I roll the stretcher into the emergency ward of Caremark, I drag the attention of one of the doctors as I wave at him. "Please save him," I say with a dolorous accentuation in my voice, "Please," I hold his eyes with mine.

The doctor looks like he's in his forties. Bald and shiny, he nods at me before taking the dead corpse inside the elevator. "Please follow me. This is serious."

I help the woman and her kids have a seat in the waiting room and tell them that I'll be right back. Smiling at the back of the doctor in victory, I follow him. The stretcher is wheeled into the intensive care unit. A few minutes later, he comes out along with another doctor. "Miss, he's serious," he says with a poker face, "His liver is damaged beyond repair and his mortality rate even with corticosteroid treatment, is approximately 40%. Since he's a patient with AH with hepatic encephalopathy, he is also considered to have severe disease irrespective of the DF score. I suggest you pay the bills so that we can start operating on him soon."

I make a horrified expression. "Really?" I gasp, "Okay, doctor. Please do the needful without worrying about the financial expenses. I just need him to survive."

"Sure, miss."

I pay a huge amount of money to the cashier for the treatment expenses and sit down near the family of the deceased person who's actually being used as a method to amass money by the methods of cheating. I laugh mirthlessly as I reach them. "Look at them," I jut my chin out at the hospital, "Using a corpse to exploit innocent people."

The woman sighs, "Maybe this is fate, after all," she wipes a tear and looks at the ceiling, "A corpse, and the greed is so powerful and consuming that even that can be used to live off the back of."

"Don't you worry, ma'am," I smile at her in assurance, "I'll make sure you get justice."

Time ebbs and flows as I sit there. My phone rings sometimes in between- I ignore them. Shooting a quick text to Melian that the job had been handled, I went to meet the doctors again. The shorter one nods with a sad face- I almost think he'll say that the dude died, but he doesn't. "He'll be needing a kidney transplant," he says remorsefully.

"Oh," I reply in a woebegone voice, "I'll arrange for the payments, Doctor. Please go ahead with the transplant."

"Fine," he says with a sanguine face so fake that resisting the urge to punch him square in the face is almost like controlling the urge to pee when you haven't in twenty four hours.

I pay at the counter again and the doctors nod at me and the patient's family sadly. A few minutes later, there is a slight commotion about a kidney being brought from another branch of CareMark Hospitals. I look over at the older sister out of the two girls.

"Yes?" She replies quietly.

"Do you know how to shoot a video?" I ask her. She nods and I smile at her. "Keep recording each time the doctors come up to us." She nods in agreement.

"I'll be heading to my room to get my tablet and will be back in a second," I tell the woman and walk away. After getting my tablet, I sit down at a distance from the family and grin at the screen.

The bitch in me switches personalities.

Hours later, the doctors come again. I nod at Kira, the older girl, to start recording.

"The transplant has been done," the shorter doctor says, "But there is a very less chance of survival, so we'll be calling in an expert to flow in from Oregon," he says quietly, "The fees and payment are sky high. Are you sure you want to go ahead?"

"Obviously!" I snap, half vexed and half crestfallen- both of which are fake as they come. "I'll see to the payments, please go on."

I pay at the counter once again and smile at the receptionist. She looks at me calculatively before deciding to let it go. On my way back, I stopped by the pharmacy on the third floor. As I conversed casually with the chemist, I placed my phone on record at an appropriate angle where it stayed hidden as well. After picking up the packet of medicines and stuff, I leave my phone there and hand over the packet to the doctors. Minutes later, I went back to the chemist.

"I forgot my phone," I smile apologetically at him. He gives me a once over. "That's forgetful of you; be careful around here."

I laugh inwardly.

"Truthfully spoken," I smile ruefully and nod in agreement, "Yet again, sometimes, we have to play the role of a fool to fool the fool who thinks they're fooling us," I wink at him and walk away, leaving him dumbfounded. My phone rings in my pocket again. I frown at the caller ID and roll my eyes. Fuck you, you can wait.

