I woke to find the gym dark completely dark. fishing for the light switch I found it, and looked to the table quickly.

'Kid, the doors are locked and alarm is set. I let you sleep, you looked tired. You can clean the floor if you want, and raid the fridge for whatever you want. Just be quiet, I'm sleeping.'

I resolved to clean the floor first, since it was my job. Still warm from the trust shown me, I carefully mixed the cleaning solution and started on the ring first. Mr williams trusted me not to rip him off! That was a rarity.

With the rings cleaned and the floor half mopped, I decided to take a break. The time surprised me, it was 1 am. The mini fridge was packed with wrapped sandwiches made specifically for me unless I missed my guess. The energy drinks were nice, and the orange juice carton wasn't even opened.

Well he did say I could have whatever I wanted. I took a sandwich and a glass of juice. Under orders to be quiet I decided to read a few magazines that were lying around while I ate. Most were of course, on boxing. By the time I finished up however, I was tired again. Another sandwich and I decided it was time to sleep again. Not sure what was going on, I even ate well today, no way I should be tired again.

I just felt too run down to clean the kitchen, and Mr. Williams didn't like me cleaning his office. The waves of dizziness started as I lay back, so I just let the sleep come.

******************************************************************************************

"Hey kid, you alright?"

I woke to Mr. williams standing over me, mild concern painting his features. I shook the cobwebs out of my head.

"Yes sir, sorry sir. What time is it?"

"seven kid, opening time."

"Crap, sorry Mr Williams, I didn't get this room clean."

"that's ok kid, you got the rings and the floor, right?"

"Yes."

"More than enough...You can take whatever you want out of the fridge, and hang out if you want. You don't look so good."

I knew that by hanging around I could cost Mr Williams some money; it was too late for a shower, I'd forgotten to take one and clean my clothes yesterday. Too much sleep, and most people didn't like ugly dirty stinky kids hanging around.

"No sir, I better go. I don't want to cause trouble."

"Kid, you don't look right. You sure you won't stay?"

Great, if I looked like I felt it was even worse. Years without getting sick and now this - it felt like that first winter all over again.

"I'm sure sir, wouldn't want to infect your customers."

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath. Then he grew stern, and a bit frightening.

"OK kid, but look, I want you to come back tonight and finish the job. You got me? I don't like a job half finished. You come back and clean this room tonight."

"Yes sir."

I grabbed my payment and bolted before he could make a grab for me; he looked like he just might. Bolting proved the wrong thing
to do however, since as soon as I was outside (and thankfully out of Mr. William's vision) I promptly threw up, losing what little was left of what I ate last night. I was able to keep going using the wall for support. I hoped Mr. Williams didn't follow me outside, he'd certainly be angry about the waste of food.

For now, my spot at the park looked to be my best bet to spend the day; I wasn't feeling up to anything else. It was still early; there weren't many people on the streets. At least not compared to an hour from now; it was too early even for those other people who lived like me. With the right amount of caution I was able to reach my spot unchallenged. And I wasn't followed either, the place was still safe. nothing had been disturbed.

I laid a fire and lit it, then collapsed on my sleeping bag. I just didn't feel up to anything else. Trying to read was pointless, my concentration was shot by wracking pains. At least between the sleeping bag and the fire it was warm. Keeping silent (necessary for remaining unfound) was hard, but I managed by biting my hoodie. And when I felt like screaming, I simply rolled over and screamed through my sleeping bag into the dirt.

*****************************************************************************************

Somehow I must have fallen asleep again; the fire was only coals now, the sun had set. It was getting cold. I did not know how much time had passed, but I would have to hurry in any case to reach Mr. Williams' place by closing. The pain had subsided to a numbing sort of ache, rather than sharp shooting pain, but I still felt them everywhere, and my head felt as if wrapped in marshmallows.

