Shadow Slave

Chapter 2490: Heal Thyself

'I am being strangled.'

Saint found herself strangely calm despite the fact that someone had wrapped a garrotte around her neck, as if situations like this were nothing new to her — familiar and trifling, rather.

She noted the strangeness of her reaction and filed it away to be analyzed later, reasonably assessing that now was not the time for self-reflection.

Her instincts kicked in, proving that countless hours of training had not been in vain. Before Saint could even register what was happening, her body moved on its own, and she just barely managed to insert her hand between the cold garrote and her neck before the sharp string drew taut.

The rain obscured everything around, its rustle drowning all the sounds. Light was pouring out of the hospital's windows no more than a hundred metres away, but even if Saint screamed, no one would hear her — not that she could scream with all the pressure being put on her throat.

'Ah…'

The assailant pulled on the garrote, and Saint suddenly couldn't breathe anymore. The string bit into her fingers, threatening to sever them, and she felt blood flowing down her wrist.

Despite the horror of the situation, Saint felt a pang of annoyance. The sleeve of her trench coat, the blouse beneath… washing out blood stains was going to be such a hassle. The trench coat might survive, considering its hydrophobic coating, but the fabric of the expensive blouse would be positively ruined.

But then again…

Maybe she would not have to wash her clothes.

Because she would be dead.

'Somebody is trying to kill me.'

But who?

A violent robber? A deranged patient? An obsessive stalker?

Anything and everything was possible.

She could feel his mass behind her, pressing her into into his heavy body and pulling on the garrote with monstrous strength — no matter how much time Saint had spent exercising and honing her body, she would never be able to overpower an opponent who was that much larger, that much heavier, and that much stronger on top of that.

"Akhhhh…"

A hoarse, undignified noise escaped from her lips.

'Damnation.'

Leaning against the assailant to support her weight, Saint raised her leg… and slammed the sole of her boot against the door of her car.

Newton's Third Law of Motion — for every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. Saint had unleashed a potent force upon the car, and was pushed in the opposite direction with equal force.

The car did not move, obviously, but Saint and the man strangling her were thrown back.

He collided with the next car in the row, denting it, and lost his balance. At the same time, Saint slammed the back of her head into his face.

The pull on the garrote weakened for a split second, which allowed her to slip free.

Saint rolled away while feverishly gulping air. She did not care about dirtying her clothes in the puddles anymore — all she cared about was being able to breathe once again. ŕά𝐍𝖔ＢƐȿ

Steadying herself with one arm, she attempted to plan her next actions carefully.

…Everyone had a plan until they got kicked in the face.

Someone's heavy boot collided with her cheekbone, sending Saint back to the ground. A moment later, a vicious kick landed on her ribs, throwing her into the side of the car.

"Ah, crap. Hey, dimwit, can't you even handle a girl?"

"Shut your mouth! I think she broke my nose, dammit!"

Saint heard the voices through her daze.

'There are two of them.'

She gritted her teeth, then used the car for support and slowly rose to her feet.

One of the two dark figures looked at her with a hint of surprise.

"Look at that, she stood up. We got a tough one this time, huh?"

The second lowered his hand, revealing a bloodied face, and gestured to her angrily.

"Who cares? Get her!"

The first man grinned.

"Tough ones last longer. I like it."

A second later, the blade of a sharp hunting knife glinted in his hand.

Saint stared at the knife with a strange indifference.

She had learned countless techniques on how to defend herself against an armed opponent.

However, every instructor she had ever worked with told her the same thing:

'The best defence against a knife… is to run away.'

Running away was the optimal solution.

So, she did exactly that.

Turning around, Saint dashed away.

The ground was slippery, and her designer boots had heels. Nevertheless, her form and speed were quite impressive — by the time the two assailants reacted, she had already created a bit of distance between them and herself.

They lunged in pursuit without wasting any time, though.

'Run, run, run…'

Saint wished she could have sprinted toward the hospital, but sadly, the assailants had barred that direction. So, she was running toward the road instead.

Somehow, it felt wrong. Logically, Saint understood that running away from two larger, stronger, better-armed enemies was the right thing to do… but something inside of her rebelled against that idea.

She wanted to live, though, so she forced that inexplicable feeling down.

By the time Saint reached the road, the assailants had practically caught up with her. She had hoped that there would be cars passing by, but sadly, the street was dark and empty… no, not quite.

There was a car parked across the road, and the driver was outside, smoking as he hid the cigarette in his palm to shield it from the rain.

Hope!

Saint raised a hand, wishing to call out to the stranger.

But the words froze on her lips.

Perhaps it was because of his black gloves, or perhaps it was because of the glassy, eerie look in his eyes… but she instinctively knew that the man was not going to help her.

On the contrary, he was one of the attackers. Their driver, perhaps.

'There are… three of them.'

And she was surrounded.

The smoking man noticed her by then. He frowned, tossed the cigarette away, and lunged across the road, leaving her nowhere to run.

'What do I do?'

Saint froze, feeling a little desperate.

…In the next moment, an old black car appeared out of the rain, sending the third assailant flying over its hood. His body struck the road with a dull thud and remained laying there, broken and motionless, while the car skidded to a stop.

Its door opened, and someone whom Saint had never expected to see climbed out of it.

It was… the man whose number she had recently blocked, Detective Sunless.

She stared at her former patient with wide eyes, feeling both relieved and confused to see him.

And happy, as if him being there was the most natural thing in the world.

Not quite a guardian angel...

Wearing dark clothes and an even darker expression, her personal devil looked behind Saint and scowled.

"Hey, bastards. Why are you bothering my therapist? Are you two degenerate lowlifes tired of living, or what? If you are, stop wasting everyone's time and come here. I'll kill you."

He paused for a moment and winced.

"I mean… I'll arrest you? Yeah. That is what I will… no, you know what, I am not going to lie. I'll definitely kill you…"