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Zach

“Are you a relative?” asks the triage doctor in Hungarian, Romanian, German and English.

“Oh! No! I don’t know her.”

“Angel of mercy,” she smiles.

“I shot her.”

The smile drops. “You are armed?”

“Yeah.” Zach checks his pants. “Whoops! No. Crap!”

“Your bulletproof vest. Police?”

“No, no, assassin. I was hired to kill this girl. Not that girl. Another girl. But she’s got this mommy complex so she left me with these guys, but then Hidebound, who’s supposed to be my–”

“You have a concussion,” she sighs.

“I’m still technically an intern,” says Zach, choking up for some stupid reason.

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