Sira feels outside of themself. It’s a hazy sensation, like what they experienced while still inside the chamber, but without any pain or panic coursing through them. They’re unsure what causes it, exactly. Maybe it’s the cold, indifferent smoothness of the gloves’ material touching their skin. Maybe it’s the device the doctor clipped to their finger or the thermometer she stuck in their mouth.

  She was nice and explained what she was doing like she said. But all of it still felt cold and it was hard to pay attention. Thinking is hard. Again.

  Karim’s return to the clinic starts them back on the path to reality, but it’s the food that really does it.

  Or rather their frustration over the food. Sira has been hungry all day. For all they know, they could’ve been in a state of starvation, with their stomach growling and clawing at them for something to be put in it. Their appetite just doesn’t share the same enthusiasm. They absently stare down at the bits of the sandwich they picked apart that remain in the plastic container. If they had to guess, they’ve eaten about half of it, and they already feel like they can’t fit another bite into their mouth without gagging.

  Why does eating also have to be hard right now?

  Karim going through the trouble of getting them food and not being able to finish it triggers an unreasonable amount of guilt over a sandwich. Maybe something liquid, like soup, would be better, but asking for an accommodation like that right now would only make them feel like they’re getting far too comfortable, far too soon. At least the juice was pleasantly sweet, and much more acceptable to their stomach.

  According to the doctor, nothing serious is going on that she can tell. She said as much with a warm smile on her face that only seemed genuine, but it’s still hard to fully believe.

  “Hey, Sira?”

  They look up at the sound of Karim’s voice. He and the doctor are looking their way from where the pair of them stand at the counter. The doctor’s face is inscrutable, but Karim’s expression has the same gentle quality that it did previously.

  “How do you feel about needles?” Karim asks. “If you, uh, have an answer to that in your head somewhere.”

  Nothing immediately comes to mind, but the question makes Sira gulp. They set the plastic container down next to them on the exam table as their throat tightens again – or was it like that the whole time? “Um…I’m not sure.”

  “I think one of us mentioned bloodwork at some point. Well…we’re going to have to find out how we’ll accomplish that, one way or another.”

  Again, no memories to go with it, but a shiver runs through them. Karim turns from the counter and stands to his full height while maintaining the space between them.

  “Why are we doing this again?” Sira questions.

  “It would be good to do a standard test for a health assessment, dear,” Dr. Pareira answers. “That way I can see if you have something like anemia or an infection.”

  “An infection like the virus.”

  “Yes…like the virus,” she says, her voice a little strained.

  “And that’s the other half of it,” Karim cuts in. “Seeing if we can put this to the test – in the least dangerous way I can think of.”

  Safety. The idea still seems so out of reach. Maybe that’ll change once they get this over with…or maybe the whole world is now made up of sterile rooms, broken buildings, and defense measures against what is looking to be an all-consuming threat.

  It takes Sira a moment to digest just what he means, though. A blood test shouldn’t risk getting a gun drawn on them. This is important though, isn’t it? They think to themself. They’re hoping that I can help people somehow, that it could mean an end to the bad stuff going on. If that’s possible.

  “…does it hurt? Will it take a long time?”

  Dr. Pareira stands up straight, taking a second to neaten her hair as she speaks, “We’ll be using a butterfly needle, which does hurt, but not as much as a standard one. I’ll need a few tubes, but it should only take a couple of minutes at most. The captain will also be staying for support this time.”

  The term ‘butterfly needle’ does little to ease their nerves. Sira looks to Karim for confirmation, and he nods. That’s not as much comfort as the doctor probably hopes it is. Still, a small part of them appreciates it, for an indiscernible reason.

  “And after this?” Sira takes a deep breath. “That’s it? I’m done?”

  Karim looks sympathetic. “It should be for now, at least. I suggest getting changed first, though. That might make it a little easier on you. We’ll get things ready while you’re gone.”

  Right, the bathroom he mentioned. Sira looks down at themself and the state of their clothes again. The threadbare rags and gunk smeared on their skin became an afterthought in the face of everything else going on. Having it brought back to their attention, they feel the sudden urge to scrub themself down.

  Without saying anything else, they hop off the exam table. It sends a jolt of unpleasantness up through their legs, but not as bad as it was before they came into the clinic. They still feel the need to hobble a bit to get around, but neither Karim nor Dr. Pareira say anything as Sira takes the clothes and exits the room. They peer down toward the end of the hall and make out a door that, unlike the others, bears a standard-looking restroom sign on its front.

  It ends up opening to a small, darkened room. Sira feels around the wall for a light switch. Flicking it on, the fluorescent glow reveals a toilet with support bars and an industrial sink that has a mirror mounted above it. A short cabinet sits in between the toilet and sink with a container of plastic cups and lids on the top. Otherwise, the bathroom is sparse and decently clean.