I check my phone; it's there. I grin like a Cheshire cat at my phone, until Kira's nudging interrupts me. "Here they are," she whispers at a new dude with the bunch of doctors from earlier. I bow at him and he spares me an inattentive glance. Okay, bro.

As the doors of the ICU close again, I loiter around the doors, heedless of the warning of the nurse who makes rounds from time to time. The smell of the hospital wafts around me. I feel hungry.

Huh.

My ears perk up as soon as I hear noise.

"...long will this go on? You'll make me lose my job along with yours, Dr. Ryan," I hear a worried and bored tone speaking. I'm quite certain it is the so-called expert from Oregon. "Don't you worry, Dr. Fitzmaurice," the other doctor- the shorter one, I'm sure, brushes his worry away. "As long as they can pay, we can play," he laughs, "The woman out there is desperate, she's reeking of money."

Oh, do I?

I click the 'Finish Recording' button on my phone.

You wanna play? Bring it on, losers.

I scuttle back to Kira and the others. The woman looks at me anxiously- I smile back supportively and then turn to face Kira. "Very soon, they're going to come out and lament. They're going to apologize and tell you that they were very sorry and couldn't save him. Then, Kira," I tell her, "You shall be shooting the entire video. Send it to me. I'll handle the unresolved," I grin at her maliciously. The pink creeps into her pale cheeks and she nods, looking at the floor.

My head snaps to attention as the first creak of the door comes through. The short doctor along with the so-called expert came out and stood in front of me. I stand up, putting on a face of worry, flicking my finger at Kira, a small indication that she should start. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the phone in the breast pocket of her shirt and grin. Nice thinking.

"We're sorry, we couldn't save your brother, Miss," the shorter doctor voices out with a downcast expression. The shock is etched onto my features and it sits there like the most pleased of visitors. I cry out, "HOW'S THAT POSSIBLE!"

"I'm sorry, Miss," The expert continues with a crestfallen expression and the anger sizzles in my nerves, the crackle of it both turning me on and desperately trying to light the inner bitch inside me. Patience, patience.

"How- you have to bring him back to life," I whisper desperately, "No, YOU HAVE TO. Please try, I'm sure he can be brought back to life," I mutter and then join my hands, "I pray to you, Doctor. Please-"

"Are you stark raving mad?!" The shorter doctor bellows at me, "HE'S DEAD. DEAD!"

"I know he's dead, I heard you!" I scream back at him, "I'm asking you to retry, doctor-"

"YOU'RE INSANE, GET SOME HELP!" The expert scrunches his nose at me, "He's dead! We tried our level best, we're not Gods-"

"This is the CAREMARK HOSPITAL!" my voice rises by several octaves, "You must try again. You have to. I'll pay however much you want-"

"Are you unstable, woman!?-"

"No, I'm not," I heave loudly and yell my fucking lungs out, "Look at this!" I pull out the death certificate from the pocket of my chinos trousers, "Look."

The shorter doctor adjusts his glasses and takes the certificate from me. Both of them peek into the paper and the expert reads it aloud. I notice the swirling of the hues in their eyes as the 'Certificate of Death' comes into their sight.

"This is to certify that the following information has been recorded after the death of patient Mr. Kyle Sullivan after-"

Two pairs of eyes look up at me, nervousness and the anxiety of being caught like a tattoo on their faces. They look at each other, almost as if calculating the pros and cons of the situation- I snatch the paper from them. The sound is a harsh roar in between the deafening silence and the tension in the air. They avert their eyes, as if trying to protect their thoughts from me as they're plainly written on their faces and I read it effortlessly.

"When the patient's dead," I growl at him, the anger in my voice shocking me as well, my heart thumping loudly- but not with anticipation. It is the rage the burns with a passion inside me. "WHAT HAD YOU BEEN DOING SINCE THE LAST TEN HOURS INSIDE THE FUCKING INTENSIVE CARE UNIT?!"

