章節 3: Chapter 2
A Police Car. An Outside Perspective
"Valdez, Guerrero, you're the closest patrol. Enough bickering!" shouted the dispatcher. "Get moving and respond. It's Vasquez and his brainless wife again. Friday night, probably got drunk and started a fight. Bring him in and take everyone straight to the station."
"We don't have a criminal, I'm telling you again," Tracy sighed, but she still turned the patrol car around.
The headlights illuminated the crowded road. New York never sleeps, day or night.
Her partner, meanwhile, cast her usual stern look at the tall, broad-shouldered man sitting in the back seat. His long, straight black hair hung nearly to the floor, making it difficult to see his face, but Tracy had caught a glimpse when they first met.
And she liked what she saw, which was why she smiled. His face was that of a fair-skinned, determined man with a direct gaze. He wasn't afraid of them and even tried to explain something, though not a word made sense. From the sound of it, Tracy guessed it might be an Asian or Indian language, as it didn't resemble any familiar dialect. However, she wouldn't bet on it. The man didn't look Indian or Asian. His features were too even, and his eyes entirely normal.
Tracy didn't dwell on it too long, just made a mental note to look him up at the station later and check her impressions. Because, judging by his appearance alone, she wouldn't have pegged him as a criminal.
Meanwhile, her partner, Evelyn, flicked ash out the window, thoughtfully observing the night city and its numerous signs. The area was well-known to them, as their team was responsible for patrolling it. Guerrero's thoughts also centered on their passenger. He was a puzzling type! Despite her youth, the woman had already worked over five years in the police and had learned to recognize the usual occupants of their car. This stranger didn't fit any category!
Some intuitive feeling kept her from dismissing these thoughts, making her replay the events repeatedly. They received a dispatch call about a "naked drunk" wandering around Long Beach, they met him, and... he wasn't drunk and didn't seem like someone who had lost his memory or needed help. He appeared unusually determined as he walked down the street.
"He doesn't have a head wound," said the short woman, who had just turned twenty-seven, tossing out her cigarette butt. "So we can rule out trauma. Judging by his build, I'd bet on him being a professional athlete or even military. But what would a foreign soldier or athlete be doing near Long Beach? Stealing someone's underwear? Didn't quite manage, huh?" she chuckled.
"Let it go," Tracy waved her off. "I'm more worried that we'll have to deal with that idiot Allen again. Last time, he promised to shoot us if he saw us at his door."
"Do you believe that moron?" the girl adjusted her dark hair, tied up in a neat bun.
Valdez shrugged.
"Anything's possible," she reluctantly replied, glancing at her belt and the gun in its holster.
Evelyn sighed and looked back into the rearview mirror. The man sat quietly, staring out the window. There was genuine interest in his eyes. Could he be a refugee from Cuba or Puerto Rico? Usually, they reach Miami, but you never know. Who knows what their situation is? Maybe they tried to be clever, but the ship didn't withstand the waves? After all, there was news today about a strong storm near Jamaica Bay. And that's exactly where the stranger appeared.
"Do you speak Spanish?" she asked in a foreign tongue, her accent noticeable, causing her to frown.
The man, realizing she was addressing him, turned his dark brown eyes to Guerrero, but said nothing. He didn't seem to understand either.
"Leave him be," Tracy glanced briefly at her partner. "We'll hand him over to the guys at the station. They'll check his fingerprints and call in Kim. He's always bragging about knowing nine languages, isn't he?"
Evelyn chuckled and opened a bag of chips. Not the healthiest food, but she'd held out long enough. Just as she and her partner decided to head back to the station with their detainee, another call came in. And she had been hungry for a while!
"You'll get fat," Valdez teased, but Evelyn just shrugged. She didn't feel like arguing or even talking.
Sensing her friend's mood, Tracy turned on the radio, which began playing another hit song, unexpectedly drawing their passenger's attention. At least, his gaze showed... not surprise, but some kind of joy, and a smile even appeared on his lips, making his expression unusually serene and almost happy.
