Breathing again deeply, Morgan pressed against the plush rope to get some space between him and the people waiting. Steeling himself to address the people, he said loudly, “Excuse me, my friend is in a lot of pain, about to collapse, and needs immediate healing. I need to get some rations packs to pay for this. Is there any way I can move to the front of the line to buy some rations packs?” Everyone, except the man next in line, eyed him wearily for a second before motioning that he could go to the front.

  The man at the front of the line scoffed and said, “No way, bro, you can wait like the rest of us.” He was about 6 feet tall, young, and wearing a pair of brown slacks and a brown vest over a cream dress shirt. Morgan walked towards him, leaving Frank at the back of the line.

  As Morgan neared the young man, he must have sensed his presence because he turned a sneer on his face. He was classically handsome, and his brown hair was mussed and styled with gel. As soon as he met Morgan’s eyes, the sneer disappeared. Morgan imagined what he looked like. His hair was caked and matted with dried and sticky gore; the tatters of clothes he still had were stained with blood and dirt. He had been covered head to toe in more bodily fluids in the last twelve hours than he had ever seen in his whole life.

  He was out of patience, and the fire in his chest was roaring to do anything to be the next at the podium. Morgan took a final step toward the man, getting uncomfortably close. The man had to look up just slightly to maintain eye contact. He wanted the man to do anything to give him a reason to release that fire.

  “It would be a great favor to me if you would allow me to use the podium next,” Morgan said in a quiet, barely controlled voice filled with subtle menace.

  Swallowing quickly, the young man tried to step backwards, raising his hands in a placating gesture, but hit the wall behind him. Looking around frantically with wide eyes, he left the line and walked away quickly, glancing over his shoulder nervously. Morgan bowed slightly to the rest of the people in line and walked up to the podium as the woman who was there left.

  Morgan didn't reply, just placed his hand on the plate of the podium. Touching the plate opened a new interface that showed hundreds of items and their cost.

  Sophia told him,

  Morgan thought, frowning.

  Morgan thought for a split second,

  Sophia sounded offended, She finished. “

  Morgan frowned, about to tell her they didn't have decades. “But,

  Only seconds had passed since he placed his hand on the podium. While Sophia did her thing, he figured he might as well do the shopping. He placed four ration packs in the cart.

  Morgan was in awe.

  Sophia said smugly,

  He thought.

  Morgan completed the transaction for the four ration packs. Paying eight common tokens. He then walked to the clerk, who asked how many rooms he needed.

  “Just one, and some healing,” Morgan replied, presenting the man with two of the ration boxes. The clerk took the offered items and then scribbled a note on two pieces of paper, one white, one red.

  “Take this,” he said, indicating the red note, “To the end of the hallway. In the garden is the healing tent,” he pointed back the way Morgan had come, past where Frank still slumped against the wall.

  Morgan mumbled his thanks and, placing the two remaining boxes in his backpack, made his way to pick up Frank. They exited the door at the end of the hall into a small enclosed courtyard about 30 feet wide on each side. In the middle was a large canopy tent with a few people sitting in a cluster of chairs. There was another canopy with cots in the middle.

  As they approached, a man walked forward to help Morgan with the weakened Frank. Holding up the red ticket in one hand, Morgan helped lay Frank in a cot. A young girl with black hair took the ticket and then began to look over Frank’s wounds. Removing the wrap around his hand, the healer bit her lip. Morgan, peaking over her shoulder, was, however, pleasantly surprised. A small portion of Frank’s hand had already scabbed over and was further healed than it would usually be.

  The healer placed her hands on either side of Frank’s without touching him. She closed her eyes and muttered something, then a blinding flash shocked Morgan so that he almost exclaimed out loud. Spots of darkness floating in his eyes, he looked down to see the red, angry puckered skin freshly healed where Frank’s missing fingers used to be. He would still only have a thumb and pointer finger on that hand, but he was no longer in danger of bleeding to death.

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  The healer then removed the tourniquet and said a few more words under her breath, running her hands along his forearm. Her hands glowed, but there was no blinding flash.

  “He is good now,” She said, smiling up at Morgan. He hadn't realized it before with the stress and worry about Frank, but the girl was absolutely gorgeous, and her smile made her face light up.

  “Uhhh, uhh, thank you.” Morgan stammered out, growing incredibly self-conscious of the state of his clothes and the intense lack of personal hygiene in the last day.

