Khyrin Hospital. Cherry blossom ward.
Tearz stood, kissed her husband gently on the lips and whispered ‘Take care and get some rest.’ With a soft smile and a wave, she left the hospital ward.
Reg lay back on his bed watching the incredibly hypnotic sight of his wife as she headed back to ‘Sins’. He always marvelled at just how amazingly good she looked in her business suit. Sighing heavily, he interlocked his hands behind his head and stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling. He was glad that everything was alright back at the SotF building and quite chuffed that his drinks cabinet had been replaced so swiftly. Not that he ever used it, apart from occasional cannon fodder, but all the same, praise to the cabinet makers.
But now he was bored. The bed was made of solid granite, or so it seemed. He shifted, trying to get comfortable for the umpteenth time, but then gave up the whole thing as a bad job, deciding to simply lay flat, cross his ankles and stare blankly at the ceiling.
He felt almost back to normal now, the wounds in his side and leg having almost completely healed. Mentally he vowed to keep a more watchful eye out for gunmen in the future. A flicker of movement off to his left caught his peripheral vision and he glanced over, already knowing what he was going to see. The weird guy in the next bed was staring at him again. Not just a normal stare either, but one of those big-arsed stares that made his eyes seem to bulge from his head. Blayde stared back as the other man's face split into a maniacal grin. With his head of wispy gray hair, he looked like Peter Cushing with a bicycle pump up his arse. The man was thin, almost to the point of emaciation, and Blayde had guessed his age at around fifty or so. He wore one of those open backed gown things that hospitals seemed to enjoy making people wear. In fact, Blayde himself was wearing one. He turned around, and his arse popped out... so bloody embarrassing!
As he watched, the other man twirled his thumbs together endlessly, irritatingly, all the while staring his bulgy eyed stare. Reg wasn't particularly in the best of moods having been cooped up in the hospital for the better part of two weeks and had reached the limits of his patience. It was the same staring routine every day, and if the truth be known, it was beginning to get right on his nerves.
He blinked, frowned, gritted his teeth and spoke, his voice dangerously low... "Listen, you frog eyed git, every day you sit and stare. Just what do you want? Is their ANYthing I can help you with?"
Reg watched as the man blinked once, slowly, a tiny rivulet of spittle oozing out of the corner of his mouth to dangle from his chin like a stranded bungee jumper. The man's voice was a high pitched creak as he began to speak, reaching behind him for something...
"So, my old adversary..... we meet again, after forty two years. It is I, Zephram Slacktwat. We join in battle once again and this time I will vanquish you, Blood, you... FIEND!!!!!!!"
Reg's jaw dropped slightly before he regained his composure. ANOTHER odd person insisting on calling him 'Blood?' He tried to gear his mind towards looking for a rational explanation, but no sooner had he engaged his brain than the skinny guy uttered a blood curdling scream, whipped out a set of chrome spleen clamps and leaped for him. Once again Blayde's jaw dropped as he wondered just what the hell was going on. He rolled sideways, his bare butt flashing out the back of his gown as he rolled from his bed, the clamps descending and clicking, snapping and grabbing into the mattress where he lay only seconds before.
Blayde rolled under the next bed as his adversary leapt onto his vacated one, spindly arms and legs flying as he leapt from mattress to mattress, jumping to the floor and poking the spleen clamps at the bewildered Commander. Reg continued to roll and he passed under three more beds before he hit the wall. Bouncing after him, with spleen clamps extended, came Slacktwat, eyes bulging, mouth frothing, and hospital gown flying around him like a flag in a high wind.
Blayde moved out from under the bed, regained his feet and reached behind him for a weapon. His fingers contacted something cold and metallic. Good enough. With a gleam of triumph in his eyes, he grasped the object, whipping it in front of him just in time to intercept the spleen clamps that were heading for his right nipple with unerring accuracy. There was a metallic clang, and Blayde shouted in triumph...
"Now its YOUR turn!!! Face the wrath of my... uhm... bedpan?"
Reg closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head and sighing inwardly. Why him? He had no idea, and before he could even begin to contemplate the thought a second longer, his eyes snapped open and he was on the defensive again. Steel rang upon steel as spleen clamp and bedpan met again and again in a flurry of attempted nipple grabs and rapid parrying. First his right nipple, then his left, then his nose. The bedpan was a chromed blur as each attempt to damage him with the spleen clamp was met with the fury of portable toilet facility defence. But it was no good, he had to go on the offensive and soon, because he was tiring fast and the wound in his side had torn open once again. Dark blood soaked through its dressing staining his gown with a growing patch of scarlet. Reg gritted his teeth and waited to strike, suddenly blocking the clamp as it made an attempt to grip one of his nads, which had flashed into the harsh neon glare as his hospital gown swept around him in his flurry of movement.
Reg arced the makeshift weapon up and left, then with a roar he slammed it onto the side of Slacktwat's head with a resounding ' BLAAAAANG!!!!!' The little madman catapulted sideways, landing in a crumpled heap on the tiled hospital floor, where he lay still. Breathing heavily, Reg bent down, lifted the man up and stuffed him into a nearby medical supply cabinet, locking it and throwing the key out of the window.
He walked wearily back to his bed and sat on the concrete mattress, his mind racing and his resolve growing. With his hand clamped tightly to his side, he wondered about the whole ‘Blood’ thing. A case of mistaken identity?
Perhaps.
As he lay back onto his bed with a stifled groan, Blayde came to the only logical conclusion he could...
He would have to find out what the Hell was going on...