Guerrero smiled despite herself but quickly looked away so her partner wouldn't notice. The last thing she wanted was to be teased later about supposedly flirting with the detainee.
Within half an hour—even their passenger grew tired of looking out the window—the officers reached their destination.
"Damn traffic," Valdez thumped the steering wheel. "You could die a dozen times over in this time."
"Damn crime," Evelyn snorted, instinctively checking her gun and radio on her belt. "And who are we rushing to? Vasquez likes to hit, not kill."
"Unless Donnie's right about his hand being injured during the last arrest, and he's hooked on painkillers now," Tracy nervously tapped her fingers on the door. "Then things could end badly."
"You think he's on drugs now?" Guerrero sighed. "That's bad if true. But you know, maybe it's for the best. Junkies don't live long for a reason."
"Spit it out, girl," Valdez smirked. "Let's go."
She opened the door, stepping outside onto the dark street.
The police arrived in a rather poor area with poor lighting. The surroundings were lit only by a solitary streetlamp and the headlights of their car. And, of course, the windows of the house they needed to go to.
"Let's go." Evelyn reached for the door handle, then glanced at their passenger. "Behave yourself," she smirked, then stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
* * *
I really like this city. The intersection of so many different architectural styles, which blended so harmoniously with each other, was astonishing!
I had never seen anything more beautiful anywhere, ever. Though soon I noticed a downside: the overcrowded streets. There were so many people and so many different carriages that we ended up in a huge line.
Judging by my companions' behavior, this was completely normal for the city, which made me frown mentally. The local ruler needed to widen the roads or build new ones because this was not right.
Logically and sensibly, they should have been taking me to the local guard station, but I wasn't sure. As I said, customs had changed too much. Perhaps those caught by the guards are immediately sent to prison or the quarries? Or maybe to sorcerers for experiments? Or to the arenas? Sold into slavery? Hundreds, thousands of possibilities!
When one of the warrior women used an artifact to create music, I genuinely rejoiced at the advanced magic of this world. And this was just a mundane application! What could be said about the military sphere? Midgard, it seemed, could seriously resist those arrogant bastards from Asgard with magic alone!
Unless they had reached or even surpassed such heights in the meantime, an unpleasant thought crept in. But it couldn't linger long. The surroundings filled me with too much happiness.
A smile appeared on my face as I indulged in sweet dreams of slaying my enemies. What could be more pleasant?
However, this fantasy came to me too often to immerse myself fully in it. Certainly not when there was so much around to see!
The pleasant music and song, judging by the voice... a man? It wasn't clear, the voice was too thin! Maybe the meaning was in the words, but to me, they were just a meaningless set of sounds. But it sounded beautiful, I admit. I'd take this bard into my palace, at least for a while.
However, the music did not distract me from my main activity: exploring the city. Oh, what buildings there were! And nearly every one was enchanted. Glowing signs and, to my pleasant surprise, they had text! What does that mean? The majority of the population can read!
How did they achieve this? Where did the Midgardians find so many teachers and, more importantly, the money to educate the masses? It must be a huge expense! In my time, such a project was shelved as too complex and financially burdensome to implement nationwide.
We traveled for a long time. It had gotten completely dark, and stars appeared in the sky. Though, it was quite difficult to see them due to the abundance of light from signs, windows, and various artifacts. Still, squinting, I was able to spot familiar constellations. There was Hydra, Virgo, Pegasus, Dragon… I was still on my own land. In Midgard…
I turned my head, studying the sky to the sounds of music and the atmosphere of some grand city I had never known.
There was something in it... special? Perhaps. I felt like an explorer discovering unknown lands. In a way, that's exactly what I was.
The women chatted quietly, occasionally glancing at me. Their carriage had mirrors through which they could see behind them without turning their heads. Very convenient and, I'd say, luxurious, if I hadn't noticed that EVERY carriage had such features. Also, all the houses had glass windows, and some seemed to be made entirely of it.
A marvel… A city of gods. Ha-ha-ha! Asgard is far from this place!
