Rule 7 : Rage

CHAPTER 8: Beneath The Surface.

Dr. Martini entered with a majestic aura, her hips swaying in a mesmerizing dance as she absorbed the ambiance around her. The air tingled with the unmistakable scent of woody musk, a fragrance that stirred a sigh from her lips.

Seated ahead, a lone figure swiveled in his chair, enveloped in solitude. He released tendrils of cannabis smoke in an unexpected tale within the serene air.

With a discreet tap on the table, she signaled him. Swiftly, he turned, his smile cutting through the air as his piercing gaze met hers.

"Please, take a seat," his commanding voice reverberated, claiming the room.

Gracefully, Dr. Martini settled into a chair. "Thank you."

Lord Maximus, an embodiment of mystique, inhaled dense plumes of cannabis. His voice, laden with authority, proclaimed, "Zayn doesn't belong; he's feeble."

"He knows too much now. Plan A or B?" Dr. Martini countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lord Maximus pondered, then declared, "Plan A—he's hollow, nothing to offer. Plan B," he concluded.

"To eliminate him" Dr. Martini replied, her tone subdued, a sardonic smile forming.

"None of that. It would've been easy in his comatose state. He's awake; I need something from him," Lord Maximus snarled.

"And what might that be, my lord?" Her lashes fluttered.

"Last year, on June 18th, we found him in an unfamiliar attire, near death in the Butcher's Worm car. After an extensive search, a cryptic note surfaced among his belongings," Lord Maximus disclosed.

"But he's not tied to The Butcher's Worm; he's an orphan," Dr. Martini countered, adjusting her coat with precision.

"Soon, I anticipate hearing from him. I need to unravel the mystery of those clothes and his ties to The Butcher's Worm," Lord Maximus declared, exhaling plumes from his mouth.

"Regardless, good job. Now that he's awake, I await Zayn's revelations. You're dismissed!" His authoritative tone reverberated.

Dr. Martini rose, inhaling deeply before exhaling a chilling mist. Her gaze pierced through the serene environment as she departed. Her departure carried an air of bewilderment, haunted by Lord Maximus's cryptic words.

"Watch your back, Dr. Martini," Lord Maximus snarled, his foreboding warning echoing, sending chills down her spine, leaving an ominous atmosphere in her wake.

Zayn, gradually finding his voice, underwent a thorough medical assessment to uncover the mysteries that lingered within him. Now, within the confines of the same building that housed the intensive care unit, he found himself in a rehabilitation center.

Dressed in a muted grey gown, his pale complexion spoke of the arduous journey he had traversed. Seated on the bed, his legs dangling close to the floor, Zayn occupied a space caught between the delicate process of recovery and the looming uncertainty that shrouded his past.

Dr. Martini assumed her position, settling across from him with a short table between them. Her hands, interlocked and poised on the table, mirrored a delicate balance of authority and compassion in the air. The room held a quiet tension, filled with the unspoken challenges of rehabilitation, as they embarked on a journey of healing and rediscovery.

Dr. Martini's smile softened the air as she inquired, "Zayn, do you have a family?" His reply, resonating with a hint of solitude, echoed through the walls, "No, I don't."

The delicate interlock of Dr. Martini's hands eased. In this moment, as the unspoken language of empathy bridged the gap between them, Zayn felt a connection with his caregiver, a guide in the enigmatic journey that lay ahead.

"What languages do you speak?" she continued, her gaze probing gently. Zayn's response, wrapped in a subtle grudge, revealed a multilingual tapestry. "English, French, and Spanish."

Dr. Martini's inviting tone filled the room as she inquired, "What is your full name? See me as your friend; it's just you and me in this space. Tell me everything you remember, and I'll keep it as a secret. Do you love pets?"

"I love animals, puppies, and reptiles," Zayn responded, his gaze meeting hers. He continued. "I'm Zayn Orson. I've been in the orphanage since six months old. I don't know my age, but I can remember my date of birth. How did I get here?"

Dr. Martini leaned in, her eyes scanning the room, and whispered, "Do you remember the Shaque got six bar lords?" Zayn, caught off guard, responded, "What's that?"

"I was playing around with you; I don't want to seem boring. Do you have a pet at home?" Dr. Martini swiftly returned, a soft smirk playing on her lips.

A gentle bell rang, its melodic tone echoing softly, and as it subsided, the room was filled with receding sounds.

"I'll be done here soon," Dr. Martini announced, capturing Zayn's attention with the promise of unveiling revelations in the mysterious journey ahead.

"I can't," Zayn mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor.  A brief pang of regret momentarily clouded his face, his lips turning down slightly at the corners. "Even if I wanted to, I'm just not financially stable enough to give a pet the life it deserves."

The door creaked open, and in walked Hardin, carrying a white puppy with a red knot around its neck. The puppy wagged its tail gracefully, running towards Dr. Martini, who gave a subtle signal as Hardin exited the room. The air buzzed with anticipation, hinting at a connection between Zayn and the unexpected visitor.

Dr. Martini smiled at Zayn and playfully remarked, "This is for you. What would you like to name her?"

Zayn's eyes lit up with affection as he observed the white puppy. "Wow, I love her color. Can I name her Shaque? I don't have any name in mind, but you mentioned a name so captivating," he suggested.

Dr. Martini, gazing at Zayn with a warmth that transcended the room, found herself interrupted by the faint bark of the puppy. Zayn tenderly brushed its head, and in response, the puppy wagged its tail, forming an instant connection between them.

Dr. Martini stood up with a sigh, her eyes holding a hint of mystery. "I'll leave you two to bond."

As she exited the room, the atmosphere changed. Zayn, absorbed in the dog, sensed a peculiar shift, as if the room held secrets waiting to be revealed. The air turned still, and a subtle tension lingered, making the silence feel weighted with a puzzle.

As Dr. Martini traversed the corridor towards her office, the sterile scent enveloped her, a cold embrace in the quiet halls. Seating herself amidst the stillness, she rested her chin on interlocked fingers, contemplating the enigma that surrounded her.

Her gaze wandered, and she fixated on an intriguing picture within her space. A drawing portrayed a briefcase entwined with a brain—an artistic fusion of the mundane and cerebral. Intrigued, she retrieved the picture, turning it to reveal a cryptic inscription on the back: "The Butcher's Worm."

A shiver coursed through her, and she carefully returned the picture to its place. Exiting her office, she made her way to elevator with calm anticipation. As her finger lingered over the button, the elevator doors opened unexpectedly.

YOUR VOTES MATTERS.