Episode 100 Previous Episode	Next Episode
“I really wanna care, I wanna feel something, Let me dig a little deeper… Nope… Sorry… Nothing.” Jo Dee Messina, My Give a Damn’s Busted Sydney opened her eyes slowly, the world coming into focus. Above her, she saw the surgical white ceiling of a hospital. Quietly cursing, she started to sit up. The pain in her neck was persistent. When she touched her throat, she could feel the bruise. “Geez,” she griped, pulling herself vertical. In the ER bed, she took a moment to get her bearings. She heard talking beyond the drape covering her from the outside world. She tried to tell what was being said, but everything was muted and dulled, from the color-draining lights to the wall of sound that was just outside. Sitting up straight, she crossed her legs into a lotus position. She closed her eyes and held her head up. She concentrated slowly on her own body, almost willing her senses to return to normal. When she opened her eyes, some of the color had returned to the world. She was able to differentiate sounds beyond her bed, including the police officer talking to Morgan. “They’re all martial artists, okay,” Morgan said, chewing peanuts as he nonchalantly spoke with the increasingly aggravated police officer taking his statement. “They got together with their weapons, were screwing around, and got carried away.” “Really?” the officer said. “We’ve got reports that they were seen at a club earlier tonight.” Morgan stared at the officer. “Okay,” he finally said with an indifferent shrug. “Look, what do you want me to tell you? What you want to hear, or what I saw? These idiots were screwing around at the park near the university.” “Where there was the big shooting a few years ago?” the officer asked goadingly. Morgan sighed and turned away. “Hey!” he shouted. “We’re not done.” “Yes we are,” Morgan said, walking towards the far side of the circular ER. “You’re not listening; you’re just making stuff up now. What I say doesn’t matter.” “Hey!” the officer yelled again, his volume getting most of the ER’s attention. “You wanna let me do my job?” “I’m waiting for you to,” Morgan yelled before pulling the curtain away to reveal Roland. A resident was sewing up the stitches in his chest. “If you have to amputate, we’ll all be okay with that. Especially if it’s his mouth.” “Oh, hey Morgan,” Roland said in a slightly dazed stupor. “I couldn’t see you there, what with my new no-jackass contacts I’ve got.” Morgan tried hard not to smile, but a half-laugh came out anyway. “You okay?” “Yeah,” he said, low-fiveing Roland. “What the hell were you idiots doing?” Roland turned awkwardly to look at the resident. “We have doctor patient-privilege, right?” The resident looked at him for a moment, considering the question, then shrugged indifferently. “It was Everett’s idea,” he said, rolling back around as Morgan checked to make sure the police officer had lost interest. “We needed to figure out how well-organized Alan is.” “And you found out?” “He’s not,” Roland said. “The knights that he’s amassed are functioning more like a weak street-gang. Erik was telling me that he’s got dossiers on some of the knights that have recently joined with Alan. He apparently must have recognized them when they were curb-stomping him at the club. He says that they’re notorious troublemakers.” “All knights are.” “There’s Lancelot troublemaker and there’s Mordrid troublemaker. Also, these guys are all aggressively pro-knight.” “Which would fit with Alan’s agenda,” Morgan nodded with a troubled look. “I just wish I cared.” He smiled suddenly. “Fortunately, I don’t.” He turned out. “See ya.” “See ya, dick,” Roland called after him as he left. As Morgan disappeared around the corner, Sydney carefully crept in the room from the other side. “I didn’t know you got cleared to be up.” “I didn’t,” she said. She looked at the resident’s work, seeing it nearly complete. “We need to get in touch with Everett.” “My cell phone’s in my car,” Roland said. “How’re Frenchy and the other Pink Ladies?” “He’s Norwegian, not French,” Sydney commented absently, thinking. “No, it was a reference to…never mind. How’re are they?” “Donovan’s fine,” she said. “Did you know he carries his medical records with him? On a flash drive?” “Boy’s used to bar fights,” Roland shrugged. “Makes sense.” “Anyway, Erik’s going to be okay, but they’ve taken him to surgery. He’s got a ruptured kidney. Richard’s in bad shape. He still hasn’t regained consciousness.” With the last word, Sydney turned away, drawing in on herself. “Morgan gave the cops a story, but I don’t know what Alan will tell them.” “Assuming he tells them anything,” Roland said. Sydney looked at him, confused. “He’s got a lot more to lose than we do if the cops start sniffing around.” “Maybe,” she said absently. “But Everett’s hunch was right. They’re not organized.” “Which means,” Roland sighed depressively, “now it’s Marilyn’s turn.”
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