“Nice!” Marko shouted, his eyes lighting up. “We’re doing violence now!”

I wondered if this guy had gotten dropped on his head as a child. Most people, when confronted by three angry security guards the size of dump trucks, would choose to run. Or piss on themselves and curl up in a ball on the floor.

But Marko was something else.

Insane for one thing. The kind of insane that saw three security guards charging at him at full speed and reacted with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever spotting a squirrel. 

The first guard lunged, grabbing for Marko’s jacket, but he ducked under his arm at the last second, pivoted, and planted both hands on the man’s shoulders. “Give me a kiss,” he crooned, and then planted a big, dramatic kiss right on the guard’s forehead before snapping his knee up into a sharp, ugly strike that sent the man stumbling backward. 

The guard staggered backward in confusion, slamming straight into a vending machine, glass cracking under his weight. A second later, a bag of pretzels dropped out as he slid to the floor and landed on his chest. 

“What the fuck is happening?” I heard myself say.

The second guard didn’t hesitate, coming in hard, trying to close the distance before Marko could react. Dumb mistake on his part, honestly. 

Marko was already moving, sidestepped the grab, and caught the man by the front of his jacket. He pulled him forward just enough that the guard overcommitted and drove an elbow into his shoulder, twisting at the same time so the man spun off balance and went flying into the tile floor with a heavy, ugly wet sound.

The third guard raised his baton. A weapon, finally. A normal person would have probably been concerned. But Marko just looked excited. 

“Ah,” he said and, in that same motion, casually plucked the bag of salted pretzels off the first guard’s chest. “Salted pretzels!” he announced, delighted. 

A baton came swinging at his ribs, but he just leaned out of the way, unfazed, and popped a pretzel into his mouth. “Damn, you’re really bad at this shit, aren’t you?” He told the guard and then proceeded to crunch up a pretzel and blow salty dust directly into the man’s eyes. “Pocket confetti!”

The guard screamed, sharp, furious, and half-blinded. “OH—MY—FUCKING GOD—!” and lunged blindly, hands flailing.

Marko caught his wrist, twisted it just enough to redirect momentum, and shoved him hard. 

The guard hit the wall with a sharp, ugly crack of sound and plastic, medical charts fluttering loose as his shoulder and head bounced off them in a messy cascade. Paper snapped and slid everywhere like startled birds.

The guard sagged downward, legs folding awkwardly beneath him, trying and failing to stay upright as he slowly slid to the floor with a defeated, breathless groan.

Marko watched him for a half a second, then crammed another pretzel into his mouth. 

Behind him, I just sat there in the wheelchair, hands still gripping the armrests like they were the only thing keeping me anchored to reality. In what seemed like seconds, Marko had just taken three full-grown men down by himself, without even breaking a sweat. 

Marko turned to look at me. “You good, Idaho?” He asked me and grinned all lopsided and shit. 

Something in me finally snapped. I don’t know whether it was the whole Cthulhu thing with Noah and David or the fact that Marko was some kind of wannabe Russian Jackie Chan from a lab in Antarctica who'd just destroyed three guys using his little pinky finger.  

“No,” I snapped, my voice cracking on the second syllable. “No! I’m not good, dumbass. What the hell was that?” I gestured wildly, my hands shaking now. “You just folded them! Like laundry! Like they were…like they were nothing, man!”

Marko seemed to consider this. Turned to look at the three guards moaning behind him, then shrugged a little. “I’ve taken down way bigger things than these guys. And look, they’re still breathing.” And he proceeded to kick one of the guards lightly in the shin, making him groan in agony and roll over onto his side.

“Yeah?” I echoed, my voice rising. “That’s your response? That’s—Jesus fucking Christ, Marko. That’s three fucking people, dude! And the police are looking for me! They’re gonna think I did this! Like I’m some kind of guard-attacking psycho!” I raked my fingers through my hair and hissed through my teeth. “Shit. Shit! I’m so fucking dead!”

“Okay, first of all, relax," Marko said.

“Oh, fuck you!” I snapped. “I’m so fucked right now, it’s not even funny!”

Marko crouched slightly so we were eye-level. I couldn’t believe this pretty, angel-looking twink could kill someone with his bare hands. “Relax, Mikey. We’ll take care of you.”

I was halfway through deciding whether murder was legally justifiable under these circumstances when the elevator at the end of the hall let out a soft, cheerful little ding. The doors slid open a second later, and there was David standing there, coffee in one hand. Expression completely blank.

Elevator music played softly behind him as he stared out at us and the crumpled guards surrounding Marko. I watched his expression shift to one of calmness, then to actively looking like a man trying to calculate how many years in prison he would get for strangling his friend. 

Marko brightened immediately at the sight of him. “David! Hey, boss! Funny story—”

David took a slow breath through his nose. Then another. It must have been some kind of super-soldier calming technique, because I for sure thought he was going to kill Marko right there on the spot. Instead, his grip on his cup tightened. “I ask you to do something for me,” he said carefully, “for one day.”

Marko nodded encouragingly. 

“And in that one day,” David continued, "you turn hospital into a war zone.”

Marko tilted his head and shrugged, grinning. “That’s kind of my thing, you know?”

