The man’s eyes snapped open.
Icy emerald.
He gasped violently and shoved himself upright.
He looked around wildly.
He expected a mutant.
Scavengers.
Death.
Instead, he saw a massive, terrifying warlord with a pink dinosaur band-aid on his forehead.
And beside him...
A tiny five-year-old girl holding a ridiculous lavender spray bottle.
Silas Thorne stared at her.
Dia stared back.
She checked his breathing.
Then his heartbeat.
Then his wound.
Everything was fine.
She nodded.
"Good."
Silas’s brows furrowed.
"...Who are you?"
Dia pointed at herself.
"Dia."
She pointed at Adrian.
"That’s Uncle Adrian."
Then she pointed at Silas.
"And you’re Uncle Two."
Silas stared.
"...What?"
Dia smiled.
"You’re going to be my new Uncle."
Silas looked at Adrian.
Adrian shrugged.
"Don’t look at me."
Silas looked back at Dia.
"Why am I your uncle?"
Dia thought about it.
"Because you were dying."
Silas blinked.
"...That doesn’t answer my question."
"It does."
"It really doesn’t."
Dia ignored him.
She held out her tiny hand.
"The medical intervention was successful."
Silas stared at her hand.
Dia’s eyes narrowed.
"Now give me my nuggets."
Silas remained silent.
Dia’s smile disappeared.
"...And chocolate milk."
Still nothing.
Dia looked at Adrian.
"Uncle Adrian."
"Yeah?"
"Uncle Two is broken."
Adrian burst out laughing.
Silas Thorne, genius doctor, scientist, and professional cynic, stared at the tiny child who had just saved his life and apparently adopted him in the span of thirty seconds.
For the first time in years, he had absolutely no idea what to say.
The icy green eyes of Silas Thorne, former prodigy of the National Medical Research Institute and current victim of severe abdominal trauma, darted wildly between the giant warlord and the tiny, deadpan child.
His brilliant, hyper-analytical brain was struggling to process the sequence of events.
Less than two minutes ago, he had been bleeding out on the unsanitary tiles of a public restroom, his own colleagues having gutted him to steal his research data and leave him as bait for the infected.
Now, his fatal wound was completely gone, leaving behind only smooth skin that smelled aggressively of lavender and miracles, and a five-year-old was staring him down, demanding deep-fried poultry.
"Chicken... nuggets?" Silas rasped, his voice hoarse.
He pressed a long, pale hand to his stomach, baffled by the lack of gaping hole. "What... what did you just do to me? What was in that spray?"
"The chemical composition is irrelevant," Dia stated, adjusting the oversized collar of her ’Princess In Training’ shirt.
"The transaction is complete. My end of the bargain has been fulfilled. I expect immediate payment in the form of processed, breaded chicken."
Dia blinked at him, as if she was tired of dealing with a fool who didn’t understand the basics.
Then she looked at the empty spray bottle in her hand.
Then back at him.
"Medicine."
Silas stared.
"Yes, but what kind of medicine?"
Dia thought about it.
"The good kind."
Silas’s eye twitched.
"What was in it?"
"Magic."
"That’s not a chemical composition."
"I know."
Silas opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Dia puffed out her cheeks.
"The important part is that you’re not leaking anymore."
She pointed at his stomach.
"So..."
She held out her tiny hand.
"Nuggets."
Silas stared at the hand.
"...What?"
"My nuggets."
"Chicken... nuggets?"
"Yes."
Dia nodded.
"The System promised me some if I saved you."
Silas looked at Adrian.
Adrian shrugged.
"She’s serious."
Silas slowly looked back at Dia.
"You saved my life..."
"Yes."
"...for chicken nuggets?"
"And chocolate milk, too."
Dia raised one finger.
"Chocolate flavor."
She raised another.
"That’s very important."
Adrian let out a booming laugh that rattled the cracked mirrors of the washroom.
He stepped forward, his heavy combat boots crunching on the broken glass.
"Sorry, Doc, but the kid is a harsh negotiator," Adrian grinned, the blue sparks of his S-Rank core momentarily illuminating the dim space. "And unfortunately, she’s fresh out of nuggets. Let’s get you on your feet before whatever left you bleeding decides to come back for seconds."
Silas flinched as the massive warlord reached down.
His inherent distrust, magnified by his recent betrayal, flared instantly.
He tried to scramble backward, but his legs were still weak from the massive blood loss his body was recovering from.
Adrian didn’t give him a choice.
With surprising gentleness for a man whose biceps were the size of tree trunks, Adrian hauled Silas up by the arm, slinging the doctor’s arm over his broad shoulder to support his weight.
"Easy there, string bean," Adrian grunted, taking the brunt of Silas’s weight. "Your blood volume is probably still lower than optimal. Let’s find you a chair that isn’t next to a urinal."
Silas grimaced.
"I can walk."
"Sure you can."
"I can."
"Absolutely."
"I mean it."
"Great."
Adrian adjusted Silas’s arm.
"Walk, then."
Silas took one step.
His knees immediately buckled.
Adrian caught him.
"...Chair," Adrian concluded.
Silas said nothing.
Since his left arm was currently occupied with supporting a six-foot-two medical prodigy, Adrian couldn’t scoop Dia up onto his hip.
"You’re gonna have to use those legs for a bit, kiddo," Adrian told Dia. "Think you can handle the march to the fourth floor?"
Dia looked down at her stubby legs, then at the scuffed, oversized sneakers that threatened to trip her with every step.
She let out a tiny, imperceptible sigh.
Her little face became deeply offended.
"Do I have to?"
"Yep."
Dia sighed dramatically.
"Walking is stupid."
Adrian snorted.
"You’re five. Walking is kind of your thing."
"I prefer carrying."
"I noticed."
Dia looked up at him.
"Can you carry me and him?"
Adrian glanced at Silas.
Then at Dia.
"...No."
Dia frowned.
"Why?"
"Because I only have two arms."
She considered this for several seconds.
Then nodded.
"Unfortunate."
She began walking.
Her little sneakers squeaked with every step.
Squeak.
Squeak.
Squeak.
The trio made a bizarre, almost comical exit from the restroom.
Adrian, looking like a heavily armed, lightning-infused gladiator with a pink dinosaur band-aid on his forehead, supported Silas.