Chapter 2: 2. Tender-Man

Zeff was reeling. And not just because this man had called him boy, either. He was 21 for goodness sake. 'Did he really just casually ask for my blood type while sitting there posing like some Roman emperor?' Thought Zeff.

"Look man. I don't know what you've been smoking this evening, but I think you need help and I gotta get home."

The man blinked hard as if calculating what to say next.  Then he stood to his feet and said, "My name is Doctor Sylvan White. I have been infected by a deadly virus that I and several of my now deceased colleagues were tricked into creating. After our work was done we were all targeted, eliminated one by one, until I was the last remaining. Forced into a corner, I injected myself with the virus in hopes that it's power would allow me to escape capture."

Zeff smiled bitterly. This man was sick. He needed more than a Double Red Burger. He needed professional help and a room with padded walls.

Sylvan had uttered every word with a completely straight face and even tone. Ignoring the whole being-a-doctor-on-the-run-from-the-murderer-of-his-doctor-friends bit, what kind of doctor didn't know that a virus would hurt or even kill you? Yet he claims he willingly infected himself to increase his odds of escaping his supposed pursuers? 'Get outta here with this nonsense, old man.' Thought Zeff contemptuously.

Sylvan continued seemingly unphased by Zeff's clear disbelief, "This virus, in the wrong hands would destroy the world." As he spoke he reached into his ragged pant pocket and produced a shiny ring, black as obsidian. "There is no cure once you are infected and there is only one way to catch it: by putting on this ring."

Zeff stepped back instinctively. He didn't believe for even a second that this ring was actually what this supposed doctor claimed… But something about Sylvan seemed so sincere, so believable. What could it hurt to play along? "So, let me guess, depending on my blood type my chances of surviving the infection increase…?"

"Bingo, Mr. Corad."

"Well, I'm O-. I'll guess again: Coincidentally, that's exactly the bloodt—"

"Sh*t." Cursed Sylvan. "35% survival rate is too risky…"

Zeff was taken aback.

Sylvan groaned. "It would appear that you aren't going to be of any help…"

"Hey, Mister. I don't know what you got against O- but—"

"Look. I wish I had more time to talk. Really, I do. And I've just dumped a lot of information on you, but you have to understand, I'm racing against the clock. There are powerful people looking for me and at any moment I could—"

As if on cue, suddenly Sylvan began to bleed from his nose and ears.

Zeff jump back a full 7 feet. "What the heck, man!?"

Had this guy been for real all along. Was he really sick and on the verge of death? If that was true couldn't it all be true? At once Zeff was in defense mode.

Sylvan wiped his nose and ears with the backs of his hands, leaving blood smears on his knuckles. "D*mn. I have less time than I thought…" He let out a deep sigh and clicked his tongue in frustration. Several seconds went by with neither one of the two men speaking when Sylvan suddenly spoke up. "Can you do me a favor, boy?"

Zeff didn't answer. He just nodded blankly, still a bit bewildered and unsure about the whole situation.

"I need you to find a man by the name of Dr. William Fynn, he should be easy enough to find, and give him this ring." Sylvan threw the ring to Zeff who almost dropped it. "Do NOT put it on under any circumstance, do you understand? Unless a 65% chance of dying seems attractive to you…"

"Wait a second! Wait a d*mn second!" Zeff bellowed, being careful not to mishandle the ring. "Do you really expect me to believe all this bull crap?"

Sylvan didn't speak. The only sound was the sudden sound of many feet walking on the soft soil of the park lawn.

Zeff turned to his right, toward the center of the park, to see six men dressed in black coming towards him and Sylvan.

Each of the men in black was taller than Zeff (and that was saying something as Zeff was 5'9") and had a stern expression. All of them except for the one in front who was wearing a tender smile. The one in front was the first to speak, and when he did, he had a noticeable British accent. "There you are Sylvan! We been lookin' everywhere for you!"

Sylvan's eyes were suddenly as big as golf balls, his mouth agape, as he lowered his stance, preparing to bolt at a moment's notice.

The man went on just as tenderly as before, "I'll never understand how you can move so fast in your old age!"

"Excuse me." Zeff interjected nervously, taking clear note of Sylvan's sudden change of demeanor, "May I ask who you people are?"

The man inclined his head. "Oh, please forgive me, sir. We work at the retirement home down the road. And this little rascal here—" he pointed at Sylvan, "has run off for the fourth time this year. Isn't that right, Sylvan? You should consider yourself lucky that we got here when we did, mate. People who hang around Sylvan have been known to get hurt… Isn't that right… Dr. Sylvan."

Sylvan didn't answer but his face was still tense. And Zeff could see the fear in his eyes.