David ground his teeth together. “I don’t care what your ‘thing’ is,” he said, each word sharpened and heavy with that thick accent. "Your thing is going to get someone killed.”

The elevator doors began to close, but David casually stuck a hand out and stopped the doors. “Get in the fucking elevator.”

Marko quickly grabbed my wheelchair, turned it around sharply, and wheeled me into the elevator, the grin completely wiped off his face now. I hadn’t seen him serious since day one, when he’d been stealing stuffed animals from kids on the pier. It was like David was holding some kind of invisible leash that he could just yank to bring his dogs to attention.

The doors slid closed behind us with another pleasant ding.

David stared at Marko for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “You are not a person.”

Marko opened his mouth to reply.

David raised a finger. “No.” He continued, voice low and cutting. “You do not think. You react. You make noise. You make problems.”

Marko shifted slightly. “I had a plan, David—”

David slammed a fist into the control panel on the wall. “Your plan is not plan! It is impulse with confidence problem! You are lucky that no one died! You understand me? Lucky!”

I flinched hard. My whole body reacted before my brain caught up, shoulders snapping tight, breath locking in my chest like something had grabbed it from the inside with sharp teeth. And for a second, I wasn’t in the elevator anymore. I was smaller, somewhere dark, with the door half-closed and a voice spilling in, loud and slurred. 

Don’t.

Don’t escalate. Don’t make noise. Just be still.

Marko crossed his arms and looked down, jaw working like he wanted to turn it into a joke but couldn’t find one that fit. Then David shoved him into the wall, forcing him to look back up and into his eyes. “You are not soldier. You are problem moving fast, Marko. You think you are funny,” he said flatly, “until you are not. And then you are dangerous.”

The elevator doors dinged again, then opened to reveal a cold, grey parking garage. Marko shifted immediately, like muscle memory taking over again, and reached for my wheelchair handles—

“No.”

David’s voice cut clean through it, and he stepped between us in one motion, taking the handles before Marko could even fully process the interruption.

“I’m taking Michael to Hudson’s Bluff,” David said. Like that was decided long before any of this started.

Marko blinked. Then, like nothing had happened at all, he smiled cheerfully. “Oh, awesome. I can give him a tour of The Underground. Maybe we can even shower together!” A flicker of something hopeful crossed his expression. 

“I said I’m taking Michael.” David didn’t even look at him. “You are no longer welcome there.”

Even I felt like I got punched in the gut by his words, and I wasn’t even the one he was talking to. In seconds, Marko’s smile didn’t fully vanish, but it changed. Shifted. Like it had to be held in place now instead of happening on its own. “David,” he started.

“No,” David repeated, already wheeling me out of the elevator. The wheels rolled over the threshold, and hospital light faded behind us.

Marko followed a step, like instinct more than permission, then stopped when David didn’t slow down. “Aw, Dee!” He called after him, his voice cracking just slightly at the edges now, forced brightness starting to slip. “I don’t have anywhere else to go!” 

I turned slightly in the chair, just enough to see him.

Still standing there in the elevator doorway. 

Backlit by harsh white light and alone.

And suddenly, I wasn’t here anymore.

I was standing at the edge of that pond where my brother had died, under the broiling hot sun. Because I hadn’t had the balls to go after him. To stop everything that had happened that night. 

Adrian. My brother.

Laughing at something stupid and making even the worst days feel like they were better. And then the absence of that laughter afterwards. No dramatic ending, no warning that made sense. Just one day less warmth in the world and no way to put it back.

My throat tightened. Because Marko wasn’t near nothing like Adrian, but the feeling he left behind in that doorway. That hollow, suspended kind of “don’t leave me here like this.” Well, it was close enough to hurt in the same place. And I didn’t know why, or how.

"David—stop," I said, and my voice came out sharper than I meant it to.

The wheelchair jerked slightly as David slowed, surprised. “What?” he asked.

I swallowed hard, eyes still on the elevator where Marko hadn’t moved. He was just standing there, waiting for something he didn’t know how to ask properly for. Maybe even waiting for David to have a change of heart and go back for him, which was fucking impossible, because it was David, for one thing. 

“I said stop,” I repeated, quieter now, but steadier. “Go back.”

David studied me, looking like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard me right or not. “Michael,” he started.

I shook my head once. “No. You go back for him, you fucking asshole. He said he doesn’t have anywhere to go. No family, or nothing like that.” My voice cracked a little at the edges now. “You don’t just…leave someone standing there like that. You don’t leave your brother like that.”

David didn’t move, his fingers tightening on the handles of my chair. “You are too soft,” he muttered. 

“Fuck off,” I told him. 

David followed my gaze, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he "tsk'd" softly and turned his head, almost scoffing a little. “Idiot,” he muttered, though whether he was talking about Marko or me, I wasn’t too sure. Then he turned my chair around and let go of the handles. “Marko, come push Michael. I grow tired.”

“Does this mean I’m off the hook?” Marko called, straightening a little. 

“No,” David growled, “I am never letting you out in public again. Ever.”

I couldn’t help but think of that golden retriever again when I saw Marko brighten and run to catch up with us. Maybe that was one reason why I couldn’t let David walk off without him. That and…maybe I couldn’t stand the thought of Marko turning up dead like Adrian because I didn’t stay.