However, the longer we traveled, the worse the surroundings became. Mud, trash… The buildings became much less attractive, and the people even more unpleasant. Yes, people were what spoiled this magnificent place. This city of dreams.
As I mentioned, many had clearly visible defects: too fat or too thin, crooked, cross-eyed, hunchbacked or stooped. About half the population was like this! Horrific!
But even when encountering perfectly normal Midgardians, they were not warriors. Just civilians, who made sure to use the services of healers and take care of themselves.
Ahem, I digress. In short, with each passing moment, we found ourselves deeper in… apparently, the slums? It seems every city has them, even one as splendid as this.
It was a pity, honestly, because… well, I had somehow expected to meet some divine beings. Not the despicable Aesir, but true ones. To build something like this, one must be truly god-like!
However, the inhabitants of this city delivered the first blow to my feelings, and the slums delivered the second, completely shattering a certain elevated image.
Everything turned out to be just as it always is.
We stopped in front of an old house, the paint on its walls had even chipped and cracked. It was surrounded by a purely formal fence, which was crooked and partially rotting. The guards exited the carriage, although the last one managed to say something to me. Judging by the smile, it was some kind of joke.
Wonderful… perhaps she was even flirting with me, but I didn't understand a thing.
Closing my eyes, I leaned back on the seat and sat for a while, thinking about nothing. Then I lifted my eyelids and examined the carriage doors, which were divided into two sections: the front, where the women sat, and the back, where I was. They were separated by a small but quite solid grille.
So, the rear doors had no handles for opening them, unlike the front doors.
Examining them more closely and even poking at some of the curves, I achieved absolutely nothing.
"Maybe I should break the glass?" My gaze rested on it, prompting me to gently feel it with my fingers.
The window was dusty and had many different fingerprints. Pressing slightly on it, I felt nothing. Neither my own tension nor the tension of the glass.
Most likely, it is enchanted, otherwise any criminal sitting in the back could break it and escape from the carriage, I pondered. I wonder if I could break it using my own endless endurance and the ability to nullify any magic?
I shook my head. It's not worth the risk. What if I succeed? I wouldn't escape anyway! Because there's nowhere to go! So, I'll just stay here. How will the guards react to the damage to their carriage? Probably not positively. Therefore, we sit and wait.
I sigh, involuntarily wondering why we even came here. Maybe they live here and just went to sleep? Why not? Yes, the area is bad, but it might not be slums, just a less upscale part of the city. Even guards might live here. And I... and I still can't get out of here, according to their opinion. If that's the case, then they must have decided to postpone my transfer until tomorrow.
Logical? Almost. If I were a simple Midgardian, I might... get embarrassed, so to speak, simply not being able to hold my bladder. After all, there's no bucket or other container here. What then? Clean the carriage?
Carefully sniffing the place where I ended up, I had to admit: it didn't smell of waste. There was some smell of smoke and a faint hint of some food that made my mouth water. Heh, even though I don't need food, it doesn't mean I don't enjoy it!
Forget it. Since I'm stuck here, I'll just sleep. Breaking the carriage is a bad choice. Running away is pointless, and there's nothing to see. It's not just dark, but the surroundings don't invite admiration either…
However, my thoughts were interrupted. Loud screams came from the house where the women had gone, and I recognized the voices of my companions. The cries grew louder, and then there was a crash like a thunderstrike.
"What was that?" I looked intently out the window.
Suddenly, the front door burst open, and a woman ran out. She was the one who had been smoking and joked before leaving the carriage: shorter than her companion and appeared slightly younger.
Now she was clutching her shoulder, from which blood was gushing, and she was trying to hurry to the carriage.
I involuntarily frowned, observing the scene.
"Fool…" I sighed, "You should have worn proper plate armor, with a breastplate and helmet, not this fabric nonsense. Forget that it's beautiful, but you need to think about practical use first!"
Following the woman, a thin, unkempt man emerged. He was holding some kind of staff, matte black in color, which he was pointing at the guard.
