Past

Redlight

"Sir, I told you to stay..."

Blitzo walked past without looking. Her face was so dead, and emotionless. The nurse was obligated to say such things. There was still some form of courtesy, probably because of the expensive bill that was going to come attached to the whole play. Act IV: The Patient Leaves, so try and get them to stay another day to add another '0' to the end of the dollar count. Hilarious.

There was no way he was going back in that room now. He was glad the drama had been avoided, as Verosika could've easily chased after him. He wasn't sure if she could stop him, but he wasn't about to test that theory, taking a brisk pace. The nurse kept up though, and as she was about to grab his shoulder, he turned around.

"Just a second, sir--"

Blitzo softened his glare, sighing. "Listen. Just hand me the goddamn phone, alright? I don't want to fuck around with your time, so don't fuck around with mine."

"Sure. We'll send the bill later. But we're legally bound to say, with the wounds you have..."

Blitzo kept walking, unwilling to compromise. Looking back, the blood trail wasn't getting any smaller.. and thankfully, she wasn't there to see him. He didn't need it anymore. He was definitely a mistake, but the feeling in his gut led him... or maybe that was the feeling of lead poisoning, and he was about to die as soon as he set foot outside.

Looking at his phone as he went down the hallway, careful not to let the blood on his hands destroy the phone, he scrolled at the missed calls. Moxxie had called over a hundred times. So his feeling was right. It didn't take a genius though. What he did at the concert was bound to get some other people twisted... and in that thought, he almost turned back.

"Damn it, Moxxie... pick up!" Blitzo hissed as he pushed the icon of their face, looking around him.

A few minutes late with the whole altercation with Verosika might've just gotten him killed faster. The blood wasn't going to stop any time soon, and he was seeing things that felt all kinds of wrong. The reception was more or less empty... though more indicative of the issue was the dead secretary slumped over her desk; right between the eyes, clean and proper, as any other pro would've done. And right outside, their back turned, a man enjoying a smoke. Security guard? If the lady behind them hadn't died, it would've been much more convincing.

Ducking into another room, it empty, he looked for something to use. Ironically, had he not been so deep into his dumbshit suicidal thoughts, he would've kept something in his pocket from the concert. The hospital had done what they were supposed to, confiscating all weapons... but they didn't do such a good job that they'd hire decent security.

The dial tone kept on ringing. Looking at the battery, he cursed, redialing quickly to Verosika. There was no way he was going to get any backup now. Hearing footsteps rushing in the hallway, guided with the sound of Italian and clacking of business shoes, he figured the gentlemen that went past his room weren't a group of doctors heading to the emergency room.

Verosika picked up quick. "Blitz?! What... what the fuck is-?!"

"Get out of the fucking building. I don't know if they know you're here, but-"

"Who the fuck?! GET OFF OF ME-!"

"V? Fuck... FUCK!"

Blitzo grabbed a scalpel from a nearby drawer, wanting so badly to just scream. From one rotten mess to another, trouble kept finding him like a lover's ghost. Where the hell had he attained such bad luck? But he guessed as someone peeked through the mirror of the door, and his adrenaline prompting him to smash into it, it could always get a lot worse. The front doors were right there... but he wasn't about to ditch someone he'd failed to stop caring about.