VII
Tom arrived at the hospital and exited his Corvette. He changed into blue scrubs, a white lab coat, and a nametag on his chest reading "Steven Kevorkian, MD" his real name was Miles Jackson. He took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.
"Dylan, what did you do?" He checked the inside of his jacket. A small serum sat there, Legion-made serum made to heal their soldiers during combat.
The doors parted as he got close. He stepped into a full lobby for the ER. Miles walked over to the receptionists.
"How's it going, ladies?" He smiled at the two young women behind the desk and looked through the list of people still waiting to be called.
One of the women stood. "You new around here, sweetie?" She smiled and looked the doctor up and down.
"I'm not supposed to start for another few days, but they needed me for the explosion victim the police brought in. Do you know where he is?"
The receptionist sat back down. "No. Let me see- You have his name?"
Miles shook his head, "No. He was brought in a few hours ago."
"Hmm..." She typed into her computer. "I see why they called you in." She chewed on a blue pen cap. "ER has been busy today. Your guy only has minor injuries. He's on the fifth floor. The nursing station can direct you from there."
Miles nodded. He hid his relief and turned. He made it around the desk before the ER doors opened. Dozens of men in muscle shirts and with at least one tattoo. Miles paused at the end of the desk.
One in a tailored black and gray suit stepped forward with greasy black hair slicked back and his light beard and mustache trimmed. He stepped up to the receptionist's desk and placed a silver revolver down.
His men drifted in around him. Their guns came into view. "We are looking for an explosion victim. He's a good friend of mine."
The girl Miles spoke to stared at the gun. Her heart beat a mile a minute. She took a deep breath and smiled. "Mr. Vasiliev, I'll get that information."
The girl walked to a set of folders right next to Miles. She flipped through the files as the group of men spoke Russian to one another.
Miles listened to the men as they spoke. He spotted a Roman Orthodox cross tattooed up one man's hand. Another man had on a neckless shirt and the tattoo of a dagger running through his neck with several drops of blood.
"Who are they?" Miles whispered. He flipped through the chart in front of him.
"Russian mob." the girl turned towards Miles.
"Keep looking through the folder, and not at me." Miles glanced at the men and closed his eyes.
An electric wave hit him. Miles fell into a coma as a child. Doctors worked for months before they figured it out. He was an Aion and could enter a place called Chronus.
Miles's mind floated for a moment, and his eyes opened. The world around him froze in a blue hew. He entered Chronus, a dimension that existed between seconds.
With modifications, a person within this time could push time forward and see events as they unfolded. It was not without risk. The use of the abilities pushes the human mind to the limit. Those unable to handle the stress became drooling husks unable to think, let alone move. It also doesn't stop the effects of time on a person's mind. Most Aion will age their mind to a hundred before they turn twenty.
Miles could only ever see a few minutes before feeling some effects. His connection to Chronus was never strong, and his implants made him feel it. They bore into his mind, never letting him see further than a few minutes without a maddening amount of pain.
He stepped around to face the Russians at the desk. Every time he used this trick, it was a gamble. Sometimes it was wrong, and every time he used it hurt. Even now, with nothing predicted, Miles's head pounded. The farther he looked, the more his implants tore into his brain. Looking too far could kill him.
The world moved. The receptionist turned from the papers and spoke. Her words were muffled, like she was underwater. Mr. Vasiliev motioned a large man and a group of boys towards the door.
Time accelerated a few minutes. Pressure on Miles's head mounted, and blood ran from his nose. The large man returned to the waiting area and gave his boss a phone. Miles leaned in. He saw a picture of an Asian woman leaning against an elevator door, blood pooling beneath her. The boys returned a few seconds after with nothing.
Mr. Vasiliev nodded and said something before he left. His men took out guns and fired into the lobby.
Miles cut off his implants and opened his eyes. The receptionist stood beside him. "I need to find an Asian woman." He struggled to speak. The memories within Chronus were fleeting and already fragmented. The pain brought the room in and out of focus. "Not a patient, maybe a visitor." He spoke between breaths.
"There are a few Asian women here, but only one non-patient, Haruna Wu. She's with your patient."
"OK. Do what I say. Pick up the last folder, open it and tell them he's in the ER. A few will go; most will stay here." A slight tremble went through the receptionist. Miles reached for a hand hidden by the folders. "You'll be alright, I promise."
The receptionist swallowed, picked up the last folder, smiled, and turned toward the Russians. "He's in the ER."
Miles left the waiting area. He wiped the blood from his nose on his sleeve and walked down the hall. The trip to the ER would only distract the men for so long before they found the right floor.