"You won't escape, bitch! I warned you that I'd kill you, scum!" he shouted, apparently some kind of trigger word or spell, as the staff then cast a spell that struck the woman, instantly creating another wound on her abdomen.
"Ahh!" she screamed, collapsing onto the grass and curling up. "No, don't do this, Vasquez! They'll execute you!"
The man, who might have been a mage, laughed hysterically, then approached her closely and… suddenly noticed me.
"Another accomplice?— His gaze was filled with some kind of madness. — Then we'll finish him off too!"
With that, he took the guard's staff and approached me, peering through the glass. First, he jiggled the handle, but the door didn't open, so he hit the glass with his puny hand.
"Locked, huh?— he said something. Door-opening spells? It didn't seem so, as they remained closed. — Trembling with fear, asshole? You're right to! Die!"
Pointing the staff directly at the window, in front of my face, he pulled the trigger. The next moment, the glass was covered with a network of cracks, and a small iron ball appeared in the middle, which made me realize.
"This isn't a staff, it's something like a handheld crossbow!"— I slapped my forehead. — So it's not a mage in front of me. Even a pity, — I glanced at the man, who shouted some words again, pulling the trigger twice and firing projectiles. The glass proved surprisingly strong, but the network of cracks indicated it was about to shatter into fragments.
Definitely enchanted, — I thought with satisfaction.
At that moment, the communication artifact, which the guards had used earlier, spoke again. What exactly it whispered was completely unclear to me, but I realized that I could do something right now.
With one sharp blow — taking advantage of the pause between the unknown man's shots — I smashed the already nearly broken glass and then nimbly got outside. The shards tried to embed themselves in my body, but of course, they couldn't.
"Gotcha!"— the stranger yelled, pulling the trigger.
I thought I could have tried to dodge this move, which was quite slow and seemed uncertain, but the desire to once again experience my invulnerability was stronger.
The projectile hit me directly in the chest and then, crumpled, bounced off into the grass. I personally felt only a barely perceptible touch.
With a swift movement, I grabbed him by the throat, easily lifting him off the ground. The criminal — and who else could a person be who shot the guards and attacked a transported passenger? — gasped and aimed the staff at me again, firing two more projectiles. Useless, as expected.
I smiled widely, squeezing my hand slightly. The man dropped the staff, grabbing my palm. But his attempts to pry my grip open I would compare to the caresses of a cheap prostitute. That is, I felt no resistance or struggle. Either he was weak as a newborn kitten, or humanity had become significantly weaker since my time.
No, there was another possibility that I had become stronger. And oddly enough, there were hints of this. After all, who knows how long I strained my muscles trying to scratch out my own "cell". Successfully, by the way!
It's no wonder I felt I dug tunnels a little better and swam a bit faster in that sea…
Or maybe it was all of the above. It was unclear.
In the next moment, the man in my hands let out a guttural cry, starting to hit my wrist, but this only made me chuckle softly. Nevertheless, after a moment's thought, I decided not to kill him, but simply gave him a light tap on the head, then released my grip.
He didn't lose consciousness, but his activity noticeably decreased. It seems I hit him too lightly. But what can you do, I was afraid I might just kill him!
However, he lost interest in me. I quickly approached the wounded guard, professionally examining her injuries. I had a general, though extremely vague, understanding. She was shot with a weapon resembling a crossbow but firing iron balls. The wounds, judging by everything, were not through — I decided not to touch or move her, to confirm or refute my thoughts. Therefore, it was necessary to stop the bleeding and…
What to do next, I didn't know. No, I understood perfectly what needed to be done, and if I were in the Kingdom of Zar, depending on the exact location, I would either start giving first aid myself, for which tools were needed and were absent; or direct passersby for help to bring healers and more soldiers; or disregard everything, pick her up and run to the nearest hospital.
Yeah, and all these options are not available to me right now. Except for the second — wait for the healers and other guards. The noise from the staff — or rather, the crossbow… though no… well, it'll be "staff" until I find out what it's called! — was loud enough to attract someone's attention.
