Footsteps break the silence.

I turn my head, but the back of my wheelchair blocks my view of the door. I'm not sure why I hear a difference, but these don't sound like the normal pitter patter of nurses, or the wayward sound of those with their chips sauntering the halls. After listening for awhile I think I might know the answer. These sound more rushed, the pattern of sounds mimicking screams.

Then, my door opens.

"Are you Riya? Angelica's friend?"

The man in front of me has long black hair cut choppy at the end, with a small button nose to contrast. He's donned in a black suit, an obvious bulletproof vest underneath. His eyes are shaky, darting back and forth between me and the door.

"Yes? Don't tell me something happened to her."

"Do you have your letters with you?"

I blink, confused. What did he want with my letters? And how did he even know about them, anyway?

"No," I say, sitting up. "Why do you care? And who are you anyway?"

He doesn't seem to hear me, his nostrils flaring the only response I get for a few moments. I raise my eyebrow.

"Where are they?"

"My uncle has them. He lives in a house on 33rd street."

"33rd street..." he mumbles, looking out towards the window now. "Can you walk?"

"Of course, I'm just sitting in this wheelchair because it's comfy. My surgery absolutely in no way impaired my ability to move."

He laughs dryly. Strangely enough, the sound sticks in his throat all of the sudden, replaced by a confused look.

"You...you don't have the Achelois chip? You were scheduled for one?"

"I was...but it wasn't medically safe for me to go through with it."

I sniff, my eyes watering. He looks down at me with a light smirk, igniting a spark of fury in me. It doesn't show through, though, masked by my efforts to conceal my tears.

"Consider yourself lucky."

My mouth opens to protest, but before I can speak I hear a loud bang coming from the hall. I clamp my hands over my ears. Frantically, I look up to see the man with a silver knife in hand.

"What the hell was that?!"

He doesn't answer my plea, instead spinning on his heels to face a black blitz, machine gun in hand. I grip the edges of my chair in terror as the man clicks the gun, ready to fire. Before he gets the opportunity, the silver knife is thrown at his chest. I see a splash of blood, and then the silver is back in his hands.

In a blink of an eye, the man flips the knife, switching a hidden lever on the handle. The metal morphs in front of my eyes, transforming into an elongated gun with the same silvery hue. He shoots off a couple of rounds, the sound like the boom of fireworks. They hit incoming men. 

They all drop like flies.

Numbness spreads throughout my body, my mind unable to process or cope with what just happened. Before any more violence can ensue, the man scoops me up in his arms and starts moving towards the teleportation hall. As he reaches the door, I finally catch up with anything. The first thing I do is make sure my fist collides with his arm. He doesn't even flinch.

"Let me go! Let me go now."

"I can't do that, Riya."

By now we're in the teleporter room. Large panes of glass line it, our gateway to outside the hospital. He sets me down as we near the control panel, still keeping a strong grip on my arm. My legs, still incredibly weak, falter, but he keeps me up nonetheless. The mysterious man punches a few things into the controls.

"Your uncle lives on 33rd street, right?"

I growl at him, summoning what little physical strength I had. This ends now. 

"Who are you?! You just murdered, no, slaughtered-"

"-The O'Mallery girls henchmen. And all you need to know about me is that I work for someone higher up-"

I blink, my face contorted with confusion and fear. What was this pyscho going to do with me and my letters?

"- And that everything is not what it seems. You can call me Agent Tyr."