Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers (2 page)

Still, Burns wasn’t stupid. He knew, despite how hard he tried to bat them down, that the negatives were on the rise. Soon, they’d boil over. He just didn’t know when, but it would probably be sooner than later. He swallowed hard again as he took another sip of the amber liquid in his glass, relishing its burn once more.

The couple in the corner suddenly became audible. He had always been good at listening in, but with these folks he didn’t even have to try. They seemed to be speaking intentionally loud.

“—I just need to make sure that this won’t come back on us,” Burns heard the man say to the woman in a rather croaky voice.

The woman shuffled some papers and then responded, “Don’t worry, Jack. I told you, your people will be safe. I have the Flenin papers right here. We can prove its advantage.”

Flenin? The name was suddenly highlighted in Burns’ mind. He squinted his eyes a little as he began to search his memory for where he’d heard that name before.

“So, you can handle all the legal issues?” the man’s croaky voice said in response to the woman. Burns then remembered where he’d heard the name. Flenin was illegal. If he remembered correctly, the medication had some fatal side effects. In its first week, it had caused over a million fatalities galaxy wide—yet these people were fighting for its innocence?

“Like I said, we can prove its use. As you well know, all drugs have undesirable side effects. They only clear them if the use outweighs the consequence. We can prove the use for Flenin,” the woman responded as the man let out a pleased sigh.

“You don’t know how much this takes off my shoulders, Cynthia,” he told her. Burns growled but did nothing. It was an injustice for sure—bad medicine shouldn’t be allowed in hospitals no matter the cost—but this situation was clearly bigger than him. No sense in intervening in something he didn’t understand.

He tried his best to tune the couple out and then went to take another burning sip of his drink, except the glass was dry. He set it back down on the wooden table and tried to signal Lagona, but the couple interrupted his thoughts once more with their conversation. It was the croaky voice again.

“You know, when we built an on-site pharmacy, we expected to have pills to stock in it. When we found out the funds were dry, we scrambled. This cheap, off-the-market Flenin will change that...and turning a profit would be a miracle. Who thought building near a bunch of penniless vets was a good idea anyway?” Burns suddenly gritted his teeth. They were screwing over veterans. This made things personal for him.

He growled as he stood up. The hangover and the bad day would have to wait; he was going to give this man a piece of his mind.

He shifted the stool out of the way as he turned and walked toward the couple.

Laying eyes on them, he could see the man had a full head of gray hair, a thick chin, and wore blue scrubs. The woman had fair skin, a brown ponytail, and she seemed a little younger than the man. From the look of her high-dollar clothes, she must have been some sort of a lawyer.

Burns proceeded toward them, thinking of words to say, but couldn’t find any. These two were nothings. Most likely, the man was a minion more than he was the boss and the woman was just on the job. Talking to either of them wouldn’t really solve the issue. They would just think he was some senile veteran and shrug it off.

The truth was, if he was going to do any good at all, he’d have to do a lot more than yell at the first people he could find. What would make a real difference is if he hit that new hospital hard and stole every shipment of Flenin they had. It would be completely illegal, but the fantasy of breaking in and doing the galaxy a favor actually managed to cheer him up. Far more, in fact, than the glasses of whiskey had.

Deciding he might actually give this plan a try, Burns quickly veered off from the couple at the last second and headed toward the front doors of the pub.

They had said the hospital was near some old vets—he knew the place. Fifth Street. It was where he’d ended up when he himself returned. It had to be it, so that was where he would be going.

DECAY

Fifth Street was the oldest of Altias’ boroughs. Where Central City had high-rise modern buildings, Fifth Street had short and stubby derelicts that had long since seen their heyday. The reconstruction effort hoped to modernize it. It would have normally been a shame to see such history torn down, but most had fallen to depravity. Graffiti lined the outsides of the buildings while druggies and gangs scrambled about within their depths. The area had witnessed such destitution that the proposal to reconstruct it was unanimously favored by the population. It was strange to see so much support for such an expensive Dominion taxpayer project, yet it happened.

Burns briefly remembered the days back when he returned to Altias from the front. When he first sank into homelessness, Fifth Street’s depravity became his home. He had lived here for a couple years until the shelter was torn down. Ironically, the grounds of that shelter were now the home of the new Veterans Affairs hospital.

Burns couldn’t help but notice how utterly out of place that building looked. It was contemporary, with sharp corners and big windows. It had also been made of some sort of composite metal, which gave it a distinctive spotless shine. From what he could tell from the outside, the hospital only had four or five guards on duty at a time, which would probably be fine to scare off a couple dozen drug-addled lunatics, but it wouldn’t stand a chance against a man like himself.
 

As he pushed his way through the main glass doors and into the entryway of the hospital, Burns immediately encountered the first problem. The doors may not have been guarded, but they circumvented that exploit by issuing numbered cards. The cards were scanned by an RFID locking mechanism that linked with a bolted door.
 

It wouldn’t deter him. No, he’d just have to do this the hard way. That meant pickpocketing a departing member and using his card to gain entry. The card reader didn’t seem to keep records of which numbers had been scanned, so a repeat wouldn’t alarm it. That said, the husky woman sitting behind the front desk could certainly tell. Maybe not who had been inside, but definitely who was not supposed to be. From the unsure looks he was getting by nearly everyone who passed, Burns was sure he was among the suspicious. He needed a change of looks if he was to be seen as a member. Luckily, there was a thrift store a few buildings down.

Leaving the VA and making his way down to the store, Burns noticed that it seemed about as understaffed as the hospital. This meant that no one would be in the back guarding the item bins, so he took to the rear of the store.
 

Approaching the bins, Burns began his search. Digging for only a couple of minutes, he managed to fish out some lightly worn, black shoes, pleated, olive pants, and a white, button-down shirt. It wasn’t the classiest he had ever looked, but it was better than the rags he was currently wearing.
 

