Phu!!
Little Zabi forcefully kicked the hospital door open, carrying his fainted father on his back. His legs were tired and shaking, the image of him full of trauma—
like a car carrying more weight than it could possibly handle.
Earlier
After he stopped shaking like a live fish brought to land, the sight of his father finally at rest brought back his senses. But a string of fear of what might have happened clung to his very soul. Swiftly, he carried him out of the apartment. Their newly found neighbours stared at them with judging eyes, as if they'd seen something disgusting. Instead of helping the overwhelmed little kid, they moved away from him like he had some kind of infectious disease.
"Taxi!" he called, his hand stretched out with the thumb raised—the universal sign to stop. His father was on his back, but for ten minutes none of the taxis stopped. They moved past him like he didn't exist.
Pedestrians on the street paused their journeys and activities, their eyes locked on him as he stood frozen like a statue.
Pointing fingers.
Taking photos.
But none with even a shred of sympathy to help him.
Tears began to fall, hopelessness flooding his consciousness.
"If I knew where the hospital was, I would've tried to go by myself. But the way these people are looking at me, they don't intend to help me in any way," he pondered, his eyes blurred with sadness.
Everything was going to fail.
No hope.
No family to look up to.
He was all alone.
Until—
Vroom!
A taxi pulled over exactly where he stood, the radio blasting music in the background. For a second he thought the driver was lost, but when he saw his face a memory rose in his heart. It was the same taxi man who had dropped them from the airport.
His cheeks brightened, a shimmer of life appearing in his eyes.
"Get in now!" the driver shouted, snapping Zabi out of whatever death-filled daydream had consumed him. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pushing the back door open.
With haste he rushed in, settling his father on the seat before climbing in himself.
Phu.
He closed the door.
Vroom.
The car took off, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lowering the volume.
The driver's eyes shifted between the road and the fainted foreigner. His expression said it all—he was curious, but didn't know how to ask respectfully. One glimpse at Zabi and anyone could see it. The boy had gone through a lot.
"Thanks for carrying us."
"No big deal. I always treat my customers the same!" he said cheerfully—more cheerful than he had been the first time they met. Perhaps he was trying to lighten the mood.
"The hospital, right?"
He checked the top mirror to see the back seat.
"Yes."
"I figured," he replied.
"Don't worry, kid. He's going to be okay. We have excellent doctors here!"
The confidence in his voice was so strong that even a stranger could feel how proud he was of the government's system.
After two minutes of fast, ambulance-like driving, they arrived at the hospital.
"Thank you for helping us," Zabi said, extending cash toward the driver.
"No need. Consider this my get-well gift."
In seconds, Zabi rushed into the hospital.
......
The hospital was half crowded, with waiting chairs in the corridor leading to the receptionist's table.
Just like the streets, judging eyes clung to him as if he were some kind of magnet for hate.
"Nurse, please, can you help him? He started shaking then fainted!" Zabi pleaded, his eyes blurred with tears.
The nurse looked at him—sympathy and care clouding her eyes, the very elements many inside the hospital lacked. She reached for the hospital telephone, punched in some numbers, and spoke urgently:
"We have an emergency. I repeat, we have an emergency—patient shook vigorously then fainted!"
Suddenly, two nurses with an emergency bed and a doctor rushed toward Zabi, as did the receptionist. They lifted his father off Zabi's overwhelmed back and placed him on the bed.
For once, relief washed over Zabi's mind, a massive weight lifting off his shoulders as doctors finally attended to his father.
"Has he ever done this before?" a tall doctor asked while connecting a drip to his arm.
"No, he hasn't," Zabi replied.
"Okay. We're going to check him up. And don't worry—he'll be okay. We specialize in these kinds of cases."
He gave the boy a reassuring nod.
They hurried off with his father toward an operating room, another doctor checking his heartbeat as they went. Zabi stood there, nodding, while the receptionist placed a hand on his shoulder with almost motherly sympathy.
But inside, Zabi felt something completely different.
His father was finally going to receive the aid he desperately needed.
A ray of light in the tombs of darkness.
Suddenly—
Phu!!
Another hospital bed burst through the entrance, rolling fast down the corridor. Everyone's attention, including Zabi's, snapped toward the door. The entrance was loud and unusual.
Four doctors and nurses accompanied the bed, arguing intensely among themselves. Behind them were two policemen and eight suited guards.
Everyone in the waiting area stood up in respect for the chubby man lying on the bed. He wore a fancy suit—a priceless one only the rich could afford. Whoever he was, he was important like hell.
"We need the neurons team!" one of the incoming doctors barked, his voice rough like a soldier's.
"Some just went in with a patient, but others are in the office!"
"Who cares about a mere patient? This is the Mayor we're talking about! Gather them all at once, and tell the others to discard the patient immediately!" the doctor ordered, not a hint of care in his words.
The words shocked Zabi instantly. A sting pierced his heart like a blade.
"He will die if he doesn't get attended to!" the receptionist protested.
"Then so be it. The Mayor is our priority!"
The man didn't even flinch.
And it wasn't just him—the men and women with him, even the policemen, all felt the same.
"Mere patient... the Mayor is the priority... Who the fuck do they think they are? Just because he's more fortunate than all of us he should get extra treatment? My dad came here before him—he should wait in line. And there are more doctors; why take them all?"
Zabi raged internally—but that was all he could do. He had no strength to do otherwise.
"You can get the ones in the office, not the ones with the patient," the receptionist tried again.
"Do you want to lose your job or something? When the Mayor is in, all doctors in that area must be in the operating room—just as he requested. Even if some just stand there and watch or carry scissors, it doesn't matter as long as they're there!"
They crossed the corridor, heading straight toward the operating room where Zabi's father was.
Then—
as if it were unreal—
his father's bed was shoved out of the room like trash. His body showed clear signs the doctors were still working on him.
Zabi's eyes widened in disbelief.
"It's all the same... everywhere you go or live. The rich get treated with respect while the poor get thrown out like bags! I will change this fucking system. Just wait and see!"
Vengeance filled his eyes.
Bloodlust echoed so loudly that even the receptionist saw it instantly.
That moment—
right there—
was when Zabi, the Enforcer of the Turtle Companies, was created.