weapon X personnel convince them to do otherwise. "YOU BE CAREFUL. Take all this paper." He can't leave evidence of their conversation lying around. "Tell North. Do not do this alone." He underlines that three times.
*
Kitty frowns. "I can get you out of here. Or… anywhere the police can put you." Weapon X is another story — one that KitKat isn't about to say anything about. She plucks all of the sheets of paper and stuffs them into her back pocket. Her gaze rests on Sinjin for several beats and her lips quirk into a small, incredibly telling, smile. "Don't worry. Honestly.No one can touch me. When I see them coming." And they won't be catching Kitty Pryde off guard. Not again. She reaches for the handcuff and once again, phases it through John's hand. She issue him a one shouldered shrug, and then begins to sink through the floor.
*
Sinjin gives her a thumbs up as she fades out. She's survived them so far but everyone needs to sleep some time. Hopefully she'll stick to places where she's safe. He'll use the time until the cops decide not to charge him — for what? defending himself? — to work out what he's going to do with his life. At least until his agent and editor come storming in, looking for an explanation… and a story. He should have stuck to romance novels.
*