The line of black cars rolled into the driveway of the emergency ward. The trauma surgeon, Dr. Raymond, was both terrified and star struck to see the party spokesperson bleeding to slow death in his angelic white suit as he got out of his car.

"I-It will be an honor to treat you, Mr. Hod–"

"We need the best doctor you have on duty!" One of the personal guards said as he helped Hodges get on the gurney.

"That would be me," Clint said, stepping ahead.

Raymond looked at him sideways. "This is an emergency case. That's my department, Dr. Chambers."

Clint kept his expression straight as the nurses were rolling the gurney up the ramp. "Have you ever treated someone in the middle of a battlefield?" he said.

Raymond was caught off guard. "N-No, I haven't."

"I have." Clint followed the nurses as they rolled Hodges into the emergency room. "And I'm also your senior. If you have a problem you can ring the director and ask him who should be carrying out this operation while the spokesperson quietly bleeds away. Or you can clean his wounds and do an assessment for me while I prepare for the surgery." He said as he stepped into the room next to the operation theater. He took off his apron and his wedding ring, sanitized his hands, slapped on a pair of gloves and a surgical cap. One of the nurses helped him into the surgical gown.

On his way to the operation theater, Eli's personal bodyguards stopped him. "You better be careful with him, doctor. If any mishap leads to hurt him, the consequences for you will be dire."

"I think I know how to do my job, sir. Now, please step aside," Clint said. "I have a job to attend to."

The guard set his jaw and made way. Clint stepped into the operation theater. The nurses closed the door behind him. The red bulb over the door lit up. Then the surgery began.

#

When Clint came out, Eli's personal guards hadn't moved from their spot near the door. Even though they all wore dark sunglasses, he wondered if they'd even blinked under those. "How is Mr. Hodges now?" one of the guards asked.

"He is out of danger," Clint said, pulling off his face mask.

"Would you elaborate further, doctor?" another guard asked.

"We took out the bullet, administered five sutures and put a cast on him," Clint said. "His shoulder sustained a fracture from the impact of the bullet."

"Would he fully recover, though?"

"He will." Clint nodded. "It will take time because of his age but he'll be fine in the next two months."

"We would like to have that bullet you recovered from his wound," the first guard said.

Clint called for one of the nurses to bring over the bullet. She brought the recovered cartridge in a metal tray. The head of the bullet was slightly dented and the rest of it was caked in dried blood.

The guard tumbled the bullet in a plastic bag and slid the bag into his coat pocket. He nodded at his partners and the doctor and left the hospital. "What's the next step for Mr. Hodges, doctor?" another guard asked.

"We are moving him into the V.I.P room for the day and monitoring his health for today," Clint said. "If everything remains normal, you can take him away tomorrow."

Once he was out of his surgical attire and back in the doctor's common room, one of the nurses came and told him that Hodges had been moved to the V.I.P room. It was then half past nine. Everything was going according to plan.

#

The hospital gates were closed off to the civilians for the day. Luckily, there were only a couple of people who had been admitted into inpatient units the other day. So the rest of the building was relatively empty except the staff and the steel heads who had been called in by Eli's personal guards. And there were a lot of steel heads.

Two on the main gate. Two on the back. Two on the main entrance, two on the back. Four on the terrace. Four in the staff parking lot. And six throughout the passage that led to the V.I.P room. But the ones guarding the room itself weren't the steel heads but Eli's own personal guard.

Eli himself was fast asleep from the sedatives. Clint had received a call from the hospital director, asking for updates on the situation. Clint gave him a rundown before the director praised him for handling the situation well in his absence and hung up with a tease of maybe a bonus on the weekend.

Clint had then put on his coat and left the hospital. He had to take the personal guard's permission to leave the building. "Where are you going?" The man had asked.

"To get something to eat. Maybe even a drink. Today was hectic." Clint shrugged.

"What if Mr. Hodges woke up and needed help?" The guard said.

"The nurses or the trauma surgeon can help. Plus, I'll be back soon anyway."

The guard nodded. "Take my cell number. You'll need it to come through the gates again."

Clint tried not to roll his eyes. "Fine."

The guard told him to save his number under the name Larson. Clint was about to leave when Larson said, "You should take the back gate. There's quite a bit of a crowd at the front."

This time Clint tried not to sigh. "Okay."

Larson had been right, though. A sizable enough crowd of party devotees had gathered at the main gate. The steel heads would surely need to send them away soon or else the hoard of people would only grow bigger.

