R was gravely injured, with not a single bone in his body left intact. In the
empty hospital room, an old, animated film—nearly an antique—was playing
on a screen. The right wall was entirely made of glass, and rain poured in
heavy drops from Peace's gray clouds. The left wall displayed live posters
with beautiful moving scenery. He couldn't move his arm. In fact, his entire
body, except for his eyes, was encased in plaster. He cursed as he continued
coughing up blood.
He had tried to fulfill his uncle's request without making a scene, but failed.
His uncle kept asking R to clean up other people's messes, yet this time, it
had nearly cost him his life.
He called out a few times, his voice rough and strained, but no one answered.
Muttering another curse under his breath, he realized he couldn't use his
powers because his flesh hadn't yet knitted back onto his shattered bones.
If it were possible to die in this hospital, he surely would, and no one would
even notice! Where was everyone?
Helpless and immobile, he felt his frustration intensify. He was no better
than a mummified corpse awaiting a burial.
His mother, J, had stayed by his side all night. About an hour ago, she had
left to change her clothes, promising to return after a brief visit home. His
father, however, still hadn't come to see him. Or perhaps he had, but R
couldn't remember since he had only been conscious for a day. He was sure his father was furious. Their relationship had only begun to mend a few years
ago, after years of tension caused by Y's actions.
H, his father, had even renounced his surname because of his brother Y,
taking J's surname instead. That grudge ran so deep that H had even asked
R to change his surname as well.
But R felt no shame regarding his uncle or his surname. He believed Y was
often misunderstood.
The incident that left R in this state had begun when they discovered that
Z had resumed trading Butterfly Dust. When R and his team set out to
track them, he was ambushed in the Subu Forest. The attackers had used
explosives powerful enough to decimate an army. Fortunately, only R and
the Butterfly Dust had been harmed.
Z had amassed a fortune after discovering that the shimmering blue butterflies
laid eggs twice a year on flowers made from their own blue dust particles.
However, when these eggs combined with the dust from the flowers, they
transformed into a narcotic that harmed vulnerable individuals, especially
young children, leading to its prohibition. Over time, Z had argued that
the substance was harmless to any species and even kept people lively and
energetic. With the backing of influential politicians, he successfully lifted
the ban.
But even then, R had seen some cases of mental and physical paralysis—
and sometimes even death—persist, particularly among physically weaker
individuals, whose average lifespan was around 80 years.
R had done everything in his power to protect his uncle. To Y, R was a
superhero. But then, he decided it was best to leave his uncle's work entirely.
He no longer wanted to waste time on this nonsense.
People scavenged for food in dumpsters, yet they somehow always found
money for Butterfly Dust, fully aware of the consequences.
He saw the remote control nearby. —so close, yet just out of reach. The
animated film playing on the screen was driving him insane. The room was
filled with electronic devices that could have been useful to him. But without
the ability to touch them or call for help, they were utterly useless. What was
needed were more conscious robots.
The door opened slowly, and four doctors came in for consultation.
One was a low-tier human appearing to be in his fifties. He had a beard as
gray as his neck, blue-gray aged eyes, and slouched shoulders. From his name
tag, R could see he was a professor identified as 094. It was rare for low-tiers
to rise to such ranks, but not impossible—it was just extremely difficult.
Among the two female doctors, one had long, curly, copper-red hair that
matched the color of her eyebrows. Her pale, glowing skin was as white as
the girl's standing beside her. The two were similar in height and resembled
each other, so that they could have been sisters.
The red-haired woman reminded R of the animated character that had
been tormenting him for the past half hour. Imaginary beings conjured by
ordinary humans now feature more physical characteristics than ever before.
The brunette's hair was as long and thick as the redhead's, perhaps straighter.
As she approached the window, the dark brown tones of her hair, which
seemed almost black at the ends, caught the light and shifted into a reddishbrown hue. Her eyes were deep black and large, like every middle-tier
human's. But there was a sparkle in her gaze. The light of a familiar fire…
A faint whisper stirred in his mind—the silent voice of the Frost Flames:
Stay away!
However, R sensed no danger. And even if he had, it wouldn't have
mattered—he couldn't move.
What danger could he have possibly sensed in that petite, round-faced
woman? R looked more carefully: her long, white neck, her small nose, her
brows, her delicate, slender fingers…
Over the past 180 years, his soul had been torn from his body countless
times, but never had such a small figure made him feel this intense fear and
adrenaline in mere seconds.
When a voice came from the tall, young, brunette man, R turned his
attention to him. The man's voice was either underdeveloped or naturally
high-pitched. He must have been very young. If not for his professor's coat
and the electronic name tag pinned to his chest, R would have mistaken him
for an intern, just like the women. But he wasn't. R squinted at the man's name tag: D W. A sharp burn suddenly flared in R's
stomach. Was this man a W?
He glanced at the red-haired girl's name tag: K 5000. He didn't recognize
her—wait, no, he did. He knew K's twin brother and their father very well.
His uncle Y had introduced R to those men during a dinner meeting years
ago. Back then, R had been a naive young man, and now, over 160 years have
passed, R knew them, recognized them. They were two-faced scoundrels
who smiled at his uncle's face while scheming behind his back.
A sudden movement startled him. The black-eyed woman had leaned in, her
face mere inches from his. She shined a light into his eyes. The intern was
asking, "How do you feel?"
Instead of answering, R focused on her name tag: Q Zadia. Dear God, a
Zadia! She was the daughter of the man responsible for his current state.
