01-15-2023, 03:08 PM
The room was bigger and better furnished than his one at Kallisti, though there were no windows in it – aside from the darkened observation glass that led out onto the corridor anyway, which was currently covered with a curtain for his privacy. He imagined there had to be a camera in here too, though he didn’t see any evidence on the slick white ceiling. It didn’t matter to him either way. Stretched out on the bed, and comfortable enough, he stared at nothing and willed himself to sleep.
He wasn’t sure what woke him. No noise, anyway, for it was deathly quiet when he opened his eyes, and very dark. For a moment the medicinal aroma distinctive to hospitals unnerved him, and his heart began to race, utterly spooked, before he recalled where he was.
Though he really did startle when he realised there was someone on the end of the bed.
As his gaze adjusted to the heavy shadows he caught the shape of a floating head, then the eerily faint gleam of large eyes. The mattress squeaked as if someone shifted. Raffe shuffled backwards, alarmed.
“Shh!” she commanded sharply. He thought it was a she. A moment later the light from a wallet-like device blossomed under her face. He noticed enormous eyes first, hypnotically dark and widely spaced. She seemed to sway slightly in the shadows, and the hair wisping around her pale face looked white as bone. The rest of her was hard to make out, like not another bit of skin was left uncovered. No wonder she’d looked so ghoulish. Even her hands had gloves.
Raffe squinted as she turned the beam of light on him, bracing his hand against his face as the flare burned his eyes. But his heart eased when he realised it was just a girl, no matter how strange a manner of one, or how ghostly her appearance was in the middle of the night. Years of sofa-surfing, communal living, and occasional bouts of life in the Undercity had inured him to the expectation of peaceful sleep. Or at least he recovered quickly when it seemed a harmless interruption.
“Oh,” she said happily. “You’re a pretty one. I heard the doctors call you Raffe. I’m Visha.”
He mumbled some response, to which she only clapped her hands together and laughed. The light spiralled in shadows as the wallet clamped between her covered hands. When her lips peeled back he’d half expected fangs, but she seemed perfectly ordinary.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry about that. It’s exciting though, right? But I had better go.”
He felt her weight release from the mattress. He didn’t hear her footsteps leave. Soon after, he fell back asleep.
DAY 1
Raffe’s morning began with more tests and observations while he was still plaintively yawning. Paragon couldn’t begin until they were sure the Sickness had burned its way out of his body and he was entirely clear of it, which meant his presence now was mostly surplus. Though certainly he was beginning to feel better, if utterly bone-tired – emotionally and physically both. While the doctor checked his vitals, he finally thought to ask a few more questions. And actually listen to the answers this time. They seemed happy to talk. Apparently he’d signed quite an extensive non disclosure agreement as part of the contract.
An intentional touch of the power cured the disease; that was known colloquially from testimony, but it had never been quantified in public research. The how was a mystery as much as the way some people were able to force themselves through the process, and others died spectacularly horrible deaths instead. From what he understood, it seemed Paragon had valuable data gathered from someone while the leap from Sick to Not Sick was actually completed successfully. From that closely guarded evidence they were looking for ways to facilitate the connection artificially. In doing so they would not only cure it, but potentially pave the way for testing before the patient ever got sick at all.
Probably that was all in the packet of information he had been given and failed to read.
No one mentioned the girl in his room last night. In the clinical and efficient light of day, he wondered if he’d just dreamt it.
“This stuff you’re going to put in me, you’re hoping it cures the Sickness. Or stops it happening in me again, anyway. Does that mean I’ll have to touch the power after?” he asked finally.
“The serum should provide the first connection. It doesn’t teach you how to use it though. I would hypothesise yes, it’ll mean you can, same as anyone else who went through the process the natural way and survived. But it’s one of the things we’ll be studying.”
He nodded thoughtfully at that.
Until the trial began officially, they said he wasn’t confined to the facility. They’d given him a basic screen to pass the time, but there was no internet connection down here – or not one he had access to. Relief warred with the temptation to leave while he still could, but in the end sheer exhaustion won the battle. He’d slept hard after the first time he was Sick. This time he slept harder.