  Sira shuts and locks the door behind them, sets everything down on the floor, then starts stripping off their clothes. As they pull one of the threadbare excuses for a garment over their head, they catch a glimpse of themselves in the mirror and pause.

  Oh.

  Sunken eyes stare back at them from their reflection, accompanied by hollow cheeks and deathly pale skin that they were already aware of. Scrawny limbs and wiry hands are what hold the fabric around their body. Their ribs and collarbone poke through their skin and more parts of them visibly show the purple tone of veins than they think is normal. Their hair is a wreck: shaggy, choppy, and a light silver color they would expect to see on someone much older than Sira thinks they are.

  They’d seen their legs and arms from their own perspective before, sure, but this is different. None of it is major, not to the point of making them look like they’re moments away from crossing to the other side, but it’s enough to notice.

  Enough to piece together that something must be wrong.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Sira lowers their arms and steps closer to the mirror, still trapped within the confines of the shirt they were putting on. It’s like they don’t recognize their reflection, but that feeling doesn’t make sense, because they have nothing to compare it to. Even the smattering of freckles that reaches across their cheeks, over the bridge of their nose, and decorates some of their shoulders, looks sapped of vitality.

  The only thing that looks rightis their eye color: a gentle, pale blue. It’s pale, yes, but in a soft way, not in a way they would describe as “drained.”

  I wonder if that casket really was mine.

  The thought is flippant. Even if coming back from the dead were possible, the name engraved on it was Ethan. ‘Sira’ has a strangeness they can’t place, but Ethan doesn’t feel like it’s theirs at all.

  They avert their eyes from their reflection, finish getting undressed, and change into the clothes Karim provided. Too big, but they serve their purpose, and the material is unexpectedly soft. The boots are only a little big on them by comparison, but they’ll make do if it means the soles of their feet not getting any more scratched up. Once the laces are tightly tied, they turn on the sink and hastily scrub their face. Without looking at it.

  A small trash can sits by the sink. Sira tosses the old rags into it and, with one hand on the wall, they make their way out of the bathroom and back down the hallway.

  Back in the exam room, Dr. Pareira and Karim are standing on either side of the table. The pair turn their heads toward Sira with slightly widened eyes, like the two of them were discussing something they didn’t want overheard.

  Which doesn’t help to ease Sira’s nerves.

  Next to the doctor is a tall, wheeled metal table with a collection of things on its surface: small transparent vials, a long elastic tube, a few tiny boxes, and a variety of other things Sira either can’t name or can’t make out.

  Karim’s brows scrunch together. “Everything good?”

  “There was a mirror in there.” There isn’t much thought behind the words as they come out. Sira swallows, their mouth and throat still dry, and they very much want to be back to lying down. “I look…wrong.”

  He and Dr. Pareira exchange glances. The doctor wipes the mild surprise off her face, gently clears her throat, and sets a bendy, elongated object she was holding in her gloved hands down on the metal table. The ‘butterfly’ needle?

  “I have some concerns, yes,” she states, “but you’re coherent, up and walking around, and you just dressed yourself. All of those are positive signs, but your blood will give me a clearer picture. If there is anything serious happening, the headquarters’ medical center is the best place on this continent to get care for it.”

  Considering the state the world appears to be in, Sira isn’t sure how glowing of a recommendation that is.

  “Do you feel especially sick?” Karim asks.

  Still standing in the doorway, Sira takes inventory: queasiness, but that’s mainly nerves, versus a genuine need to vomit. They still hurt in most places, but it’s starting to come through as knowledge that the pain is there rather than a sensation.

  I just want to go home, they think. There’s an impulse to say that aloud, but it doesn’t make any sense: there’s no home to go to. On a more basic level, they want to lie down, but not on the cold surface of an exam table.

  “I’m in pain,” Sira finally answers, “but I think I mostly just need sleep.”

  “I do have pain medicine, if the captain allows it,” the doctor offers, “but of course, I’m not going to jump to giving you something strong.”

  They quickly shake their head. “No, that’s fine. I don’t think I can handle any pills right now.”

  “If you say so.”

  The pair step back to give Sira room to get themself back up on the exam table, which Sira does with a little more haste than they did before. The doctor moves behind them to position the back portion of the table to allow Sira to recline. They hesitantly lean back with a breath of relief and let their arms rest at their sides, although some tension remains.

  Karim is a blurry shadow in the corner of Sira’s eye. “This is the last thing before you’re free for the night. Think you’re gonna survive?”

  A joke, but it’s not helping. “I’ll try my best.”

  A quick glance shows he smirks in response. The doctor shuffles around with something on the cart. Sira flinches as gloved fingers press down on various spots in the region of their inner elbow.

  “Sorry, I should’ve warned you first.” Despite what she says, Dr. Pareira straightens Sira’s arm with her other hand as she continues to feel around. “This is me trying to find a good vein. You look like you’ll be a bit of a tough stick, but I think I can manage.”

