Chapter 54 – Level 9-123 Shadowhaunt.
--/Day 28 13:06 Hours/--
--/Level 9-123 Shadowhaunt/--
Shadowhaunt was a terrible name, Grissom thought, as he stepped off the lift. He still didn't quite believe that he was here. This was the place where so many Greenjays had died. He'd killed only a few of them, hardly enough to deserve the notorious title of ‘Gangkiller' that he'd acquired. Although perhaps his actions with the Blue Hawkers in Gas Chamber and when they attacked the Hub had anything to do with it. He was here because he was curious. Simply curious. A thousand Ragnorians had been killed up here, and he wanted to know how.
He entered the main promenade, where more than six hundred of the victims had been gathered. It was spotless, having been thoroughly cleaned. This made it cleaner than many other parts of the station, whiter. Somehow unnatural. Grissom shook his head and began to look for signs of how the ambush would have worked. He'd been investigating for an hour or so when the voice interrupted him. His hand was on his gun before he'd turned.
"Welcome, my memory friend... Whatever are you doing in this place?" The sinister hiss of a voice he recognised. Grissom was pointing his gun directly at 4791's forehead, but somehow knew it might not make that much of a difference. But it was the way he had been spoken too... memory friend? How did he know about the memory? The black-cloaked psychic was standing behind him, a wry smile on his mostly overshadowed face.
"What do you want, monster?" Grissom snarled.
"Does my voice distress you... then I shall change it for you..." He whispered. "This place is key, to the downfall of a man you hate. Here, more than a thousand maggots died, at the whim of a tyrant." Grissom could see that 4791's lips weren't moving. He was speaking directly into his head. "I want you to expose this. Bring it to the attention of the galaxy. You will need help. Seek out a woman named... Eialial." The monster smiled mockingly. Grissom lowered his gun.
--/Day 34 21:45 Hours/--
--/Level 9-107 Trauma Centre/--
There were more than twenty medical professionals here by now, from all over the station. But Chloe and Grissom were still working hard. The rest of Chloe's staff had retired at her insistence, to rest and return in eight hours. She hadn't made the same demand of Grissom, knowing that he wouldn't listen to her anyway. In total, of the forty-three people caught in the blast, twenty-one had died. There was nothing that could have been done about that number, in fact, Chloe was surprised that it wasn't more. There was one reason for that.
Grissom, tireless and ignorant of his wound, finished stitching up the final wound on his last victim. Everyone else was in the proper attentive care. Finally, he stood up straight. He'd been knelt down to stretcher bound patients for most of their twelve-hour effort. His face was pale, Chloe noticed, there were rims under his eyes. She noticed that the bandages on his shoulder and stomach were both leaking blood through his shirt. Grissom strode unsteadily towards Chloe, reaching out to support himself on the edge of the temporary medical station.
"Easy, soldier." Chloe said, walking up to him.