It made sense, though… Sylvan didn't look old enough to be in a home, but Zeff couldn't deny that he had been talking rather strangely.

Surprisingly, Sylvan was the next to speak. But his voice was low and monotonous "You got me. Okay take me back to the home… Just leave this kid alone. He doesn't know me."

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"Of course, doctor."

Sylvan walked past Zeff without a glance into the waiting arms of the men in black.

As they turned to leave Zeff noticed a small glint of light reflect off of the side of one of the men's shirts. It was ever so slight in the darkness of the park, but the light had hit his shirt at a strange angle as though beneath it's surface sat an object. An object Zeff immediately theorized was a gun.

Zeff's heart was racing. What in the heck had he got himself into? Possibly armed men, dressed in black, acting like care-takers?

Then it occurred to Zeff what had really just happened… The 'tender man' had slyly threatened to hurt him if Sylvan didn't comply!

Zeff stepped forward "I—"

Sylvan cut him off. "Mr. Uwernt! It was really nice to meet you!"

Zeff bit his lip in frustration, recalling Sylvan's previous comment. 'Uwernt', huh? He was being told to think, to not put himself on the line. 'Sorry Sylvan. What kind of man would I be if I didn't at least try to help you?'

"Hey fellas!" Zeff called after the group, "Would you mind if I called the police to escort you guys back to the psych-ward? It's a long walk and there are some real dangerous characters in these parts."

Sylan looked wide-eyed at Zeff. His eyes were screaming, 'Shut up and walk away!'

Tender-Man turned and smiled, "Oh, don't you worry about us. We'll find it alright."

"Oh. Now I'm really worried." Zeff said somberly, scratching the back of his neck. "You seem to have forgotten that you work at the retirement home, not the psych-ward."

Suddenly each of the men in black froze where he stood.

Zeff had done it now! There was no turning back. But what were these guys going to do? Shoot and kill him in the middle of the park? Certainly not. If anything crazy happened he could always scream for—

*Ppish*

Suddenly Zeff felt a very strange and new sensation. His throat was at once so warm. He tried to take in a breath but the air wouldn't come past his neck. Instead there was only pain. So much pain. He reached up to grab his throat and to his astonishment it felt wet and hot and something like water or juice was covering his entire neck. He looked at his right hand, which was still squeezing the obsidian black ring tightly.

What was this stuff?

Zeff's heart danced in his chest, his head swam, his vision blurred. In the dimly lit night he could just make out the crimson red staining his hands and dripping down his arms.

'Blood? He shot me… in the neck?'

Zeff fell to his knees. Through the daze of his own fading existence he could just barely make out Dr. Sylvan. He was struggling against the men who were holding his arms and gagging him. They dragged him across the park, through the Fade.

Only one person stayed behind: Tender-Man. He sighed deeply as he approached Zeff, who was still gurgling for breath on his knees, and knelt down beside him. "You just had to be a hero, huh, mate? We were gonna let you go, too…" He began to unscrew something from his gun. "But I can respect your sacrifice. Really, I can. Who, in their right mind, would risk their life for a stranger?" He put something in his breast pocket and said, "This guy, that's who." As he said it he poked Zeff on the cheek.

Tears began to well up in Zeff's eyes as the terrifying truth sat in: He was about to die. In a matter of seconds, maybe even mere moments, he would be gone. Never to suck air again. What a pathetic life he had lived, and what a sad death he was about to die.

Zeff had never been religious. Not like his mom and dad. But now, as the Fade closed in, he would call out to anyone who would listen. 'God!' he screamed, 'Please! What can I do to survive this! Give me a sign! Anything!'

"65 percent!" Came a loud voice, beating the Fade back if only slightly. "65 percent, boy!"

Zeff could hardly move a finger, let alone his head. But he somehow managed to look in the direction of the waiting van and saw that Dr. Sylvan had gotten his mouth free of the gag that the men in black had put in his mouth and had screamed '65%'. What did that mean? The Fade was making him dizzy and sleepy. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a second and—

Wait! Suddenly he remembered. The ring! It was still in his hand!

He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood and around his knees more blood was pooling up. But it didn't matter.

He had no idea how putting on this ring would help him in any way. But doing something in desperation felt better than doing nothing and facing certain death. With all the strength he could muster he took the ring between 2 fingers and slipped it onto his finger. That's when—*Boom-boom-boom*. Three more bullets found their place in his chest as Zeff fell forward, his head hitting the concrete sidewalk with a loud and gruesome *Thump*.

"You sneaky b*stard…" Jeered Tender-Man. "You have the ring? Well, I guess had is the appropriate word, now, innit?"

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