Could she be a different Zadia? He wondered, trying to calm himself. Of
course, not—names were unique!
Had all the children of these vile old men decided to become doctors? Were
their fathers destroying lives while their children saved them?
The end of another planet was upon them.
"Overall vision and ocular movement seem fine—no immediate issues.
However, due to the severe head trauma, his skull was fractured, and I had
to realign his brain. This might result in short-term memory loss, hearing
impairment, or cognitive delays," Q explained clinically.
Her voice struck R as strange: serious, distant, warm, but there was something
else… She picked up a strange metallic device with a transparent tip that
resembled a weapon and inserted it into R's ear. A sharp pain radiated through
his brain as he saw thin, glowing blue-red wires weaving between his neural
cells.
The intern briefed her superiors while opening his bandages and examining
his brain. Her voice sounded like some supernatural melody to him.
"No signs of infection... However, given his lack of response, we may need
to notify ENT for further evaluation. He could be deaf."
Q glanced briefly at R's face, barely visible beneath the bandages, and gave
him a reassuring smile as if to say, You're fine.
Overwhelmed by the sanctity of her touch and scent, R muttered a curse under
his breath. Everything around him felt like it was moving in slow motion.
Was he dying?
He remembered this girl. Fragmented images filled his mind. Chaotic visions.
Were they from the future or an unwritten past? He couldn't tell.
Q assumed his curse was directed at her because of her profession. She
flinched, then glanced at the elderly professor watching them, followed by
D, K, and finally back at R.
"I can hear you," R said, forcing his lips to move and responding in a weak,
feeble voice to their earlier comments. "There's nothing wrong with my
ears."
The young doctors maintained their professional demeanor, betraying no
emotion. As they discussed the patient's overall condition with the professor,
they quietly reveled in the thought of earning commendations for their work.
Q quickly regained her composure, peeking beneath R's bandages and
sharing her observations once more.
R began to take a strange pleasure in the discomfort he was supposed to feel.
He wasn't in pain but could sense a tingling wave coursing through his body.
Without alerting the others, Q discreetly channeled healing energy into him.
He couldn't believe it. So, she was using powers her mother didn't have to
heal people in the corners of a hospital. If VF Thalindor found out about
this, things would get ugly.
"Turn off that baby opera," R said weakly. K raised a single finger and
fulfilled his request with the smallest gesture. They hadn't expected the
patient to move even a finger for several more hours.
As Q relayed information to the professor about R's condition, K pointed
out overlooked details. D added his own observations, waiting for them to
take notes. "Take off these bandages. From what I understand, I'm fine. Get me
discharged from this damned hospital, Dr. W. Let's see what you've got. I
have a ton of work to do, and I'm wasting time here," R said.
Q looked at the patient in astonishment—only his nose, lips, and peculiar
blue eyes were visible through the bandages.
"Sir, your consciousness has only just returned. You died, and we
painstakingly stitched and rebuilt you piece by piece! You can't harbor such
ridiculous notions about leaving the hospital. You have no idea what you've
been through! In short, you're a wreck!"
They had brought a dead man back to life, only for him to turn out to be an
insufferable jerk. Q despised these kinds of people.
"Q…" The professor's warning tone and his breath grazing her hair silenced
her immediately. Q withdrew her head from the patient, casting an apologetic
glance at both the professor and D.
"Our patient is not yet in a state to fully understand his condition. Please
remain calm." D said, his admonishing look subduing Q further.
After the consultation ended, R was left alone again.
"The disgusting creature's daughter… How good she smelled."
His ever-changing plans were shifting once more.
***
"We can't talk to our patients like that. Don't you know?"
D's whispered reprimand made Q roll her eyes. Just then, K received a call.
"I'm heading back to the guy whose brain popped out," she said, standing
up quickly. She took a bite of her frog-liver toast, rose from the table, and
left the cafeteria within seconds.
Q refocused on D.
"Didn't you see how rude he was? For the love of the stars, he even cursed
at me!" She had spoken healing words to the man to keep him alive while putting his brain back in place, something she had instinctively done again
earlier. Q had never done such a thing for any of her patients. It was
forbidden to do so without permission, after all. Yet she had taken the risk
for that crude, insufferable being!
"I saw it, but you need to get used to this. This isn't our father's hospital.
Even if it were, your only concern should be people's health, not their
tantrums. Remember: hospitals are for the sick and those in need of care.
No one comes here just for fun or because they're bored."
Unfortunately, some did. Centuries-old lunatics with broken minds came to
test their patience.
Q shrugged. She had no tolerance for rudeness.
"I'll stop by the company after work today and come to your place with Dad
in the evening. What should we do?"
"L called. He's coming too. Maybe the three of us can have dinner and watch
a movie, or we could dive into an author's mind. That seems like it'd be more
fun. We'll see how it goes tonight," Q murmured.
D nodded in agreement. Diving into an author's mind was addictive and far
more enjoyable than the best films or theater productions. Plus, time barely
passed in the outside world while you were inside. It felt like swimming in an
endless, enlightening whirlpool that lasted for days—or longer if you didn't
want it to end. Q began to think about which authors' mind copies were
stored at home. She might need to go shopping for new ones.
"Don't repeat what you did earlier," D advised. "Just think, 'My job is to heal
the patient and send them home. I'll never see them again, so straying from
my duty would be foolish."
D squeezed Q's hand on the table. Q smiled, pulled her hand back, took a
big bite of her sandwich, and sipped her vegetable juice.