Hospital Debauchery

Devon stepped off the jet, his boots hitting the smooth tarmac with a quiet thud that echoed a bit in the open space. Geneva air rushed at him right away, cool and sharp, like a splash of cold water after the stuffy warmth inside the plane. It carried that fresh mountain scent, mixed with a hint of jet fuel lingering in the breeze, and he took a deep breath, letting it clear his head.

The sky was turning that deep blue of early evening, stars just starting to poke through, and far off, the outline of the Alps loomed like silent guardians. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, still a little damp from the flight's adventures, and scanned the area, empty runway, a few ground crew milling about, nothing out of the ordinary. But then, cutting through the quiet, came the sound of footsteps, quick and determined, heading straight his way.

Two people closed in on him fast, their silhouettes sharp against the airport lights. The man was built like he spent his days lifting weights and dodging punches, middle-aged, maybe late forties, with a jaw that looked carved from stone and short-cropped hair going gray at the temples.

His black suit hugged his frame just right, not too tight but ready for action, and Devon spotted the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster under the jacket. An earpiece snaked down from his ear, barely visible, and his eyes, piercing blue swept over Devon and the surroundings in one smooth motion, like he was mapping out every possible threat. This guy screamed bodyguard, the kind who didn't talk much but got the job done.

Walking beside him was the woman, mid-fifties, carrying herself with the kind of poise that made you straighten up without thinking. Her hair was dark with silver streaks, twisted into a tight bun that sat low at the nape of her neck, not a flyaway in sight. Her face was all angles, high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips pressed into a line that said she didn't suffer fools.

Those eyes, dark and sharp, locked onto Devon like she was reading his entire life story in a glance. She wore a blazer over a crisp white blouse, the kind with subtle tailoring that screamed expensive but understated, matched with a pencil skirt that hit just below the knee. Her heels were practical, not too high. clicked against the ground with each step, setting a rhythm that felt almost military.

A slim briefcase dangled from one hand, and an iPad peeked out from under her arm. She looked like the type who ran boardrooms or orchestrated international deals, no nonsense, and was all about efficiency.

She reached him first, stopping a polite distance away, her posture ramrod straight. "Dr Devon," she said, her voice clear and clipped, with that subtle lilt that made every word sound precise, like it had been polished smooth. "Welcome to Geneva. I trust your flight was comfortable?"

There was a faint curve to her lips, not quite a smile, more like a professional courtesy, but her eyes stayed alert, assessing him up close now his rumpled clothes, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the easy way he stood there like he owned the place.

Devon nodded, flashing a quick grin that usually charmed people, but she didn't budge. "Yeah, it was smooth enough. And you are?"

"I'm Claudia Millet," she replied, extending a hand for a firm, no-frills shake, her grip strong, skin cool and dry. "Yvonne sent me personally to handle your arrival and stay. She wanted to ensure everything's taken care of down to the last detail." There was a pause, just long enough for her to let that sink in, hinting at Yvonne's influence without spelling it out. "And who is this?" Devon asked.

Claudia continued, tilting her head toward the big guy, "Markus Klein. He'll be your security escort."

Markus gave a short nod, his voice rumbling out deep and steady when he spoke. "Pleasure to meet you, sir." There was no handshake, just that vigilant stance, arms loose but ready, like he could spring into action if a bird flew too close. His accent was thicker, maybe German roots, but softened by years in Switzerland.

Devon sized him up probably ex-military, the type who'd seen real action and come out unflinching. Markus's eyes flicked to the jet behind Devon, then back to the empty tarmac, always scanning.

"We're both here for the duration," Claudia added, her tone leaving no room for debate. "To keep you safe, handle logistics, and make sure you get the most out of your time in Geneva. Yvonne was insistent, nothing left to chance." She said it with a touch of dry emphasis on "insistent," like she'd dealt with Yvonne's demands before and knew the drill.

Devon chuckled inwardly, it felt a bit overkill for a medical exhibit trip, but hey, if it meant smooth sailing, he wouldn't complain.

Claudia's gaze shifted to the leather duffel bag hanging from Devon's shoulder, scuffed from travel, holding his laptop, a few files, and whatever else he'd tossed in last minute. She raised a hand, fingers elegant but commanding, and waved it subtly. "If you don't mind," she said, and before Devon could respond, Markus was there, his large hand reaching out. "I'll take that, sir," Markus murmured, voice low and respectful, lifting the bag off Devon's shoulder like it was a feather.

He slung it over his own broad back, adjusting it without a sound, then stepped back into position. Devon felt a flicker of amusement, VIP treatment, alright, but it made him wonder what kind of threats Yvonne thought he'd face at a fancy conference.

