Past

Flatline

"Hey. Let me tell you something."

The woman looked at him sideways with just the slightest trace of disdain.

"...This is a real nice bed. Real comfy, and cold." Blitzo patted the thick blanket and attempted to twist in his bed, but groaned, holding his chest. "Ugh! Fff, that doesn't feel good... by the way, how much are you fucking charging me for this? I didn't consent to getting treated, assholes."

"Hippocratic oath... and laws." She spoke as if she knew what she was talking about. Could she care any less? "I told you not to move... sir. You'll reopen your wounds."

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. It had taken him a long minute to decipher if he'd been perhaps sleeping the whole time. Maybe he'd drank too much at home, taken drugs at the club, or got fucked at the concert. Or maybe, all of that was all an illusion, and he'd fucked himself... well, at some other time. It wouldn't be the first time. But, patting the thick cloths around him again, he smiled a little.

Blitzo looked at the back wall, red like most crappy building design in hell; only, it was a clean coat of paint, much cleaner than most places. "Gonna have to buy a better mattress... that'll do me some good."

He honestly felt so relieved. Not because he was alive, and had miraculously survived 5 .50s to the chest. Not because he'd come to terms with some grand, spectacular message that'd inspire him to become a better person. And definitely not because he was some hyped up adrenaline junkie who needed to feel the rush of bloodying someone and being bloodied himself. The last thing he could remember was being eye to eye with Verosika.

"Blitz...?" She'd asked as if he would be anyone else.

Just the sound of her voice speaking his name had erased whatever pain he was feeling. That, or it was the adrenaline, the fact that he was so close to death, or he just thought going through all of that hell was worth her acknowledging him. It was dumbest shit ever... and it somehow felt like justice.

He felt like he was going to go at any moment, pushing Verosika in front of him to get away, yet he felt invincible too. Blitzo was doing something he actually wanted to do... whether for better or for worse. They got to a car, and he was going to drive them out of there. But the memory just cut off there.

"Is she alright?" Blitzo had asked right after waking up.

When the nurse nodded, he immediately felt at peace, despite the huge threat of being treated here was. It was a really nice hospital, one where they actually used real medicine and not just hopped you off on morphine, or some other drug that'd leave you wanting to stay there for life. The bandages were proper, clean, along with the water. The food wasn't half bad, if not bland.

"Hey. You mind giving me my phone?"

The nurse shook her head. Where even was her name tag, anyways? "Sorry, but hospital policy says I can't allow you to use any mobile devices. It could interfere with the highly sensitive medical equipment--"

"Okay. Well, I'm gonna get up and discharge myself. How's that sound--" Blitzo sat up, and he felt an immense pinching sensation on his chest, sending him right back down.

"It is highly inadvisable. But, we do have a visitor who's been waiting for hours outside." The woman had been scribbling a lot of things on her clipboard, pausing to look up at the imp. "Do you wish to give consent to them?"

Blitzo blinked, but nodded. As they left, he figured it must've been Moxxie, Millie, Loona... whichever of them sounded nice, but at the same time, with how fucked the news would be for sure, he was already imagining the shit he'd be taking. With the stunt he pulled at the concert and the scandal he still hadn't heard of at Ozzie's... well, add more to the nightmare as it already was.