Visha came again that night, he was pretty sure. Else he dreamt of her curious eyes watching him in the dark.
DAY 2
They’d given him the all clear.
A doctor talked him through the process. The vial didn’t look like anything, though the puncture hurt. Raffe watched with detached fascination, but it felt like nothing really. The nanites in the serum would take time to learn his body and begin to enact the necessary changes. Raffe was hooked up to machines permanently now, though the technology was so advanced the monitors attached to his skin were barely noticeable, and he soon grew used to the various beeps and chimes of their feedback to various screens inside and outside the observation room. He had a button to call for one of the doctors if he felt he needed it. They told him to press it if he felt any awareness of the power encroaching on his senses too. Since both previous times had been a whirlwind of anxiety and fear, Raffe was not entirely sure what markers he might be looking for.
In the meanwhile he propped himself on an elbow and watched movies on the screen they’d given him. For a while he dozed too. Tried hard not to think.
“Hi.”
He hadn't heard her come in. Visha stood in the empty doorway this time, peeking slyly back over her shoulder before she came all the way in. The apples of her cheeks plumped into what he considered an entirely devious smile, and she made a scooting motion for him to shift his legs enough to make room for her to sit with him. In the light of day (well, the artificial light of day at least) her eyes were dark enough to look black, and her blonde hair was almost silvery, hanging close to her skull like fine-spun spider silk.
“I was starting to think I imagined you,” Raffe said in genuine surprise.
She looked pleased by that for some reason, or maybe it was just that she seemed naturally buoyant in nature. She was bedecked in blues and greys today, with lace and pearl details that seemed more fit for a fashion runway than a medical facility. Ruffles collared her slender neck. She was still wearing gloves. He realised she didn’t look like a doctor or another patient, which begged an obvious question he wasn’t sure how to ask.
“I want to know everything,” she declared. The intensity of her gaze was a little unnerving, but she was as friendly and earnest as a child. That was another thing he noticed now he saw her properly though. She was definitely not a child. After a moment she smiled at him, pressed the tip of her tongue to the edge of an incisor, and clarified with a laugh, “where are you from, what do you do? You look like a model. Apart from the scar. They could fix that here, you know. You would look much better without it.”
He touched the injury on reflex, rubbing at the numb skin, and felt his face flush with a little scrutinised shame. It naturally pushed his thoughts towards Nox. Visha was odd, but he didn’t conclude any judgement from the observation, and he doubted she meant the unintentional hurt. So he powered the screen down and indulged her apparent curiosity, not that he considered himself a particularly riveting subject. The distraction was welcome anyway. He sanitised the tale of his childhood when she pressed insistently for details, apparently marvelling at the idea of his being an orphan, but mostly they spoke of his work. The various flashy bars and clubs, and his home at Kallisti. Her eyes grew round with interest. When he realised it was the glitz and glamour that fascinated her he wove the tales into fun and fancy. It passed the time, until his voice grew hoarse enough to hurt.
At some point he noticed one of the doctors pass outside the long observation window, nose buried in a screen, only to more or less freeze in the doorway before turning around and heading back the way she came, expression pinched into a resigned grimace. Visha appeared to notice too by the prim way she glanced over her shoulder, but she only shrugged one of her shoulders by way of answer. A delicate sigh puffed out from her lips. She very deliberately checked her posture, tucked herself in close, and pressed her hands between her thighs.
“Visha, darling. You know you should not be in here.”
The voice to boom the interruption belonged to Ephraim Haart himself. Raffe had not seen him since their initial meeting, however many days ago that had been now; everything had begun blurring a little already. Today he was dressed in deep navy, curls perfect, face stern and patient as a concerned father.
“I haven’t touched him, Ephraim. Have I Raffe? Tell him, please.”
Raffe only blinked, a little confused by the question. Visha’s gaze was pointed, edged with demand, but when she turned back to Ephraim contrition melted the pertinacity. She stood in a way that seemed entirely boneless.