They breathe hard, startled from the silence- my voice an eternal reminder of the crime they've committed and the consequence that is coming to get them. They blink at me, all on the edge. The spread of goosebumps across the expert's neck is the most thrilling sight to me right now.

"This ain't the death certificate of the patient anymore, motherfuckers," I grin at the them, my lips curling into the most dangerous of smiles, "This is the death certificate of CareMark."

The shorter doctor snatches the paper from my hand and stuffs it directly in his mouth. I cross my arms and lean against the wall- not the neatest idea, but still. Impression.

"You can sit on a gold mine after weaving a story out of how a dead patient was worked upon for ten hours or so and died once again," I smirk and cough in mirth, "And I can't make a photocopy?" I hold another one out from the pocket of my leather jacket, "How many do you desire to see?" They stare at me, dumbfounded, shivering by now. I close my eyes and face the ceiling, letting out a rueful laugh, "What happened? Seen a ghost?" I grin at them evilly, "Should I call an expert?"

The man from the payment counter- the one who had been arguing with the man from before, jogs into the lobby and holds out a tablet to me, "Here is your bill, Miss Crimson. Deposit ten thousand dollars at the counter and you may then take the deceased's body away." I grin quietly as I see the doctors struggling to make him halt. I wrap my hand around the shorter doctor who tries to squawk about the situation to the counter guy.

"This body ain't going anywhere, superhero," I laugh and feel the satisfaction wrap my lips like the glossiest matte lipstick, "Not until you make a cheque of half a million dollars in Vienna Sullivan's name, and whatever the fuck I paid in mine, since I'm pretty sure y'all thought I was reeking of money?" The doctors fidget and start sweating even harder and I wink at them. The guy from the counter blinks at me like what I'm saying sounds ridiculous- it does, actually. Ridiculously hot.

"Enough lying through your teeth," I point fingers at the three, "Wanna see yer' manager, now," and then, I hold my hand out to Kira, who takes her phone out and hands it to me. I smile like I'm five and I've gotten some nice candy and then flash the phone in front of their faces, "He owes me a small death date," the features on my face shift from sweetly sarcastic to plain resentment, hate, viciousness and anger, "OUT."

The two doctors scurry away as fast as they can- the guy from the counter stands and fumbles in his place. I stare into his eyes- I know what he's going to do next. As expected, he tries to snatch the phone from my hand. I hold on tighter and pull it back, and slap him hard with the other hand, the harsh sound bouncing off the empty lobby. "OUT!" I bellow at him. He presses a palm against his cheek and runs with his tail between his legs. I stare at his back and smirk.

In half an hour, the money has been transferred to Vienna Sullivan's account and all the money I'd spent has been put back into mine. I grin back, I know the game's not over. A few minutes later, I'm escorted into the manager's room. I lounge on the sofa, draping my arm over the back of the sofa and whistling. The automatic doors split open and a tall man, no more than thirty five years of age steps into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. I make no effort to stand up. He sits down- I mark the wrinkles on his forehead screaming tension and fear.

He reeks of fear.

"Miss Crimson," he began in a silken voice, with an air of solid confidence and was so very easy on the ears, "I'm Jeremiah Nilsson, the manager. I think we can settle this without any commotion."

"Oh yeah?" I smile at him. He begins to pour wine in the two glasses in front of us and hands the left glass to me. I acknowledge it with a small twitch of my lips and pick it up, swirling the contents in it without drinking any. He sips and leans back in the recliner. "How much money do you desire?" and then, he points to my glass, "Have a sip. It's classic." I smile back at him and put the glass to my lips.

"Really, it's fine," I smile at him with sincerity and rejoice at the flash of suspicion across his face, "After all, I don't think you shall be able to offer me as much as I say after," I pick up the remote from the center table, "-this."

