Chapter Ⅰ
Grandiose-Persecutory Delusional Disorder. Patient affected by recurring non-bizzare delusions about her greatness and strong beliefs about being hated and persecuted. Bizzare delusions about being from another universe not associated with any disorder. It's suggested the assumption of Zalasta (5 mg) after breakfast, taking only half a pill during the first week of therapy to then take a whole pill on the eighth day. Before going to sleep the patient should take a Circadin (2 mg) pill to facilitate rest and restore the sleep cycle. A pause of at least three months from the job is requested, as it affects the gravity of persecutory delusions and bizzare delusions.
Dr. Summer Leaf, 21/03/2041
Liv had been forced for work purposes to take the visit; she had waited for months in a waiting list for the psychiatric evaluation, who had immediately told her to get tested for schizophrenia. Only that day had she learnt that those weren't a simple formality to get rid of the ridiculous though that she could be suffering from something, since everyone around her seemed to share that same worry, yet a necessary step for the diagnosis of a delusional disorder. When the psychiatric had told her everything, thinking her sweet voice and pitiful gaze would help her, the girl just smiled and nodded, serious yet polite until the moment when she could finally get up and leave.
"Good bye!"
The two sheets of paper, prescription and diagnosis, got heavier every time she looked down at them:
Livia Dahl
D.O.B: 14/02/2022 in: Nivengaard
Resident in: Uhl, Illinois
Grandiose-Persecutory Delusional Disorder.
Her stomach twisted, the simple idea made her sick. She had been avoiding psychologists and psychiatrist for years exactly for that reason, she knew how everyone saw her: a madman; a woman out of her mind whose disorders made her support theories avoid of any sense. Her gaze got sharper, back again on the medical charts.
Grandiose-Persecutory Delusional Disorder.
Again. She read it again, as if her eyes could erase what had already been put black on white.
Grandiose-Persecutory Delusional Disorder.
Those words had already lost their means from the many times she had read them. The woman quickly folded those papers to store them in her purse with shaky hands, betraying anxiety and fear that her tired, deadpan face refused to showcase.
"What now? I can't stop working, not right now."
She kept thinking, trying to make up a plan in her head to continue her research. She could've hidden the diagnosis, but that would've only stopped the process for a few days; in a corporation as big as Anskom and for someone in her important position it would've been difficult to be ignored, let alone forgotten. The automatons would've called her in just a few hours and, after a day or so with no answers, they would've reached her directly at home or in her office. She clenched her teeth, blaming her boss. If it wasn't for that selfish megalomaniac Liv would've never been in a situation like that. Of course Sam was the first one to worry about her mental health, but how much could an assistant's opinion count in such a laboratory? It was obvious that what had been implied as an act of kindness by the young man had been turned into a reason for doctor Kranken to bring her case to H.R. and then straight up to the General Manager; it was nothing more than a way to stop her research, it couldn't be anything else. That old man had always hated her, ever since she was hired three years ago, because "magic" was something he could not stand.
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"Magic... what magic?! Souls are part of every living being's body, just because they help regulate the levels of Magic Energy in a system it does not mean that they don't qualify for proper scientific studies!"
The way the young woman was able to maintain such an expressionless face when in her head there was a full blown discussion about how her research wasn't a useless waste of time and resources, yet something that could've revolutionise the whole medical field healing even those illnesses thought to be fatal, was surprising. But Kranken would've believed her only when shown proof of results. Words didn't matter.
The only clear sign of any stress or anxiety was the subtle tapping of her nails against the armrest on the train; in about a little less than an hours - 53 minutes, to be precise - Liv would be back in Uhl without a solution to make sure she could still work after the diagnosis.
"What if I actually took these months off to rest?"
She asked herself how bad that could be. In the end Liv was essential to Anskom at the moment, whether her boss liked it or not, as she promised a close to limitless fount of resources that would've made the production of automatons easier and even sustainable, not something to hide from the public. The thought seemed to put her at ease since the frequency of her tapping was slowly decreasing. Of course! Sam had been there throughout the start and progress of her research and knew almost everything there was to know about Souls, so much so that he could keep the research going on his own for a few months; the process would be slowed down but not completely stopped, which already sounded better in comparison to the tragic idea that had firstly formed in Liv's head. She would've asked updates every day and would've been able to sleep at night again, unlike the nocturnal Shadows in Uhl.
She could've even thought about going back to Nivengaard, in Siberia, for a while. It would've been a pretty long trip, not impossible with a few trains to reach the international Anchorage airport, a flight to Tokyo and then to Novosibirsk, that way she would've also been able to save some money going through Anskom labs in the U.S. and the Japanese branch as an employee of the corporation. Thinking back to her little town, cold as it could get, yet teeming with welcoming, warm people she almost smiled; almost, because the folded papers in her purse stopped her. She would've felt sick again if she kept thinking about it. She could not accept it, there was no way.
"I am fine. I know I'm a genius because I was defined as a gifted child when I was a kid. I graduated university at the age of 16 with as a biological and biomedical major. I'm also aware of how much people hate me for those same reasons. And I know something changed, I don't recognise this body some times. It isn't in my head, it's real. I don't belong to this Universe, it's possible, there's a bunch of them."
The pleasant mood was leaving as soon as it had made its way between those same thoughts just moments ago. She grabbed her phone, checking the battery first. 98%... how annoying. She had been going around for hours, true, but she barely even used it, why did it drain by 2%? And why just 2%, she hated the number eight and would've much preferred seeing the phone dying, but at least with a number divisible by 5, for the love of everything sacred. As she raised her eyes to the sky with a short, dry sigh, as if the number had personally offended her and so she wanted nothing to do with it, she finally typed the password.
Wrong password, try again.
"I must have typed the combination too quickly, messing something up..."
Wrong password, try again.
At that point the girl was perplexed, eyeing the screen as if that message was nothing short of a mockery, another twist of fate mindlessly thrown there by a whatever deity purely to ruin her day some more. Then, in one, single instant, her cheeks got flushed and her gaze drifted to the people sitting on the seats near hers; good, they were chatting, they laughed though. What was so funny, were they talking about her? Did someone catch her get the password wrong two times to then get mad because she had forgotten about changing it? Her shoulders fell in an act of resignation: she wouldn't have blamed them for laughing at her, one must've really try hard to forget about changing her code just a day ago, exactly on the third Wednesday of the month as always. She tried typing the password again.
6 7 9 6 7 6
Unlocked her phone, Liv immediately opened the DMs with Sam, sending just four words.
"We need to talk."
For anyone else that message would have been reason to worry, maybe prepare for an argument, but Livia always wrote in such a cold and almost formal manner. Her messages were as unreadable as her expressions and the tone of her voice, since she was so rigorous about grammatical rules and punctuation mark and it seemed impossible for her to get even one word wrong. To the eyes of whoever loved her, with much surprise on her part, she seemed perfect, incapable of making mistakes or at least very good at hiding them. She reminded herself each time that it wasn't a compliment, yet a way for her to notice how different from everyone else she appeared.