"Shall we?" Claudia said, already pivoting on her heel, leading the way with that confident stride.

Devon fell in beside her, Markus trailing a step behind, close enough to protect but not crowd. The tarmac felt vast underfoot, the jet's engines still winding down with a faint whine in the background. They headed toward a sleek black limousine parked off to the side, its long body stretching out like a shadow, chrome accents catching the lights and throwing back sparkles. The driver was a nondescript guy in a dark uniform and cap, stood by, but Markus waved him off with a quick gesture, opening the rear door himself. "After you," Claudia said to Devon, her voice polite but firm.

Devon ducked in, sliding across the plush leather seats that enveloped him like a hug soft, heated, with that new-car smell mixed with a hint of leather polish. The interior was pure luxury, dark wood panels, a mini bar stocked with crystal glasses and bottled water, soft ambient lighting casting a warm glow.

He settled in, stretching his legs, feeling the tension from the flight start to ease. Claudia slipped in next, graceful and composed, sitting across from him rather than beside, giving him space. She crossed her legs at the ankles, setting her briefcase on the floor and pulling the iPad onto her lap. Markus closed the door with a solid thunk, then climbed into the front, his frame filling the passenger seat as he exchanged a quiet word with the driver.

The limo came alive with a gentle rumble, pulling away from the airstrip in a smooth arc, tires whispering over the pavement. Outside, the airport faded into the distance, replaced by the first glimpses of Geneva, neat streets lined with old stone buildings, streetlamps casting golden pools of light, the occasional flash of Lake Geneva's water reflecting the city lights like a mirror.

Devon watched it slide by, the rhythm of the car lulling him already, but Claudia was all business, her fingers tapping the iPad screen to life.

"Let's get you up to speed on the schedule," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the engine. "I know it's been a long flight, but better to hit the ground running." She glanced at him, her expression neutral, but there was a spark of understanding in her eyes like she got the jet lag grind. "The Brave and Brightest Exhibit starts in two days, so we've built in some buffer time. It's a full-month affair, packed with sessions that could really spotlight your work. Tomorrow evening, dinner with Yvonne at Le Cygne, seven o'clock, prime table by the water. It's intimate, great for catching up."

She scrolled down, her nail clicking softly. "Then the exhibit proper opening keynote, your panel on day three, networking receptions almost every night. We've slotted in some downtime maybe a walk by the lake, or a quick tour of the town if you're interested."

Devon leaned back, the leather creaking under him, nodding along as she detailed it all the gala dinners with international bigwigs, site visits to cutting-edge labs, even a optional boat cruise on the lake for mingling. Her voice was steady, almost rhythmic, painting a picture of a whirlwind month that sounded equal parts exciting and exhausting.

Markus chimed in once from the front, his deep voice carrying back: "Security's tight at all venues, sir. No worries there."

Claudia nodded in agreement, adding, "And your hotel the d'Angleterre, lakefront suite. Best views in the city, full amenities. If you need anything adjusted earlier wake-ups, specific meals just let me know."

But as she spoke, the words started to blur for Devon.

The limo's gentle sway over the roads, the soft thrum of the tires, the dimming lights outside it all conspired to pull him under. His eyelids grew heavy, the weight of the travel hitting hard, and he felt his head tip back against the cushioned rest. Claudia's voice faded into a distant hum, like background music, and before he could fight it, he was asleep, instant, his breathing slowing to a steady rhythm, one hand limp on the seat beside him.

Claudia trailed off mid-sentence, her eyes lifting from the screen to his slumped form. She watched him for a moment, her face a mask of calm neutrality, there was no judgment, just observation, like this was par for the course with high-flyers like him.

She let out a slow, measured breath, the kind that released a touch of unspoken tension, and placed the iPad gently on the seat next to her. The limo pressed on, weaving through quieter streets now, the city unfolding in pockets of light and shadow.

She reached into her blazer pocket, pulling out a compact phone, the screen lighting up with a soft beep.

Tapping a contact, she held it to her ear, keeping her voice low, barely above a whisper, as the car hummed along. Markus caught her eye in the rearview but stayed silent, focused on the road ahead, the driver's hands steady on the wheel.

The call connected quick. "Devon Aldridge has landed in Geneva," Claudia said, her words crisp and to the point, carrying that unflappable professionalism. "I'll keep the Velvet Circle posted on any other activity that occurs." She ended it just as fast, no goodbyes needed, slipping the phone back into place. Her gaze drifted to Devon again, noting the faint crease in his brow even in sleep, the way his chest rose and fell. Then she turned to the window, the glittering expanse of Lake Geneva coming into view now, its waters dark and mysterious under the night sky.