Pain and Perplexity

Michael slowly regained consciousness, his senses dulled by the throbbing pain coursing through his body.

 A voice cut through the haze, drawing his attention. "Oh? You're awake?" The voice held a hint of amusement. 

Blinking against the harsh light, Michael struggled to sit up, grunting in discomfort. "Where am I?" he managed to mutter, his voice hoarse with pain.

 "Easy now," the voice reassured him.

 As the blur cleared, Michael found himself face to face with a tall man in a police uniform, complete with a mustache, sunglasses, and a police hat. 

The man looked around, his expression puzzled. "Somewhere in the slums," he replied, his tone uncertain. "Not the best neighborhood, as you can see."

 Michael winced as he attempted to stand, only to collapse back down in agony.

The man observed him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. 

"You're quite the fighter, kid," he remarked, "Although, you did take quite a beating. I wouldn't take that if I were you." He leaned in closer, "But you're just a kid, so I'll let it slide." He whispered like it was some sort of a big embarrassment. 

Despite the pain radiating through his body, Michael mustered the strength to lock eyes with the man before him. "Do you not have other jobs to complete, old man?" he quipped.

"Whoa there," the man replied, clearly taken aback. "I'm as young as they get. My age would blow you away if I told you. Besides, the other policemen can't keep up with me. I do as I please."

 Michael raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Enlighten me with your age," his grip tightened on his injured ribs.

 "That, I cannot answer," the man replied with a cryptic smile, "You want a donut?" He extended his hand, offering a chocolate donut.

"No," Michael answered matter-of-factly.

"Bummer." the man said, his disappointment fleeting as he swiftly devoured the treat. "Oh my, oh do I love these sweet round things. So glad I decided to be a police officer."

He turned his attention back to Michael, who regarded him with a mixture of disgust and disinterest.

"What?" the man questioned, thinking if he did something wrong.

"How are you a policeman?" Michael asked, fed up with him.

"I don't know, probably short on staff." the man replied nonchalantly, shrugging off the question. "What's your name?" 

"Michael Truce," Michael responded tersely. 

"Hmm..." The man straightened up, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Where did that name come from?"

 "Seriously?" Michael scoffed, a wave of pain flashing across his features. "Is now really the time for questions?" 

The man chuckled, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "Fair point. So, where do you people go for healing?"

 "Clinic or Hospital," Michael replied through gritted teeth, the effort of maintaining the conversation evident in his strained voice. 

"Aha! I knew I was guessing right," the man exclaimed triumphantly. "The slums likely don't have much to offer. Let's head to the central city instead." 

Michael hesitated, his mind already anticipating the exorbitant costs of seeking medical treatment in the bustling metropolis. "I can not afford that." he protested.

The man waved off his concerns with a casual flick of his hand. "Don't worry about that," he reassured. "I have my ways with money." 

Michael regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. "And who, exactly, are you?" he inquired.

The man grinned with amusement, his red eyes twinkling with delight from under the rim of his sunglasses. "Just call me... " He paused, considering his response. "Well, for now, let's just say I'm a friend in unexpected places."

 With surprising strength, he effortlessly scooped Michael up in one arm and started running.

 "You can't run to the city like this," Michael protested weakly, his voice barely audible over the strong rush of wind.

"You'd be surprised," the man replied, a hint of amusement coloring his tone as he effortlessly navigated through the narrow alleys of the slums, evading all the oncoming hordes of people with not a single drop of sweat.

"How fast are you?" muttered Michael, his voice barely audible over the rush of wind.

 Surprisingly, the man heard him. "Fast enough," he replied with a smirk.

"How can I trust you?" Michael pressed, his skepticism evident in his tone. 

"Good question for a 9-year-old," the man remarked casually. "Do you want me to drop you somewhere?" 

"No," Michael replied straightaway. 

"Exactly," the man interjected, cutting him off. "Plus, it's dangerous for you, I suppose." 

"Danger-" Michael's words trailed off as his body succumbed to the strain, and he passed out once again, his consciousness slipping away as darkness engulfed him.