Ingrid grabbed the bag and placed herself next to Ishmael after putting her mask back on, and putting a second pair of gloves, surgical ones this time, over her previous pair.

“Don’t move.” was her order which her patient managed to follow thanks to the little amount of consciousness he still had left. Frankly, this was probably the gruesomest scene she ever had to work on. With each signal her senses were sending her, her phobias were urging her to run away and vomit. She was already getting cleaned up from the water of the fire alarm after all. Maybe it was a blessing, it activated?

Thankfully, Benjamin taught her a trick to work despite her traumas, not through stress nor remorse, but simply dissociation. If she was seeing this situation as a drill, as someone inconsequential, and Ishmael as someone that did not exist and was not really suffering, she could make it work. She just needed her mind to be empty and not be reminded of the reality of this situation.

The banging on the door was becoming more and more frantic by the second. Quick on his feet, Oscar answered the desperate cries of the neighbor through the door: “Ishmael had an accident! His power went out of control!” It was easy to feign concern when you were already so distressed.

“Shit,” cried the older man, “How did this happen? Who is it?” 

Oscar needed to improvise quickly. Given the general panic and the fact more neighbors might come or have already called the dispatchers, a fast response was better than a well thought-out one: “I’m a first-aider! I saw an explosion outside and rushed upward through the fire exit. The window has been completely blown away.”

“Wait, professor Ortiz? Is that you?!” asked the neighbor bewildered.

Channeling the energy of an exhausted scholar was easy enough when you were actually frustrated by the pointless questions of another person. “Yeah? What if I am?!”

“Weren’t you supposed to be at a doctorate’s conference today?!”

“¡Dios mío! ¡Maldito idiota!” Thank god the professor seemed to be a fellow Latino, because Oscar had not meant to start speaking in his native language but that situation exasperated him. “Do I sound like I can talk right now?!” Seriously man, have some common sense!

“S...sorry! Do you need me to come in-” Before he could finish his questions, a huge crash resonated through the door. Given his impertinence, Oscar anticipated he would ask to come inside, and had already started to push the closet down to block the entrance.

Oscar yelled back as quickly as he could: “It’s too late! Call the dispatchers and try to have everyone evacuated in the meantime!”

“All right! Hang in there, both of you!” Oscar heard the sounds of footsteps and panicked talking being further away from the door by the minute. Thank god, he had left. Now, onto planning the escape route, he thought to himself before rushing into the kitchen.

In the meantime, Ingrid was hard at work. She tightened two pieces of fabric over what remained of Ishmael’s arms to block the blood flow. Moreover, she put the stumps over clean new white tissues to prevent them from being further infected by whatever bacteria was on this mess of a floor. The tool bag Oscar took with them contained mostly medical equipment due to what they were actually supposed to inflict on Ishmael, as per the client’s wishes. Ironically, despite said client’s animosity for him, Ingrid was actually saving his life thanks to it.

This was a drill after all.

She knew the steps to maintain someone alive by her.

Increase their durability: “Posilnění.”

Ease their system to prevent heart failure: “Ticho a Klid.”

Good. She could now move on to the most painful part of the process.

“Zacelení Ran.”

Despite the holy light coming from her hands, the experience was about to be far from pleasant. As soon as her fingertips touched the open wound of Ishmael, an unimaginable pain surged in the exact spot where he was hurt. She winced but kept going. With each finger she was posing on the wound, it cauterized quite nicely. Her patient seemed much calmer than at the start of the operation. However, on the flip side, she was reeling from the pain. Still, she could not do it the slow and easy way, so after bracing herself, she put both of her hands on the two open wounds to cauterize them.

The ensuing sensations were akin to torture. She tried to keep quiet but was still inadvertently whining from the pure agony she was feeling. For each cell, each tissue that she was fixing, her nerves recreated the sensation over to her arms. Despite being healthy, it was as if her arms were burning and exploding over and over again, with no way to stop unless she left Ishmael to die.

This was not normal. This was not normal for a healer to get this kind of drawback over minor spells. Ingrid was truly a failure in every conceivable way… but even so-!

“It was my fault.” 

Oscar counted on her!

She could still do her part. She had not derailed the mission! She could still help her loved one! So she pushed through. She pushed through the agony! Eventually, the blood stopped flowing and Ishmael was peacefully resting. She checked his pulse, and he was still among the living. Thank god.

After bearing so much pain, Ingrid took out her paper bag again and evacuated the trauma she had just endured before focusing back on the mission at hand. After she located the torn hands of Ishmael, she took out the bone saw out of the tool bag and got to work. With an innate speed and precision, thanks to her medical studies, she cut off the annular fingers out of both hands, putting them into a plastic envelope.

The moment she took a breather, Oscar came running back into the living room. “Are you done?”

“...yeah. He’ll survive and get his limbs back,” she replied while collecting their evidence, “Is the escape route ready?”

“...obviously…”

Perfect.