On the television screen, appears the exclusive, live from the campus of CareMark hospitals. The mob was thick with the modern zombie, every one of them a total misfire in the prefrontal cortex. The noise and the revolt is the wine to my senses and I laugh, enjoying the look of horror and fear on the manager's face. The pressure he applies on hisb glass of wine causes it to crack and the wine mixes with the blood inflicted by the cracking of the glass. He stomps over to the windows in his room, looking at the campus from above. I stand up. He then looks up at me and turns around, pulling the lapels of his jacket together. "So you two-timed us," He smirks. "Appreciable, albeit not much."

"No stress, Nilsson," I shrug, "All I did was hack into the hospital's server, release that hot video of the doctors here getting their asses roasted along with the one where the medicines the nurse had me bring were returned to the chemist right after I left," I smirk, the memory of me keeping my phone against the chemist's shop in a place hidden from his view but sufficient to capture the video of the chemist's shop flashing into my head. "And no problem, I also put it on Twitter, Facebook and a couple other social media platforms. The rest is just," I whistle, "- a little bomb I thought you deserved."

"You're begging for it," he snarls and then smirks again, "We'll make good work of you, Crimson," he points at the glass of wine in my hand, "That one was slightly roofied, with love," he shrugs, trying to make a statement of himself.

"Stranger danger, Nilsson," I wink at him, "I don't accept things from even my closest friends- you're but a loser. I suggest you better start working on that pretty lot of people, huh?"

He marches towards the entry of the hospital, me following him steadily, hands stuffed in the pockets of my leather jacket- a victorious smile on my face as the crowd parts for me slowly. Jeremiah tries to push through and succeeds in getting into his car. From what it seems like, he roars at the driver to drive, but seems like even that dude is bored of this loser. I stand there, in the middle of the crowd, whistling without another care in the world. My planning has always been like that- perfect to every point leaving no chances of failure. The driver gets out of the car and starts hitting the car just like the rest of anguished, extremely infuriated people. Jeremiah meets my eyes once again- anger and violence swirling in them. He shifts over to the driver's seat and tries to start driving. I stand in front of his car. He attempts to drive, heedless of the fact that I stand in his way- as if he'll drive it over me. No doubt that he wants to- but human wants are somewhat trivial and meek and God isn't always obligated to fulfil them; God isn't exactly over excited about miracles when it comes to people like Jeremiah fuckin' Nilsson.

The car doors open and he manages to come out. The crows almost trample on him, until the sound of a bullet pierces through the commotion. The crowds slowly melt around him as the people let the fear get to them. I look at the sky and sigh, shrugging.

Brandon Anderson really wrote a masterpiece of a quote. Our belief is the strongest when it should be the weakest. That is the nature of hope. I can see a live example in Jeremiah Nilsson, struggling.

The strong early light shone strongly from the steel barrel of the revolver. He draws the trigger- and it's the only sound in the once-buzzing crowd of monsters. I don't move an inch, I don't feel the fear I should, as a human being. When you realise you are good to your core, when you realise your own self worth, a solid sense of confidence expands within. Confidence is my inner golden caramel, a sweetness that is strong and giving.

I'm fucking awesome.

His hands shiver as he holds the revolver tighter, apparently, two inches away from my chest. The click doesn't frighten me in the least- I watch the bullet flow in slow motion, tracking each millisecond and it's movement at the same time, but never as much as shaking in my place, let alone moving.

In a sharp, fast paced flick, the bullet bounces off it's orientation, buzzing past my arm, inflicting the smallest of wounds. I feel a line of blood gradually trickling from it.

The fuck, it was my favorite leather jacket!

"SURRENDER, NILSSON."

A/N:-

A long, long chapter which contains one of my writer's blocks in the between. For the record, I haven't been keeping well. Secondly, exam woes.

That's all for today.

QOTD: What key points would you consider while deciding which career to pursue? (I've been in a bit of confusion)

Thank you! 

Your larbhing autho,
Dsa🐤✌👊