Grabbing an empty garbage bag, Burns stuffed the items inside and then made his way around to the front.
 

Entering the store, the first thing he noticed was that it had two levels. The first seemed to be a discount item area, while the upper was the actual thrift store. The bottom area was lit like a dungeon, which made it unfairly easy to pick items off the shelves and stuff them in pockets without anyone noticing.

Doing so to a razor and some combs, Burns headed off for the restroom to make the transition.
 

As he turned into the hall, he accidentally bumped into one of the only workers on shift. She was an older woman, thin with gray hair.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. She shook her head and laughed.

“It’s no problem, darling,” she ensured in an accent from the Isolated territories that he couldn’t quite place. Her eyes then drifted to the black bag under his arms. “If those are donations, please go around back and place them in the bins,” she asked kindly. Burns slightly bowed his head.

“Thanks,” he replied, as he turned and continued toward the restrooms. He let out a quiet sigh. That was a close one, but he seemed to have duped her.

Reaching the men’s room, he pulled on the door handle but it appeared to be locked. Grumbles from inside proved the theory correct.
 

He stood uncomfortably back and waited. If he spent too much time standing about with a filled garbage bag between his arms, someone would notice what he was up to. He needed to make a decision—and fast.

An opportunity came up as the women’s became vacant. They were single-room restrooms, so it wasn’t like he was invading anyone’s privacy.
 

However, as the occupant exited, Burns suddenly became frozen. The woman was the same fresh-faced, innocent looking one from earlier—the one who had stared holes into him in Central City. Her slightly narrow nose and eyes still had that same youthful gleam, but she was now wearing a tight dress, and her brown hair was tied into a ponytail.
 

After the last encounter, Burns wrote it off as a weird Altias thing, but this was a little too much to be a coincidence. What would a Central City business woman be doing several miles out of the way on Fifth Street?

She clicked down the hall in her heels and then disappeared around the corner into the rest of the store. She wasn’t so obvious about her scouting this time, but Burns could tell she had kept a keen eye on him.
 

He took a step forward, bidding to follow her, but as he did, the men’s room opened up.

Burns now had a choice: follow her and almost definitely draw attention to himself or stay hidden and ultimately complete his objective. It was a tough choice, but if the woman was really following him, then she’d be back. The vets being prescribed that Flenin didn’t have that same second chance. He had to continue with this mission first, so he stepped forward and entered the now vacant men’s room, closing the door behind him.
 

The room was ancient, with old grungy tiles for a floor and walls that hadn’t looked clean in decades. The faucet was pouring out water despite being turned off, and the toilet looked to have about as much water in its system as a dying lake—same color too.
 

Burns set down his bag and looked into the busted mirror. This wasn’t going to be an easy fix. Nevertheless, he ripped the razor out of its packaging and began.

After several minutes, and a pile of trimmed hairs later, the makeover was only partially successful. The razor he’d procured was a little less than proficient in removing the long strands of his beard, so he was left with a couple cuts and what looked like a five o’clock shadow. Combining this with the button-down shirt and pleated, olive pants, he would look respectable. No one would look twice at least.
 

The finishing touch was fixing his long hair. He grabbed the comb and began pulling hairs back. It would take too long to straighten it completely, but in a short while his hair was out of his face and resting nicely behind his head.
 

Setting the comb down and beginning cleanup, Burns glanced into the mirror once more. He didn’t see anyone he recognized. He tried to look away and finish cleaning up, but he couldn’t. The man looking back at him through the cracks and the divots and the dust was antagonistic. Not hiding anymore behind a beard and long hair, Burns could see this man was scowling. His characteristic dimples were nonexistent.

The man blinked slowly, continually revealing his dulled brown eyes. His skin looked torn, dirty, and pale.
 

The bloodied portrait suddenly fluttered out of the jacket and landed upright. Burns leaned down and picked it up.
 

This was an error. Again, he became entranced by the picture and the woman depicted on it. He didn’t say anything; he just kept looking. She was the only person in the room who he recognized. Her name was Evelyn. He always thought that was a beautiful name.
 

A drop suddenly fell onto the picture and ran down to his thumb. He looked back into the busted mirror and saw the man had a tear streak down his scraggly-cut chin.
 

Burns scoffed. The man in the mirror was weak. Burns did pity him though.
 

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

“Hurry up will ya?” they yelled from outside. Burns then remembered what he was supposed to be doing.
 

He quickly stuffed the picture into his pants pocket and then crammed the blue jacket into the bag with the rest of his old clothes.

Proceeding toward the door, he turned the handle and headed out.

Entering the Veterans Affairs hospital once more, Burns immediately swiped the wallet out of a departing man’s back pocket. He then removed the ID card and slid the wallet into his own back pocket.
 

Approaching the locked door, he placed the card in front of the RFID scanner and waited. After a few seconds, he heard a click and the door was unlocked. He then pocketed the ID card and made his way through.
 

The husky woman sitting behind the front desk perked up from her computer as she saw him approach.
 

“Do you have an appointment already scheduled, sir, or would you like to make one?” she asked.

“I have one already, ma’am. Thanks,” he responded, trying casually to be evasive. She nodded back and pointed to the pad sitting on top of the desk.

“Please sign in with your name and then take a seat in the lobby,” she instructed. Burns complied and grabbed the pen, scribbling a random name. He then took a moment to covertly scout around. The lobby had a windowed view and many seats but little population. Directly in front of the seats, on the adjoining wall, was a partly opened door. That must be where the doctors called their patients from, which meant that was where he needed to be.
 

“Can I help you, sir?” Burns heard the woman ask. She must have been wondering what he was doing standing idly there.