bitter Nights

The night was dull, the air bitter and cold. Hot days in the desert surrounding the lost temple had faded into frigid nights, but Medkit barely noticed. Hands shoved into his pockets, he kicked a rock along the gravel road, stumbling a little but not caring enough to catch himself. He’d been busy these past few weeks- too busy even to catch up with friends. Glancing down, he saw his phone light up with a notification from a social media app he used to enjoy. Somehow, Broker and Scythe had found his handle, and now even his refuge online had become a tether to his work life. Something about a cat. He sighed, clicked off his phone, and kept walking down the path to the bar.

Inside, he hung his coat by the door and exhaled, his breath visible in the chilled air. The bar was warmer than the night outside but still held a ghostly cold. He sank onto a barstool and raised a hand to the demon behind the counter for a glass of whiskey. It was the only drink he could tolerate. Beer tasted too bold yet bland, fruity drinks were overly sweet, and wine had never been his thing. Whiskey, though, was like a plane crashing in flames- it burned going down, and that burn was just enough to keep him sharp, to keep his thoughts from spiraling.

As he took a sip, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw a gray-skinned demon with a newsboy cap and bandana, one sleeve tied up over a missing arm.

“Didn’t think I’d see you around here, Zuka.” Medkit swirled the whiskey in his glass, leaning back.

“Rocket came to visit Sword, so I gave him a ride. Figured I’d stop by this bar.” Zuka chuckled, nodding toward Medkit’s drink. “Didn’t know you were a drinker, Medkit.”

“I only drink when my mind’s too full. The alcohol flushes out the thoughts I don’t wanna dwell on.”

“Ah, alright…” Zuka ordered a bottle of beer, bit the cap off, and took a long swig. “How’s it going, Med?”

Medkit shook his head, grimacing. “I’d be lying if I said it was going good, but hey, it can always get worse.” He took a long gulp of whiskey. “How about you?”

“Same old, same old…” Zuka replied, downing half his beer in one go.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, content with each other’s presence without feeling the need to fill it with words. Medkit thought to himself that it was nice- a kind of quiet companionship he could get used to, if he weren’t always so busy.

After a time, Medkit spoke up. “Say… you used to work for Blackrock?”

“Regrettably. Back then, though, it wasn’t such a corrupt faction. Any honor I felt for that place is long gone…” Zuka took another drink. “Why do you ask?”

Medkit shrugged, hesitating. “Well… it’s stupid. I was gonna ask if you ever thought of leaving, but I guess if it wasn’t as bad then, probably not.”

“Well, sure I did. War is terrifying. You’ve fought in Phights- that’s a taste of what real war’s like. Only difference is, if you die in a Phight, you respawn. In war, you don’t. I was scared out of my mind plenty of times and wanted to quit, but I didn’t. Why? Hell if I know…”

“Hm… Well, I left Blackrock. Lost my eye for it. Subspace and I didn’t exactly part on friendly terms…” Medkit’s words started slurring, and his vision blurred. He realized the whiskey was hitting him harder than he expected.

“You have to kill him to become him.”

Medkit blinked, startled. “What?”

“Sorry, my bad,” Zuka said, eyes wide. “I said, ‘Why did you even leave him?’”

Those weren’t the words Medkit had heard. But he was too tired to make sense of it. “We had a falling out over a crystal. I wanted to make the world better. He wanted to change it by force. Our arguments got so heated they turned into a fight. I poisoned him, and he took my eye in return.”

Medkit’s thoughts drifted back to that brutal day. They had fought outside the fortress, in the snow, until he lay bleeding in the freezing night. Hours passed before he realized he hadn’t died. He’d dragged himself up and ran—ran until his body gave out. The next few days were hazy. Scythe and Broker had found him, patched him up, and forced him into their world. He hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t even had the strength to protest, and by the time he did, it was too late. All he’d wanted was to help people, to prevent needless death, to cure illness, to unite people. But somehow, his ambition had only led to destruction.

Zuka took a sip of his beer and spoke again, softer this time. “I only worked with Subspace for a while. He was just a kid. I was already in my thirties. Snarky, but you could tell he had big dreams. But he wasn’t the one to make those dreams come true.”

“Yeah, that’s Subspace…” Medkit’s head felt heavy as he absently rubbed his eyepatch, groaning softly.

“You alright, Med?” Zuka reached over, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

“Yeah… yeah, just haven’t slept.”

“Well, that’s no good.” Zuka emptied the rest of his beer and helped Medkit up from the bar stool.

The rest of the night slipped from Medkit’s memory, slipping away into blackness. He woke the next morning on his couch, drenched in a cold sweat, heart pounding as fragments of a dream lingered in his mind. Fumbling for his phone, he saw dozens of notifications from everyone and everywhere. But none of it mattered. He powered the phone off, removed the battery, and lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling fan. What he’d seen in his sleep- if it was true- meant the Inpherno wouldn’t find peace soon.