Lightspeed: Drug Detectives

Chapter 25 (Act III): Fix A Leg Out There

OKAY! Absolutely NONE of you out there should say ANYTHING to upset me, okay? Because I am PISSED OFF! Anyway, my name's Ariel Axilas, and I'm your protagonist this time around. Welcome back to another chapter of my second novel, "Lightspeed: Drug Detectives", yada yada yada. Last time, we were completely and utterly betrayed by Celeste—the owner of Celeste's Clairvoyance Shop, who we thought wanted to HELP us—and before we knew it, we were almost left to drown at the Santo Domingo Cruise Port! Can you believe that? I trust her to help me with my hurting right leg, and then she goes and pulls THAT shit on us! It's a miracle that my teammates and I managed to all get out alive.....but now, my concern moves to something else.

Erica, the Paragon Herman, and myself may have all survived Celeste's attempt to drown us.....but we're all soaking wet and my right leg's still hurting like hell. Erica tried to call 911, but I decided right then and there that there's only one person who has any chance of helping me in such short of a time.

That's right. I'm going to talk to the fucking author himself, and I'm not going to stop bugging him until he answers me.

Raw determination surged through me, and I managed to pull myself up after having collapsed on the sandy beach after almost drowning. I ordered Erica and Herman to return to our vehicles outside the fortune teller's shop, and the chapter ended with me blazing off—using my super speed, of course—to find the perfect spot to talk to the author.

This time.....it's about fucking time I got my damn right leg fixed. Are you with me?

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-Calle Diablo Droga 666, Santo Domingo 10100, Dominican Republic-

The sheer speed at which I, Lightspeed, am running causes all of the sand on my face to sweep clean off, until my features are finally clean again and devoid of even the smallest grain. I may be looking way too deeply into this, but I like to think that it's symbolism about how I'm now finally ridding myself of all distractions—that I'm getting rid of everything "blocking my focus", so to speak—and am ready to focus on the real worries at hand.

And that starts......with healing my right leg.

I don't know how long it will be until it starts hurting again; the periods during which the pain is suppressed are few and far between. So, I try to make the most of the time that it's dulled, bolting at high speed through the capital of Santo Domingo until I come back to—you guessed it—the very same apartment complex that belonged to those very same fucking drug junkies from before.

I seem to be coming here a lot recently.

But hey......it's where I first tried to communicate with the author, so I thought that there'd be no better place to try it again. Besides, we've already established so many times that this place is long abandoned, so it's not like anyone's going to come and ask me what the hell I'm doing here.

Leaving my signature yellow energy trail behind me as I run, I approach the base of the apartment building and stop on a dime outside the double doors leading into the entrance. I momentarily slow down to normal speed—but only for a brief time—to push open said doors and enter the lobby.....and then, I shift right back to using my super speed to cover approximately ten stairwells' worth of steps in a matter of seconds. Once I'm on the tenth floor again, I quickly locate the original apartment—which formerly belonged to the drug junkie that my team and I questioned before—and rush to the balcony at normal speed as fast as my legs can feasibly take me.

I try to get there as fast as possible.....because I'm fucking done messing around.

When I reach the balcony, I waste no time. I step as close as possible to the protected edges, firmly wrap the fingers of both my hands over the railing, and turn my head to look at the skies.