Ingrid did not need or want to hear what Oscar had planned beyond what they already agreed upon. Instead, she simply asked for his hand and to stand up before packing up everything. However, she was surprised by his intense staring at the body of Ishmael. “Is something the matter?”

Oscar stayed silent. He was thinking about his early days in the business, when he had a tendency to apologize to his targets. After getting used to it, even the innocent folks he had to put down do not get much sympathy from him. Unless he could do something about it, he detached himself. This is how you survive as an illegal Legionnaire.

Furthermore, Ishmael was everything he could not be. A confirmed Mage, a successful Saint, and a compassionate individual. Oscar’s whole being screamed at him to leave him in his misery, to hate him for what he represented. How could this fool not have known to date a mentally unwell woman? Really, he put himself in his situation. This was his fault he was getting beaten up here! No one can fix a person besides a professional.

Nevertheless, Oscar was so far past his old regrets.

Slipping a picture of their client into his hands, as proof of their passage: “A warning for those who have transcended humanity: See your relations for what they are.”

He hoped this would allow their client to not go unpunished for putting Ishmael in this position. Moreover, this was vague enough to be interpreted in a myriad of ways that would satisfy the delusional client that hired them. Although this went directly against Benjamin’s orders and his own want to stay as anonymous as possible, Oscar still felt guilty for the unnecessary damage he caused this innocent man.

All of that over a break-up… this was not right.

Ingrid put a hand on his shoulder. She would not question his choices, but they needed to go.

“You liar! Who is in there?! What did you do to Mael?!”

The banging on the door resumed stronger than before. Multiple voices were heard beyond the door, but Oscar was not worried. Even if they broke the door the following minute, alongside the closet, they would be far already. They already packed everything. So, he rushed Ingrid to the kitchen’s window. “Grab on tight.”

“Wait. You didn’t put a rope?”

He shrugged: “It’s only the second floor. I’ll manage.” He followed his words by putting the handle of a wooden spatula he had stolen from the kitchen between his teeth.

Instead of letting Ingrid object any further, Oscar jumped the second he was ready, taking her along for the ride. Despite the insanity of the situation, and her fright, she was forced to stay silent so as to not attract any more attention.

The landing was rough for Oscar’s legs, hence his forethought with the spatula. Thankfully, his injuries still allowed him to limp. Ingrid rushed ahead to start the car, which they had parked only a meter or two from the side of the building they had jumped from, with no witness.

Despite the injuries he currently had to deal with, until Ingrid could heal him at least, he felt proud of himself. Thanks to the intel given by the client, they knew where the windows of Ishmael’s apartment were. Looking over the building and linking where the flat and its exits were just before infiltrating it with a bit rewiring thanks to a custom-made jammer by Rohan, allowed Oscar to plan their exit in advance and where to park their vehicle, away from the main entrance and not on the side of the emergency fire exits. Furthermore, asking that neighbor to evacuate or alert everyone allowed them to make sure most of the neighborhood were currently talking with the emergencies, inadvertently blocking them, or currently looking to break into the apartment, leaving them free to escape by the one spot they were not patrolling. The car was stolen anyway by a third party, so even if it was spotted they would not be in trouble. Obviously, it would have been better if none of these secondary measures were necessary and they could have entirely done the mission without alerting anyone, but if there is one thing Benjamin taught him, it was…

“Let go of your perfectionism, boy. Nothing ever goes as planned.”

Oscar smiled when Ingrid picked him up and, inside the car, they laughed.

They laughed because this was a disaster through and through.

They laughed because they’d lose it otherwise.

They laughed because their job is absurd.

They laughed because they’re alive.

In the moment, with the adrenaline, they mistakenly thought the story would end there. Unfortunately, the traces left behind told a different story. Oscar’s writing, his shoe sizes in the wet grass where he landed, his ease with Spanish, his status as a multi-elemental Mage with a “Red” fighting style, and Ingrid’s healing power…

These elements were not necessarily linked together at first. They were careful enough as to not leave too many clues behind but they still did. Furthermore, Oscar knew that this was their biggest blunder of the year for now. Benjamin would probably ask him to lay low for a while. He was ready for that punishment.

Instead, what preoccupied his mind right now was his conscious decision to leave their client’s face behind. As per his own personal code of honor, he would tell Benjamin upon arriving. Before accepting a job, it was the custom of their group to ask for a picture and an ID of their client as a safety measure. If the client was thinking about denouncing them for their activities, for example.  This was not infallible due to the existence of Shapeshifters and Imitators among Saints, but since most of their clientele were normal humans, this worked well enough. Oscar had betrayed the trust with this client by leaving a picture at the crime scene.

He thought about what he did in the car.

Although, ultimately, he knew what his conclusion would be.

Not a positive nor a negative one, just an astute observation.

El respeto al derecho ajeno es la paz.

His client did not respect that rule and will pay the price.

Oscar Moreno was an anomaly… who could not discard his heart.

But Benjamin already knew that.