Making it there in time to finish my job would take everything I had, and I'd have to be less careful than normal. Taking the more protected route felt impossible. I managed to get my spot packed up and poured dirt carefully on what fire was left, then set off. I could barely walk, something felt off - and I could hear and feel my bones grinding together with every step.

I wasn't sure what disease I caught, but it was fast acting.

A new thought stopped me. What if it was catching? Perhaps Mr. Williams would be better served by me staying away? I was obviously in trouble, and he didn't need to catch whatever it was I had. I was pretty sure no one deserved to catch what I had. But... he should also be warned! I had this bug this morning, and he was with me. I had also stayed in his place last night. He would need to know to visit a doctor.

Decision made I renewed my steps; even found a bit more energy. He had to be warned, along with his customers and friends. Unfortunately I have the worst luck imaginable. In my haste I ran right into one of those dangers I had luckily avoided earlier. I blame my hazy vision, which only seemed to reach a few feet and was tinted red around the edges.

"Well well well, if it isn't the little fag."

Now most homeless, while in many cases desperate, are decent people. Harry was not one of those people. Street rumors all had him lying, cheating, stealing and assaulting his way to a better life, most of the time to his own down on their luck fellows. He was one of the worst people to run into when you had no protection or people nearby. One of the people I normally watched for. Oh well, nothing to do about it now, I didn't even feel up to running.

"Leave me alone Harry, I'm very sick and it could be contagious."

Before I could do more than blink, I was on the ground, only afterwards registering the 2 vicious punches. One to the kidney, one to the left side of my face. I looked up to see Harry sporting an aloof, almost fatherly sort of look.

"You don't tell me what to do, you piece of shit. though now that I get a good look at you, you don't look at all well. Too bad."

I lost track of the kicks after number 4, but soon after he got bored, ripped my pack from me, and left. I got to my feet, world spinning slowly. If I knew Harry, (and I sort of did), after checking my pack for money he would dump it, to spite me.I had marked
the direction he took, So I went after him at my best invalid speed. The beating didn't even hurt anymore, really, it was all a numb ache now. the only thing that concerned me was how hot I felt. It reminded me of that day I had stayed out on the hottest day of the year, during the fair.

Sure enough, a few alleys down, I found the contents of my pack flung all over the place, and the pack itself was up on a second floor fire escape. Of course, the ladder wasn't pulled down, and there was no way I could jump high enough to pull it down at the moment. Score one for Harry. I gathered up what I could and left it, I'd already wasted too much time.

I amused myself by counting the number of times I found myself on the pavement again (3). A few of those kicks must have hit my head without me noticing. By the time I reached Mr. William's door and pounded on it, my vision was at most a few feet, with a blood coated fog eating the rest of it, bit by bit.

****************************************************************

Devon was worried. In the 6 months he'd known him, the kid was never late, and never stood him up. Something had to have finally happened. So he waited, a bare old bulb providing a grubby circle of illumination before his back door. He waited on his feet, staring blankly at it. At 9:42, just as his feet were beginning to ache a little from standing in one place too long, an insistent but polite knock sounded upon the door. He looked through the peep hole out of habit, and sucked in a breath.

Shooting the bolt and throwing the door open so hard it bounced back into him painfully he leaped to catch the slight, bloody form exposed to the light. Broken lips parted in a slight grin as he eased the boy down.

"sorry I'm late Mr. Williams."

"Damn kid, what the hell happened to you?!?"

Devon slammed the door and shot the bolt before turning to take a look at the damage. Safety first. The kid was in a rough way. The gasping wheezes spoke of broken ribs, one wrist and hand was as grape hued and the size of a small ham... and his face! He eased the kid up again to drag him to the couch, and heard bones grind in the kids leg. Kid was tough though, didn't utter a single sound. His face paled another shade, but the smile stayed plastered on. This close Devon could feel the heat though, an intense burning fire across the kid's skin that he felt would burn him at any moment.