Clint kept his head down as he passed them by. He made his way to the bus stop and boarded a bus headed for Hartwell street. He climbed off and made his way to the Moon's Edge.

The door sighed as he pushed it to walk inside. He took a stool at the bar and asked for a bourbon. Neat.

The bartender today was a guy named Harry. "We don't serve bourbon this early."

Clint laid a half torn fifty kerver bill on the counter. "Make an exception, will you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. He took the half torn note and put it next to the other half he had. The serial number matched. Harry grinned. "How was the surgery, Dr. Chambers?"

Clint leaned his elbows on the bar and took off his glasses. "It went smoothly," he said. "I'm just tired. I won't mind a drink."

Harry poured him the bourbon. Clint took a swig and sighed as the booze left a cold yet fiery trail in his throat as it went down. "Is the man already in the dumpster?" Clint asked.

"Just as expected." Harry shrugged, still grinning.

"Now I just have to give him the cocktail and everything will fall in place, right?" Clint said.

"Precisely."

"What's the plan for me after that?" Clint asked.

"Your work will be done after we switch places with Hodges."

Clint frowned. "But, I was the doctor on duty. Won't the steel heads come after me and my family?"

"They won't."

"Why not?"

"In the grand scheme of things, you and your family are just pawns, doctor," Harry said. "Watcher intends to have Hodges make a national statement tomorrow morning. Once that statement goes public. You won't even be a concern for the steel heads."

Clint paused. "You mean...after tonight, my family and I will be free?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, very much so."

Clint scoffed out a chuckle. He almost couldn't believe it. "I wasn't expecting that at all." Maybe I can finally have that talk with Marie and Zack. Things might actually get better at home now. But he stopped himself before chasing that thought further. He looked at Harry. "Wait, what kinda statement are you even talking about?"

Harry shrugged again. "Only Watcher knows about that. But he told me to pass on the message of the next step to you. He was expecting that you would come here asking about it. Also," he said. "He told me to pass on a special gift to you once your mission succeeds."

"What is it?" Clint said.

"Not yet, Dr. Chambers. The mission isn't over yet, is it?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Right." He downed the rest of his bourbon. "Now can you make me a sandwich or something? I need sustenance till the evening before I finish the rest of this goddamned mission."

#

Clint went straight to the common room when he returned to the hospital. He opened his locker. The pelican case was still where he'd put it. He checked the time. The sedatives would almost wear off now. He had to administer the promise-me cocktail soon.

He put on his apron again and slipped the syringe into hip pocket. He grabbed a notepad and stepped out into the hallway. He started on his way to the V.I.P room.

Watcher's man will be in the dumpster outside the bathroom window, waiting until seven. Clint just had to shoot the cocktail into Hodges and he was done. Just do that and wait, he thought, then I'm free. So is Marie. So is Zack.

He arrived outside Hodges' room. Larson was still standing guard alongside another personal guard. "What happened?" Larson asked.

"Just going in to see if he has come down from the sedated sleep," Clint said. "I'll call you in if he is awake."

Larson nodded and let him through. Clint stepped inside and didn't move until the door slid shut. Hodges was still asleep. The IV fluid was drained less than halfway through. The cast on his right shoulder was bulged. His thin chest rose up and down weakly as he breathed.

Clint couldn't care less what Watcher was going to do with this old fart. Clint had always put his duty as a doctor above everything else. Even back when he left his wife and wounded son alone to join the Rescue and Relief camp. He hadn't half assed his job as a doctor. He'd treated every single patient there equally, operatives and rioters alike. Even though, he'd despised Nick, despised how close that new man had got to his son and wife, despised the fact how comfortable Marie was around him, despised how he'd let himself get jealous over it, despised that he'd actually doubted Marie for it. But regardless of all that, he would've still done everything he could to save the guy. He still regretted the fact that he had killed Neville. Even if Lisa Neville had forgiven him. Even if his own wife had forgiven him, he still blamed himself for what he'd done.

But as he pulled out the syringe from his pocket and was ready to dose this old man with the cocktail, he knew he won't regret a thing. Not today.

Clint stepped up to the bed and uncapped the needle. He reached down to struck the point into Eli's arm.

A wrinkly hand snapped around Clint's wrist, locking in like a bony handcuff. Clint gasped.

Eli was awake and staring right back at him with unblinking, vulture-like eyes. Then in a thin, whispery voice, the old man said, "You are working for the Last Hand, aren't you?" 

(to be continued...)