Nodding to myself, I tore the woman's fabric armor, starting to cover her wound.
"What about Vasquez?" — she asked barely audibly. Well, I think she asked. Judging by the tone.
"I don't know your language," I remind the guard, as it might be. Stress, she might have forgotten?
"Damn… you don't speak English," she sighed. "I hope you didn't kill him. Damn, I feel so awful… If I survive, I'll owe you. — Blood appears on her lips. — Tracy… dead. Damn… What the hell…"
I covered her mouth with my hand, as there was no need to talk with such injuries. She would only make it worse for herself.
The woman's expression became extremely indignant, but after a moment, she slumped and obediently fell silent. And rightly so.
I smiled at her, receiving a crooked smirk in return.
I know that women love to talk, but do they really need to do it on the brink of death?
My ears caught some loud mechanical howls, and red and blue lights appeared in the darkness. Reinforcements? Mages?
I continued to apply pressure to the guard's wound, preventing her from losing more blood, while I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the previously struck man was getting to his feet. He swayed violently, but his face showed an expression of boundless rage. He grabbed the dropped staff and resolutely headed in my direction.
"Drop your weapon!" — It wasn't mages approaching, but more carriages similar to the one I had been transported in. It seemed this was the local guards' official transport. Now one of them — tall and dark-skinned, dressed in a fabric uniform exactly like the woman's, with minimal adjustments for gender — was shouting loudly, pointing at the bandit, and also directing his staff at him.
Meanwhile, the man pointed his weapon first at me and then, as if remembering and realizing something — like how the projectiles bounced off me! — at the wounded guard. But then I made a clever move, rising and shielding her with my body. For a moment, the man seemed confused, as he clearly remembered that I was impervious to these iron balls.
"Damn mutant! Damn you!" — At that moment, his head was struck by a projectile from the staff, staining the surroundings red.
"Sir! Do you need help?" — Another guard ran up to me. Following him, several others appeared, but I didn't listen to them and turned back to the woman, again applying pressure to her wound.
"Help him, you idiots!" — shouted an older bald man, still looking strong, after which two people rushed to me: a dark-skinned youth, apparently a little over twenty, and an unshaven, short-haired guy who smelled strongly of smoke. The first began to attend to the shoulder wound, while the second methodically checked her pulse. "Where are the medics when they're needed?!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another pair approaching the corpse and the carriage I had been transported in, beginning to examine everything closely.
"He's not a criminal," a woman spoke up, to which I shot her an angry look, receiving a lopsided grin in return. "Not a criminal…"
A rare chatterbox! Even in such a situation, she doesn't miss the chance to tell her comrades something.
"Yeah, we got it, Guerrero, stop fussing," — the unshaven smoker snorted.
"Help… bo…" — she said something again, looking at me, then closed her eyes. Fainting. I can still feel her pulse and weak breathing.
"An ambulance! Finally!" — exclaimed the dark-skinned guard who was pressing her shoulder.
I distinguished another carriage, this time larger and adorned with red crosses. A group of bustling people jumped out of it, immediately pushing us away from the unconscious woman and efficiently placing her on a stretcher. There were several of them: one started bandaging her, another injected her with a thin needle into a vein, holding a blood bag, and another, from the other side, was administering something else. Alchemical crap? Potions? And where are the healers? Are they waiting in the guild?
I sighed, brushing off the situation as one of the newcomers approached me.
"I'm not injured," I shook my hands, sending drops of blood to the ground. "Although you still won't understand a damn thing."
"Are you okay, sir? Maybe you'd like a towel to wrap yourself in?" — he asked, to which I gave the young man a hard look. — "I'm sorry, sir!" — he squeaked and walked away.
"Alright," — the oldest of the guards wiped sweat from his brow. — "Another group will arrive soon, this time with detectives. They'll investigate everything that happened here," — he waved his hands. — "Meanwhile…" — He approached me. — "Tell me, kid, what the hell happened here and why the hell are you naked?"
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票