  She bounced up and walked back to the group of people sitting under the other canopy. A few were giving Morgan and his tattered cloths curious glances.

  Gathering Frank and walking him back into the Academy, they went up the stairs to the men’s dorm. A man there took the ticket and told him they had room 213, four doors down from the stairs. In the small, comfortable room was a bed, a wooden chair, a desk, and a shallow closet. Morgan helped Frank as he unceremoniously poured himself into the bed. Placing Frank’s backpack on the desk, he turned to ask how he was feeling, but was stopped by the sound of a deep rasping snore.

  As Frank snored deeply in the background, Morgan sat at the desk to think. He could access the store through his interface by simply asking Sophia to open the store. He decided that buying some new clothes and getting cleaned up should be the first thing to do on his list. He stank, and he knew it.

  Scanning the shop, he found a long list of styles of clothing, from fur-lined explorer’s cloaks to Togas. He decided to ask Sophia.

  The list shrank from hundreds of items to a few dozen.

  A long-sleeve shirt was listed for 2 common tokens, with a 2-token tax.

  he was reminded to ask.

  She said this last part with a touch of triumph.

  Morgan began to rub his chin thoughtfully. Then smelled the foul odor from his hand and quickly put it in his lap,

  In a few minutes, Sophia helped him pick out not only a few clothes and shower stuff, but also a new, larger pack. Leaving the pack in the cart until later, Morgan checked out. Altogether, it cost 28 common tokens. After leaving the room with his clean clothes and shower stuff with a large towel, Morgan realized his largest mistake. There was no power, so no running water.

  Asking the clerk, a skinny old man with a blue armband, standing in the hallway, what to do about bathing, he was informed that they had established a communal bathing room in the downstairs area where the pool was. Men and women alternated hours for use. He had 28 minutes left before they would be kicked out to make room for the women.

  Outside, in another enclosed courtyard, were two massive tubs of water over a fire. You could grab large buckets of hot and cold water and a large ladle as you entered. Morgan grabbed a hot bucket and a ladle as he entered. Inside the pool room, one wall and an angled ceiling were all windows, letting in sufficient light for the large room. Makeshift stalls had been thrown up, basically just sheets on poles dividing every four feet into a personal space you could close.

  Morgan removed his black shoes and entered a stall, closing the sheet behind him. There was a hand brush with thick bristles, a small hook to hang things, and a wooden bench to sit on. After hanging his clean clothes and weapon belt on the hook, the first thing he did was just pour a ladle of hot water over his head. It was hotter than he thought it would be, but it felt amazing.

  The water came off his clothes and skin, a dark, cloudy brown. After the first rinse, Morgan removed his old, tattered clothes and placed them in a pile off to the side. They would go straight into the trash after. He scrubbed his shoes and then himself.

  As he scrubbed his head with the brush, he could feel dried chunks and congealed bits being scraped out of his hair. The black and red blood made his skin into obscene marbled granite. He could feel his harsh, intense scrubbing removing the outer layer of his hardened skin. He maniacally and obsessively scrubbed until he felt the itch of his regeneration repairing the skin on his neck and arms. He was breathing heavy and irregularly as he watched the bloodied and cloudy water start to run clean.

  He found himself silently crying. Tears running down his face, mixing with the healing waters, the weight on his soul lifting. The water and soap did more than just clean his skin; the stress and emotional wounds he had been bottling up were partially cleansed as well. He poured more of the hot water over his head, releasing more tension as it took the trauma down the drain with it.

  He was roused from his catatonic state after his cathartic scrubbing by a loud voice declaring they had five minutes to leave. Quickly, he finished scrubbing his head for like the fifteenth time. The towel he used to dry himself was warm and comforting. His new clothes were a thick wool material, he had never seen, that was strangely light and breathable. Everything had buttons or ties, no zippers. The pair of dark gray loose-fitting pants and a black double-breasted shirt that hung to his knees. The shirt buttoned on the side of his chest inside the shirt, then the flap was closed, and it buttoned on the other side. It was covered by a wide brown belt that Sophia insisted would help with the leather weapon belt chaffing.

  The outfit made him feel like the chefs he had seen on TV. With everything on now, he felt a little ridiculous, but he was clean and a little bit more whole.