"Nurse, a word!" Ross inquired, his tone respectful — calm, yet carrying a weight that made anyone on the other side pay attention to the proposal that would follow.
The nurse turned her head in surprise, and so did the old man lying on a blue yoga mat. She had just heard a young voice — one not scrambled by age, different from what she usually heard every day.
Her hands still gripped the old man's legs, but her eyes froze. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. The voice wasn't just young — it came from a good-looking boy. Familiar too. She couldn't quite place him, but her eyes screamed, I want a piece of that all over. A sign Ross, unfortunately, never noticed.
"Yes?" she answered softly, dropping the man's legs, clearly transitioning into the new activity that had just unfolded.
"Didn't mean to intrude," Ross said, his tone respectful as he glanced at the old man, careful not to disrupt their moment. His words came with a polite hand gesture.
"You're not intruding. Please, continue," she said, placing her hands on her waist — like a woman waiting to hear another excuse she'd already memorized like a chorus.
"Alright, thanks," Ross replied. "I'm looking for Alexander Xavier." His voice came out steady — determined and serious at best.
"Never seen you here before. How are you related?" she asked, her question leaning more toward curiosity than professionalism.
"Ahm…" Ross muttered, turning his head slightly, his mind racing to find the perfect reply — one that wouldn't raise suspicion. The last thing he wanted was to be told he couldn't see Alexander because she didn't trust him.
"I have some business ties," he said finally, "especially with his daughter."
The nurse's eyes narrowed, fixed on him but curious too.
"I'm researching something," Ross added. "I just need his insights."
The words sealed his case.
"Let's go," she said, turning back to the old man on the mat. "I'm coming, Jake. Wait for me here."
"Don't worry about me, Brenda," he replied with a warm smile — proof of the easy bond they shared.
The two walked down the path, and every pair of eyes turned to them like stars walking a red carpet. The only thing missing were flashing cameras capturing each step.
Near the door an old woman winked at him while smiling seductively.
Some even peered from the windows — a testament to how rarely visitors came to the institution. And that is the problem with life: young people often forget the old, even though they're the very ones who once lifted them high and placed them where they stand today.
Beep. Beep.
Squeak.
The door opened, revealing a large, spacious room. A cold chill lingered on the walls — the kind that made your body wake up, perfect for early mornings. The air carried that hospital-like smell, yet somehow it blended perfectly with the homely feel of the place.
In front of them stood a receptionist's desk, a white computer on top, beside it a glass vase of fresh, colorful flowers. A woman sat behind the screen, her face half-hidden, wearing the same nurse's uniform — a quiet sign of how few workers the institution had. Four electronic staircases rose in opposite directions, each leading upward.
"Orvoy, load him up for Alex!" Brenda called out, her voice sharp, the same tone used when an emergency rolls through a hospital hallway.
Orvoy turned her head, shifting away from the barrier the computer created. Even with her glasses on, her eyes were visibly enlarged — then narrowed again, as if impressed by what she saw.
"What's his name?" she asked lowly, the rhythmic sound of typing echoing in the background. Perhaps she was tired, though it was still morning, so that was out of the question.
Ross froze. His eyes twitched — he'd forgotten about that part. "Should i say his real name or make one up?"His thoughts scrambled, but then he realized — why lie?
"Ross. Ross Mutt," he said, his tone calm, sounding like a government agent checking in at headquarters.
Orvoy lifted her eyes and locked them on him, studying his face for a few seconds, maybe to confirm her suspicions. Then she turned back to her computer, the glow reflecting off her glasses, the light revealing the faint reflection of the system she was recording into.
Typing sounds followed.
"Ross Mutt," she repeated, double-checking the entry.
Ding!
A soft chime echoed. She smiled. "You're good to go," she said, setting them free.
Brenda turned toward Ross, her eyes twitching as if signaling him to follow her up the staircase.
"Thanks," Ross said, a small smirk forming on his face.
"You're welcome," Orvoy replied, smirking back.
...
They arrived at a bright corridor. Its design and size imitated college dormitories. Whoever the contractor was, he'd clearly tried to fit a lot of people into a small space — using the little he had to work with.
"Go to room 8C," Brenda said. "I'd escort you all the way, but I've got to get back to Jake."
Ross nodded. She had already done more than enough to help him.
"No problem," he replied. "I will take it from here."
They exchanged nods before parting ways. Ross continued down the corridor alone. Despite its narrowness, the place carried a cold freshness — credit to whoever designed the ventilation system.
[Room 8C]
A golden label shined on the fifth door, clean and detailed, glowing under the light.
"Aaah," he took a deep breath. "This is it. The moment of truth."
He raised his hand and knocked —
Knock. Knock.
Silence.
Seconds passed no reply came.
"Did he hear me?" Ross thought to himself.
He lifted his hand again, ready to knock once more —
Then, Thud. Thud.
Footsteps echoed from inside, growing louder with each step. Whoever was in there had heard him.
"Yes, coming!" an old voice replied. Even from behind the door, Ross could tell he'd interrupted him during something, perhaps sleep. Age did that sometimes — dulled the ears but sharpened other senses.
Clink.
Squeak.
The door unlocked and opened.
And there they were — face to face.
Ross and the former Axis employee. The man wore a pink sleeping robe decorated with butterflies, his face lined with wrinkles, his hands showing the wear of time — yet still carrying a certain grace, a shadow of the glory he once possessed.