  “I think I see what you mean by not being the best at comforting patients,” Karim comments.

  “I told them I’d explain what I’m doing if it would make things less scary, so I’m doing that. Is it helping?”

  “A little bit,” Sira says quietly.

  The doctor ties something tightly around their upper arm. “Clench your first for me, dear.”

  Sira does as they’re told – as hard as they can, which makes their arm feel funny – and fails to resist jerking when the doctor applies a cold, moist cloth to a spot on their lower arm.

  “Hold still for me,” the doctor instructs, a faint click emanating from the side where she stands. “This is going to hurt a bit.”

  Unexpectedly, Karim places a gloved hand on Sira’s upper arm, closest to his side. Another glance in his direction reveals his sympathetic expression. The texture of the armored glove against their upper arm is…oddly comforting, even if anybody being that close is enough to make them antsy.

  Click.

  A sharp sting, and–

  –

  “….Sira?”

  They blink rapidly. A drop of sweat rides down the side of their temple. Their ears are ringing again, and the light above them is blinding. They go to lift their left hand to block out the light, but the doctor’s arm firmly holds it down. Karim holds down their other arm, but it’s not forceful like the doctor. Something soft presses against a sore spot on the arm being restrained.

  “There you are,” Karim says. “I was worried there for a second. You went so still you could’ve passed it off as rigor mortis if it weren’t for your blood still pumping.”

  “Three tubes should be enough. You’re going to want to get them more to eat, Captain. I know you brought them juice earlier and something sugary like that would be best.” The doctor wraps something tightly around the soft object pressed against their arm. Sira’s head swims, but they turn it ever so slightly to see the tape she’s using to secure a cotton ball in place.

  Right next to her, on the surface of the small metal cart table, are the three tubes of blood. Sira’s stomach lurches at the sight of them and they quickly look away, eyes to the floor. The lights in the room start to hurt less.

  “Was I passed out?” They ask, voice back to a pitiful rasp.

  “Your blood pressure seemed consistent, so I don’t think so,” the doctor says. “Why do you ask? Did something happen?”

  “I…I blanked out, I guess.”

  “That’s definitely what it looked like.”

  Sira pushes themself upright, a little faster than Karim expected based on the way he jerks back. They brush their bangs out of their eyes and press their palm against their forehead. Everything feels heavy. The vertigo has returned, not nearly as bad as it was in the chamber, but the hazy feeling has gotten worse. Much worse.

  Nausea claws at Sira’s stomach. They want to leave. Now.

  “I’ve had enough of today.” They manage to lift their head despite its odd heaviness. Karim and the doctor both eye them with strange looks, but Sira doesn’t care. “Are we done here yet?”

  Karim looks to the doctor for confirmation. She sucks her bottom lip back between her teeth as she gently sets the filled tubes down in a small white bin on the cart’s surface.

  My blood. Weird to think about, Sira thinks. It’s so red.

  Looking at it too long makes their head start swimming again, so they decide to resume focus on the flooring. That always seems to be the safer option.

  “…if you’re sure that you need nothing else, then yes,” Dr. Pareira finally says. “I recommend getting something more in your stomach and to not strain that arm too much. If you’re going to bathe tonight, take the bandage off first and put it back on after.”

  Sira nods weakly. The spot where the needle went in already aches a little, but it’s a minor pinprick compared to the rest of the unpleasantness going on.

  “How long will it take you to get results?” Karim asks as he stands up straight. “In addition to the extra thing we discussed.”

  “I can send the results directly to HQ myself once I have them, but as for the second thing, you’ll have to come back sometime later.”

  All the coded talk is grating, even if Sira can guess what it is they’re referring to. They move their hand over one eye that has a particularly strong, piercing pain behind it, but it’s not one that they feel like bringing up. Shower. Sleep. “Can we go now? Please?”

  “Later tonight, huh? I’m going to have to kiss a good night’s sleep goodbye for at least, I think–” Karim sighs wistfully, before extending out a hand for Sira to take, “–and yes, I think it’s time you finally got some rest. The living quarters aren’t too far from here, thankfully.”

  It’s the safer option, but for the second time today, Sira declines the help. They carefully slide themself off the exam table, bracing their feet against the floor before putting their full weight on their legs. Once again, standing feels strange and unsteady, but not in a way that their leg muscles might threaten to give out on them at any moment. They wrap their arms around themself and make for the door before he does. They let the heels of their shoes drag against the floor rather than expending the energy to fight it.

  They’re willing to help. It seems like the right thing to do, but whatever else the doctor and Karim are planning to do tonight, they want no part in it.

  The entire first arc (chapters 1-13 & bonus) is all on Patreon, in addition to some of the chapters from the Part II - Initiation. These will get removed from Patreon as they're posted publicly, but subscribing means having early access!