Ting…
Ting…
Ting…
The soft chime of the heart monitor echoed through the white hospital room, steady and mechanical, like a clock counting down nothing and everything at the same time.
A man in a brown medical coat stood near the bed, his glasses glowing faintly with shifting data streams reflected in their lenses.
The light inside them flickered as if dozens of screens were layered behind his eyes.
"So," he said calmly, his voice professional, measured, "how are you feeling now?"
The patient slightly tilted his head on the pillow and looked toward him.
"All better," he replied.
The doctor gave a small nod, satisfied.
"That's good to hear. In that case, you're cleared for discharge."
He raised his hand, and a translucent holographic screen unfolded into the air between them, glowing a pale blue as information automatically began to scroll.
"Oliver Pierce," the doctor read aloud.
"You were admitted on April 10th, 4279," he continued, his finger moving across the floating display.
"You arrived in critical condition with severe trauma and extremely low life signs."
His expression didn't change as he kept reading.
"And as of February 15th, 4280, you're being officially released with full recovery.
"There is no lasting damage to your body."
"Also, all of your bodily functions are restored and your nerves are operating normally."
Oliver listened without reacting much, only giving a slow nod.
The holographic display shifted and another panel slid forward.
"The total cost of the operation and extended care amounts to 1.9 million ZIX," the doctor stated calmly.
"Would you like to pay upfront or process a loan request?"
The window hovered closer to Oliver.
"I'll pay upfront," he murmured, a faint, bitter curve appearing at the corner of his lips.
He placed his palm against the hologram.
A sharp digital tone sounded immediately.
Ding.
Transaction Completed.
The doctor's lips curved into a polite smile.
"If you experience any complications or discomfort in the future, you're always welcome back here," he said as the hologram dissolved into scattered light.
Oliver returned a faint, tired smile of his own and slowly pushed himself upright.
His body felt… normal.
Too normal, considering everything that had happened last year.
He reached for the neatly folded black t-shirt by his bed and slipped it on.
"Thank you," he said, his voice low but sincere.
The doctor simply nodded before turning and walking off to attend another patient, his glowing glasses already shifting to new data.
...
Slap.
Thud.
Reed hit the floor hard, one hand clutching his cheek as the sting spread across his face.
Standing over him, an older man dressed in an immaculate grey suit tightened his grip around a polished wooden cane.
"Reed," the man thundered, "don't you dare talk back to me!"
Reed kept his gaze locked on the floor, shoulders tense, breath shaking. His throat worked, but no words came out.
"When I give you an order," the old man continued, voice rising, "you follow it."
Reed swallowed hard, forcing himself upright.
"Look at me," the old man demanded.
Reed stayed silent, chin still lowered.
The cane struck the ground.
Tap.
Electric pressure surged through the air—sharp, suffocating, alive—then engulfed the entire office.
Reed felt the force lift him off the ground as if an invisible hand had seized his spine.
Panic ripped through him.
"Grandpa—please!" he gasped, suspended helplessly.
"Don't get angry, I'm sorry!"
"Oh, now I'm 'Grandpa'?" the old man snapped, voice shaking with a fury Reed rarely witnessed.
"Now you remember how to speak?"
The cane tapped the floor again.
Tap.
The oppressive energy vanished in an instant.
Reed crashed back down, breath uneven, sweat clinging to his palms.
The old man stepped forward, leaning on the cane.
"You're going to apologize to Oliver," he said firmly.