There is a secret cult that targets homeless veterans to harvest their organs. Only a small group of rogue surgeons with the help of a homeless veteran stands in their way. What now?

A homeless man with no legs stands in a cold, dark alley only illuminated by a streetlight. He had just finished a long day of panhandling with nothing to show for it. He had been on the streets for a long time but he remembered the day he lost his legs when he was in Afghanistan. He had no sensation in his amputated limbs which meant it happened a while back. He would often lay in bed wondering the reason for his existence. He should be dead. He should be with his brothers that died in Afghanistan. He shouldn’t be alive with no purpose in life. He was just another statistic; another homeless veteran begging for scraps on the street. The cold Washington air pierced through his dirty trench coat and tattered pants. His fingers were cold and blue. He didn’t have any gloves to keep his hands warm. Why would he? He didn’t have anywhere to keep them. They would be stolen at the shelter. He looked down at his empty bottle of gin. He had no money. He needed something to keep him warm. He had to find a way to get some liquor. He had to combat the biting wind howling through the cold alley. A woman wearing a business suit walked down the road. She was probably coming from the nearby hospital. He would ask her for some spare change. She wouldn’t give any. He knew that. No one gave homeless people money any more. Not since that story about how most homeless don’t use the money on food and other essential items but rather on tobacco and alcohol. Believe what the media says. He was an alcoholic. A drunk. A beggar. Nevertheless, he still tried. He always had. He asked her for some spare change. She tried to push him away but she tripped. She fell with force onto the wet, cold ground. She screamed trying to push the homeless man off of her. She should be grateful. She fell on him. Had she fallen on the cold ground she would have been soaked. The homeless man was soaked; not her pristine white pants. She should be grateful. Yeah right. She pushed him off of her and ran down the street screaming. She looked back and noticed the homeless man had no legs. She stopped running and stopped screaming. She turned around and started walking towards him. She was calm. She was scared. She was frightened. She didn’t know what to do. She reached in her purse and pulled out a twenty. Here you go mister. The homeless man took it without a word and started to drink. It was the first time anyone wasn’t scared of him. Everyone was always afraid of him. They ignored him. They called him horrible and disgusting things. They walked past him. This woman was the first person to talk to him. He looked at her. She was beautiful. She looked worried. It was the first time he had seen a woman up close since he enlisted. It was the first time he had talked to a woman in a long time. He felt a part of him die. He felt the warmth spread throughout his heart. It had been dead for a long time. A long time since he had seen his wife before he left to Afghanistan. He had been a newlywed when he enlisted. He remembered the last time he had seen her. It was before deployment. She was crying at the airport. He promised her that he would come back. He promised her that he would be okay. She believed him. He got flowers and chocolate. He said good bye and kissed her. He walked through the security and never saw her again. He never saw her again because he never came back. He was in Afghanistan for two years. Two years of his life wasted. Twenty-four months. Seven hundred and thirty days. Seventeen thousand four hundred and eighty hours. He will never see that part of his life again. He will never see his wife again. He will never see his mother again. He will never see his brother again. He will never see his friends again. He missed everything. His mother and father died thinking that their son was a hero. His wife died thinking that her husband was overseas giving it his all for our country. He came back broken. He came back to nothing. He had nothing. Remembering all of these things, he opened his bottle of gin and started to drink. It was a good day today. For the first time in a long time, he was content. He had money to buy liquor. He had a good day. He remembered his wife. He remembered her smile. He remembered her laugh. He felt her caress. He remembered his mother and father. He remembered his brother. He was content with all of the good memories. He took another swig of gin. It was a warm and cozy feeling. He felt nice. It was okay. He lit a cigarette and took a drag. He was content. He was warm. He felt nice. The world wasn’t such a bad place. The world was a great place. Life was great. He was an American. He had freedom. He could do anything he wanted and no one could tell him otherwise. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He was starting to feel nauseous. He stood up but couldn’t stand. He fell and started to throw up. The gin was coming out completely. He couldn’t keep it in. The warmth was gone. He was on the cold, wet ground. He felt the cold air pierce through his skin. His vision was blackening out. It was a blur. Everything was a blur. He was starting to black out.<br><br>When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a familiar face. It was the lady from the alley. She looked different today. She was still clean but she looked worried. She was sitting next to him in a chair. There were other people in the room. They were all in scrubs. This must be a hospital room. The lady held his hand.<br><br>“What happened?” he asked.<br><br>“When I saw you collapse, I called the ambulance and they sent you here. Are you okay?” she replied.<br><br>“Yes. I think so. The cheap gin must have gotten to me.”<br><br>She smiled.<br><br>“Don’t worry. I took care of the bill.” She replied. “By the way, what’s your name?”<br><br>“My name is Brandon.” He said.<br><br>“Well Brandon, you are a very lucky man.” She said.<br><br>“Why? I’m homeless and broke. I’m on the streets. Luckier than who?” he replied.<br><br>“Well, I obviously didn’t make a good first impression. I’m Dr. Emily Thompson. I work here at the hospital.” She said.<br><br>“Oh. Nice to meet you.” Brandon replied.<br><br>Dr. Thompson wanted to break the ice. “Listen Brandon. I’m sorry. I should have helped you. I should have acted differently. I should have been more compassionate. I didn’t think I owed you anything. You’re homeless. I thought you were stealing money. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just thought I owed you nothing,” she said.<br><br>Brandon didn’t want to talk anymore. He wanted to be alone. He pulled the covers off of himself and swung his legs off the table. Dr. Thompson tried to stop him. He brushed her off. No one was going to talk to him like that. No one was going to say that they were sorry just to make themselves feel better. No one was going to say that they were sorry when they had done nothing wrong.<br><br>“I don’t need you.” He said.<br><br>“Yes you do. You can’t just leave.” She replied.<br><br>“Why not?” he asked.<br><br>“They haven’t done final examination. They need to make sure you’re okay. If you leave, you could die. I would feel responsible.” She replied.<br><br>“Why? You owe me nothing. I’m nothing. I’m just a homeless man stealing from innocent people.” He said.<br><br>Dr. Thompson started to cry. She was upset. She had done something horrible. She was human. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone does things that they regret. She regretted what she had done.<br><br>“No Brandon. I’m sorry. You are a veteran. You risked your life for this country. I do owe you something.” She said.<br><br>“Please. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just need to go. I need to get out of here.” He said.<br><br>“Listen Brandon. Please. I’m sorry. You are a hero. You deserve to be treated like one. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I didn’t think you were going to be here. Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were going to hear me. I didn’t think you were going to understand me.” She said.<br><br>“Why would I not understand you?” he asked.<br><br>“Because.” She replied.<br><br>Brandon stopped. Something didn’t seem right. He had a feeling that something was going to happen. He felt a sensation that made him stop. He felt that something was wrong. He stopped trying to leave.<br><br>“Why are you still in here?” A tall man in scrubs walked into the room. He was a large man. He had a beard. He was tall. He was a doctor. He had that attitude.<br><br>“I sent her out. She shouldn’t be in here.” He replied.<br><br>“I wanted to stay and talk to him.” Dr. Thompson replied.<br><br>“Well, she doesn’t have to. I’ll call someone else.” He replied.<br><br>“No! I want to stay.” She said.<br><br>The doctor looked at her. He didn’t seem mad at her. He seemed to understand her. He wanted to say something but couldn’t. He shook his head and walked out of the room. Dr. Thompson turned and looked at Brandon.<br><br>“No. I want to stay. I