"Battery's dying..." Wendy and Kevin exchanged glances, then—like they'd rehearsed it—bolted straight for the hospital. If that's not an omen, I don't know what is. Next up: Bartley!
After the others left, Bartley found himself alone in the ward. The suffocating loneliness crept in, making him uncomfortable. He opened the door to let in the noise from the hallway, hoping it would drown out the silence, but it couldn't wash away the pain in his heart.
The TV in the ward started blaring the news: "Good evening, folks. This November has been the city's darkest yet. After the subway incident, tragedy struck again today. Heavy rain flooded a supermarket in the southern district. Some managed to warn people before the water hit, but even so, fewer than thirty survived. The rest... all gone. Over three hundred dead..."
Tch, Bartley switched off the TV. His eyes were red as he sniffled, fighting back tears. He grabbed an apple from the bedside and sat by Cool B's bed, peeling it. Cool B was still out cold, but Bartley felt like talking anyway.
"You know, Tilia and I grew up in the same little town. It was beautiful, like paradise. We'd fish together, skate together, dress up as ghosts for Halloween and go trick-or-treating. She was such a good girl. When I was sick, she'd peel apples for me, sing lullabies. I thought we'd be together forever, but... but!"
At this point, Bartley couldn't hold back anymore. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, and he sobbed uncontrollably. Cool B's eyelids fluttered, and in Bartley's crying, he slowly opened his eyes. Still dazed and confused, he saw Bartley sobbing and managed to lift his hand, awkwardly patting Bartley's head.
Bartley paused, then let out a loud wail.
Just as Bartley was bawling his eyes out, a big, burly dude with a thick beard and a limp swaggered past the ward door. He rubbed his crotch, still sore, and muttered, "Damn Cool B, if I ever run into you again, I'm gonna squeeze your eggs till they pop! Black, White, Yellow—all colors present, world peace!"
Turns out Cool B had once given this guy a legendary kick to the family jewels right in the H Wing Corridor. Now, even he was here to see a doctor.
Still fuming, the big guy was drawn in by the sound of crying from the ward. He looked up and saw two men clutching each other and bawling. The big guy felt awkward—straight dudes like him just can't handle that kind of bromance. He was about to leave when he suddenly noticed the patient info at the foot of the bed, squinting at it suspiciously. These days, he was hyper-aware of anything explosive, so he paid extra attention.
Then the big guy squinted and muttered, "This time, it's my turn to ask you—bro, you cool with three dudes? I mean, man-man-man..."
When Wendy and Kevin rushed back to Central City Hospital, they ran into Julie, who looked panicked at the entrance.
"Bad news!" Julie grabbed them. "A bunch of gangsters stormed into Jack Young's ward and kidnapped all three of them!"
"What?!" Talk about bad luck piling up—Wendy quickly asked, "Did you call the police?" She'd heard the city's gangs were wild, but never thought they'd be bold enough to snatch patients straight out of a hospital!
The hospital staff already called the police, but all the cops went to the supermarket, so there's no backup here." No help from the police—so it's up to us. Julie grabbed the other two and started running. "But Femi Foster told me to wait for you here. She followed them alone and left marks along the way. We should be able to track her!"
That novelist's got some serious street smarts—she even knows how to leave trail signs. The three of them followed the marks, heading further and further off the beaten path, until they ended up in the wild outskirts. In the distance, someone waved at them—it was Femi Foster. Once the four regrouped, Femi pointed at a building not far away: "Those thugs took them inside. There are a lot of them, so we should observe first and act when we see a chance!"
Crouching low to sneak closer, the four saw the building was an old factory, abandoned for who knows how long—cracks lined the walls. Still, the place was lit up, and inside, at least thirty thugs were dragging Cool B, Bartley, and the unconscious Jack Young up to a big metal box.
The big metal box was a cube, over two meters on each side, with glass on the front and back and metal on the other four. The gang leader walked up to Cool B and slapped his face, making him grimace in pain. "Hey, Cool B, old buddy, we've been looking for you for ages. Finally, we meet again. Now, tell me—where'd you stash our powder?"
"I—I don't know what you're talking about." Cool B rolled his eyes and flatly denied it. No way he was admitting anything—the Brotherhood would never let him off if he did. Not to mention, he'd already used up the powder, so there was nothing left to give!
"Ha! Tough guy, huh? We'll see if you can keep that up!" The gang leader gestured around the rundown workshop. "Know where you are? This was my old man's old man's factory, handed down to my dad. My dad wasn't too bright, ran it into bankruptcy. It's been abandoned for years, everything sold off—but there's still one really cool thing I kept."
He waved his hand, and his goons opened the door of the big metal box, tossing a dog inside. "Know what this is?" He walked over to a control panel about ten meters from the box. "It used to be called a Big Microwave Oven for polymer thermal forming—should still have some molds in there." With a flick, he flipped a power switch and the box's lights came on. "I may have dropped out of high school, but I know this thing is awesome. Sure, it's just an empty shell now, but it's got one killer feature left."
Click! The boss slammed down a big red button. The dog, which had been cowering in the corner, suddenly leapt up, clawing and barking at the glass. The boss laughed, cranking the power knob to max. Instantly, the dog went silent—not just quiet, but stiff as a board. Blood started leaking from its nose, ears, and eyes, and then, like a balloon, the whole dog swelled up and exploded with a wet bang.
Cool B and Bartley's eyes went wide.
"Hahaha!" The boss shut off the machine, clapping and laughing. "Pretty cool, right? This thing's basically a super-sized microwave oven now. Open the door—mmm, smells like hot dog!" His eyes went cold as he stared at Cool B. "Kid, I've dealt with plenty of people in this oven, and trust me, the results are even messier. Toss them in!"
The door swung open, and Cool B was thrown inside.
"No, please, I swear I don't know anything!" Cool B screamed.
"Yeah, right, who'd believe that?" The bearded guy followed up with a kick to Cool B's most important part, leaving him howling and crumpled.
Next up, Bartley was shoved inside.
"Why?! What does this have to do with me? I barely know this Black dude!" Bartley shouted in panic, feeling even more wronged than Dou E.
"Oh, please! You peeled apples for him, made him coffee, and you two were even holding hands!" The bearded guy landed another kick on Bartley's backside. "You're definitely this Black guy's lover. For all I know, the powder he stole is stashed somewhere in your—!"
Last up, Jack Young was dragged to the door.
Jack Young was unconscious, so he said nothing. One of the goons scratched his head, confused: "Uh, who's this guy? Is he with them?"
"No idea," the bearded guy shrugged. "Maybe he's Cool B's contact or the mastermind behind all this."
The goon scratched his head. "But why would a contact end up in the hospital too?"
"How should I know!" The bearded guy, tired of being questioned, snapped. "That white guy's looking after him too, so maybe he's got something to do with it! Either way, it's him or you in the box!"
So Jack Young got tossed in as well.
At the control panel, the boss clapped and laughed: "Look at that—Black, White, Yellow, all colors present! World peace!" Then his face darkened, voice turning sinister: "Cool B, you gonna talk or not? You know I have zero patience. If you say 'NO' one more time, I'll turn you all into a three-layer meat pie."
Cold sweat broke out on Cool B's forehead. He glanced at his companions, only to see Bartley shooting him a deadly glare. If he dared to shake his head, Bartley might strangle him before the microwave even started.
"Alright, I'll talk..."