Marcid

Fifty - Hansen

There were no street signs in sight, nor any passing cars that would pull over and assist the injured man. Where was he, again? Hansen had been out in the hot sun for what felt like hours. He could feel himself melting like a tub of left-out ice cream. The young man on the handie-talkie had been talking to him for a while, saying the phrase "stay with me" frequently. Although Hansen appreciated the effort that the young man gave, the appreciative feeling slowly drifted to annoyance soon enough. "We can try and track the vehicle down," the young man crackled through the handie-talkie. Hansen grumbled, pressing a button onto his handie. "Why didn't you do that first? It isn't rocket science." Hansen said through gritted teeth. The pain in his wrist was well over the scale, not to mention the wave of pain that spread around. He could feel his neck muscles cramping as his head hung low. He hadn't lifted his head in a good minute; he didn't want to. The pain would worsen along with the healing process. His wrist would come out crooked if it didn't heal properly. He could have permanent neck damage. Silence made Hansen want to disintegrate from the Earth.

"I'm new to this." The young man murmured. Crackle. His words gave Hansen a headache.

"Who are you?" He paused. "What's your name?" He huffed, standing up with the support of the vehicle. He pressed most of his body weight against the car as he peered over to look at the deceased dear, wincing at the sight. He still couldn't handle looking at it. He felt guilt creep up in his head, which concealed itself as a headache. He tentatively pulled his eyes away from the deer corpse before kneeling down to look at the unconscious man in the passenger seat. The handie-talkie crackled and broke up what the young man was saying. Hansen couldn't help but ignore the crackles and focus on Carson. He wasn't injured from what he could see, which sent a wave of relief that lifted the heavy weight of guilt and regret in his stomach, though both still dwelled around like a bug that he couldn't shake off. Hansen shouldn't have sparked up an argument. What was he thinking, disrespecting Carson? If he hadn't, then maybe, he wouldn't have crashed. He would have had his eyes on the road instead of him. Hansen felt his stomach twist and turn at such thoughts, though it wasn't from guilt like usual. It was something else. He didn't know what it was, or why the feeling was more different than usual. He felt his head spin with pain sending shockwaves throughout his body. His wrist started to tremble as if he was having cigarette withdrawal. He hadn't smoked in a while, Hansen realized. It was either from the pain, or from how long he had gone without a cigarette. "A little bit of both," Hansen softly murmured to himself. His body slumped back down, his side pressing against the car. More crackles came from the handie-talkie. Hansen pressed a button on the handie-talkie. "You're breaking up."

"Sir?" Crackle. "It's me, Francisco." The voice huffed into the handie-talkie, clearing their throat. Francisco, the voice, again called out for Hansen. "Sir?"

He knew no 'Francisco'. The young man did say that he was 'new at this,' though it still struck him odd that he wouldn't have known about a new recruit. Everybody in the program knew about a new recruit, regardless of location. Hansen started to feel frustration rise up in his throat, both of his hands starting to shake with a sense of anger making his sad thoughts rot away. He was somewhat relieved of the fact. He couldn't handle the bad thoughts anymore. He didn't respond to Francisco, only gritting his teeth as he continued to stare at his trembling hands. He felt his wrist start to numb, the pain somewhat dulling. He didn't know if it was just his body getting used to the pain. Tears pricked at his eyes, a tremble coming to his breath. His chest started to feel heavy again, his breathing coming on heavy. His thoughts were too loud. They were either filling him with guilt, or an irrational anger. Hansen squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling with the frequent tremble in his breath. A wave of confusion only made his thoughts get worse. What was wrong with him now? He was being dramatic. He was making this all up for attention, despite a lack of audience. Hansen couldn't understand what had sparked this sudden fit. He felt his heart pound painfully and rapidly, almost finding comfort in the aching feeling. He could feel his heart starting to hurt from how much work it was putting in, his lungs were tightening up. The dull pain started to sharpen again, his muscles started to ache and tense up. "Francisco–find me already, Jesus," Hansen rasped, though he didn't speak into the handie-talkie. The handie-talkie crackled, Francisco's voice pulling through. "Sir? Stay with me, Hansen, please. You'll get through this, I promise. You just need to..." Francisco hesitated, clearing his throat. "Just trust me, alright? I promise that I'll find you."

Hansen pressed a button on the handie-talkie. "Please." He huffed, "just find me. I'm in your debt forever if you do." His voice shook with promise and hopelessness underneath. He doubted that Francisco would come and find him; that anybody would find him. He internally scolded himself for even thinking negatively. His bad thoughts were slipping through again, but then again, he always had bad thoughts slipping through. It was nothing new, now. He winced as his lungs sent out a sharp pain, his injured hand lifting up to press against his chest, a gasp escaping the wounded man. He grinded his teeth as the pain sent shockwaves throughout his body, his tense, aching muscles doing nothing to help, nor did the sharp pain in his heart and wrist. He felt the sharp pain start to surface again as his fingers slightly twitched. He lied down on his side, his wrist pressing against the painfully hot concrete. His temple rested against the concrete, pained mumbles coming from the disoriented man. "Find me, for Christ's sake." He mumbled to himself. More crackles came from the handie-talkie. Again, Hansen ignored the crackles. The hot feeling of the concrete nearly dulled the sharp pain in his wrist. His body melted against the floor, his shaky breaths calming down as his heart slowed. He continued to incoherently murmur to himself, his eyes glued to the forest across the road. The forlornness that infected Hansen's brain continued to pick at his thoughts. He had little to no idea if Francisco would actually come for him. He had no idea who Francisco was, when he was recruited, or even his first name. Trusting him felt like walking into a room full of bear traps. Hansen couldn't help but doubt everything that the young man promised.

He continued to stare at the trees that stood still across the road, his half-lidded eyes letting go of the tears that lay on top. He let the tears drop as they hit the concrete floor, dampening just one droplet. He pressed his body further against the floor, suddenly finding comfort in the heat again. The pain felt never-ending; nonetheless, Hansen lied there. He didn't move a finger–not that he could with his broken wrist, it would sharpen the numb-ish pain that waved around his limb like a cycle. Crackles came from the handie-talkie, words that were incomprehensible to Hansen, almost whisper-like.

"His wrist..." Crackle, "in time."

"He..." Crackle, "nothing yet."

More crackles and words peeked through. Hansen huffed, lifting his body up without using his arms. He felt a strong wave of dizziness hit him like a truck–no pun intended–before he even had the chance to properly sit up. He groaned in a mix of pain, and disorientation. Hansen pressed a button on the handie-talkie, letting out a strained cough. A metallic taste infiltrated his taste buds the more he continued to involuntarily hack up the red paste that stained his teeth. "Francisco–" Hansen wheezed, the handie-talkie crackling as his lungs started to ache from desperately puffing for air. His finger quakily pressed against the button, his voice going in and out on the other end with crackles each time. "You promised me, didn't you?" He huffed, "you promise? Promise me." Hansen ordered, spitting out blood mixed with saliva onto the ground next to him. Incoherent words came from the handie-talkie, though he could immediately recognize Francisco's voice. There was one voice that Hansen couldn't fully recognize. The voice came crystal clear to him.

"Lawrence, he's in your direction. Just knock him out."

Maverick.

It was the only thing that Hansen heard before something stung him in the side of his neck, a cold liquid running into his blood. He felt the world around him melt together until he finally slipped away from consciousness.