He would need help; a doctor... but who could he call? 911 would report it, and dump the kid into child services as soon as they could. Besides, he didn't trust those emergency room hacks at St. Micheal's, the closest hospital. A few too many friends
that went there for treatment died there for his liking. He dumped the kid on the couch as gently as his rubber knees would allow, taking note the kid was out. Making up his mind to call in that favor owed, he picked up his old phone and dialed.

******************************************************************************************

Sergei Kopov drank his nightly glass of vodka, ending the ritual he had enjoyed the last 10 years of his retirement. He had long since ceased worrying about whether that made him the drunkard his father had been. As was his wont, he reviewed the photos on his mantle, the snapshots of his life between sips. His brief stints at two olympic games, and the faded yellow ringside pictures, each of him and a champion or first rate challenger, taken in packed venues. Usually forgotten names now, like him. He'd even kept the working visa that had allowed him to leave the then U.S.S.R., for what was back then, a much better life.

He was a sentimental fool.

At one time, many knew his name. Sure he wasn't the boxers themselves, those fit athletes given to bludgeoning each other to death. But when a match was set, who else did one call, but Kopov, the greatest fight doctor of his day? Not bad for a peasant from
the Urals. In the days before exhaustive degrees, when doctors did not require 12 years of education to graduate and lists of medicines were not longer than war and peace, a man with only four years of higher education and many years of experience could stitch a face back together with the best of them.

Now of course, ever since his forced retirement for a meager pension, such was no longer the case.

The ritual was almost finished; he'd have to buy a new bottle in the morning. Which was why of course, his phone chose this moment to ring. He hadn't had any phone calls in weeks; not even from telemarketers, and now out of the blue, after he prepared for
bed? He knew it wouldn't be good. Cursing in strangely melodic Russian under his tainted breath, he shuffled his way to the phone.

"Da?"

"Sergei, it's me."

Devon Williams. One of those contenders; standing next to him in photo number 6, the edge of it cracked; he forgot the name of the place, but it was written painstakingly on the back. A lifelong 'friend' of his, who he sometimes played poker with. When he wasn't
busy telling him to piss off, that is. One of the few who stood by him during his fall.

"I need to call in that favor, Sergei."

It wasn't good.

"You call back tomorrow."

"Sergei, don't you dare. This can't wait. Come to my place... and bring your bag."

He knew it; trouble with a capitol T. No telling what Devon had gotten himself into. He sighed and hung up the phone, only having to reach down to grab his small black doctor's case, the one given him by his drunkard of a father. He took a moment to blow the dust from it before grabbing his coat and leaving.

******************************************************************************************

Someone had been in a fight, and for once, it wasn't one of the meatheaded gladiators he was used to seeing, but a young slip of a girl riding the edge of malnutrition. Young, her age was impossible to determine, though the causes for that were fleeting. Her face, bad as it looked, wouldn't even scar after he was done. All in all, the damage was superficial, he'd seen far worse than what was lying limply on the battered puke green couch in Devon's lounge.

Far more worrisome however, was her temperature. his hands could not sit on her skin for long, and his thermometer, an old one filled with mercury and capped with metal, burned his fingers when he retrieved it. there was no cause for it among her injuries, and
he'd seen this once before. Devon hovered nearby, his anxious scowl making those scars of his more visible.

"Ain't no cause for the fever doc, he's really sick. But the emergency room would likely toss her out. I knew I shouldn't have let him go this mornin'."

Sergei blew a sigh, ignoring the somewhat surprising gender revelation. He'd seen that before. He knew how well this would go over.

"You were right to call me, my friend. The hospital, they could not treat this, but I can. I have seen this before."

Once, and his treatment was like all his treatments, cobbled together from homeopathic remedies and guesswork... but his friend did not need to know that. Besides, it had worked. Devon stopped, wringing his hands and ignoring the grotesque pop of his stressed
knuckles.

"You have? What's she got?"

Sergei lit a cigar and started making a list of what he'd need before responding.

"Burnout, my friend; your little friend is a mutant."

(tbc)