“You’ll skew the data. Come on now.” Ephraim held out a gentlemanly hand for her assured exit. As she obediently passed him he pressed that hand into the small of her back.
He was wearing gloves.
He wasn’t sure what woke him. No noise, anyway, for it was deathly quiet when he opened his eyes, and very dark. For a moment the medicinal aroma distinctive to hospitals unnerved him, and his heart began to race, utterly spooked, before he recalled where he was.
Though he really did startle when he realised there was someone on the end of the bed.
As his gaze adjusted to the heavy shadows he caught the shape of a floating head, then the eerily faint gleam of large eyes. The mattress squeaked as if someone shifted. Raffe shuffled backwards, alarmed.
“Shh!” she commanded sharply. He thought it was a she. A moment later the light from a wallet-like device blossomed under her face. He noticed enormous eyes first, hypnotically dark and widely spaced. She seemed to sway slightly in the shadows, and the hair wisping around her pale face looked white as bone. The rest of her was hard to make out, like not another bit of skin was left uncovered. No wonder she’d looked so ghoulish. Even her hands had gloves.
Raffe squinted as she turned the beam of light on him, bracing his hand against his face as the flare burned his eyes. But his heart eased when he realised it was just a girl, no matter how strange a manner of one, or how ghostly her appearance was in the middle of the night. Years of sofa-surfing, communal living, and occasional bouts of life in the Undercity had inured him to the expectation of peaceful sleep. Or at least he recovered quickly when it seemed a harmless interruption.
“Oh,” she said happily. “You’re a pretty one. I heard the doctors call you Raffe. I’m Visha.”
He mumbled some response, to which she only clapped her hands together and laughed. The light spiralled in shadows as the wallet clamped between her covered hands. When her lips peeled back he’d half expected fangs, but she seemed perfectly ordinary.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry about that. It’s exciting though, right? But I had better go.”
He felt her weight release from the mattress. He didn’t hear her footsteps leave. Soon after, he fell back asleep.
DAY 1
Raffe’s morning began with more tests and observations while he was still plaintively yawning. Paragon couldn’t begin until they were sure the Sickness had burned its way out of his body and he was entirely clear of it, which meant his presence now was mostly surplus. Though certainly he was beginning to feel better, if utterly bone-tired – emotionally and physically both. While the doctor checked his vitals, he finally thought to ask a few more questions. And actually listen to the answers this time. They seemed happy to talk. Apparently he’d signed quite an extensive non disclosure agreement as part of the contract.
An intentional touch of the power cured the disease; that was known colloquially from testimony, but it had never been quantified in public research. The how was a mystery as much as the way some people were able to force themselves through the process, and others died spectacularly horrible deaths instead. From what he understood, it seemed Paragon had valuable data gathered from someone while the leap from Sick to Not Sick was actually completed successfully. From that closely guarded evidence they were looking for ways to facilitate the connection artificially. In doing so they would not only cure it, but potentially pave the way for testing before the patient ever got sick at all.
Probably that was all in the packet of information he had been given and failed to read.
No one mentioned the girl in his room last night. In the clinical and efficient light of day, he wondered if he’d just dreamt it.
“This stuff you’re going to put in me, you’re hoping it cures the Sickness. Or stops it happening in me again, anyway. Does that mean I’ll have to touch the power after?” he asked finally.
“The serum should provide the first connection. It doesn’t teach you how to use it though. I would hypothesise yes, it’ll mean you can, same as anyone else who went through the process the natural way and survived. But it’s one of the things we’ll be studying.”
He nodded thoughtfully at that.
Until the trial began officially, they said he wasn’t confined to the facility. They’d given him a basic screen to pass the time, but there was no internet connection down here – or not one he had access to. Relief warred with the temptation to leave while he still could, but in the end sheer exhaustion won the battle. He’d slept hard after the first time he was Sick. This time he slept harder.
Visha came again that night, he was pretty sure. Else he dreamt of her curious eyes watching him in the dark.
DAY 2
They’d given him the all clear.
A doctor talked him through the process. The vial didn’t look like anything, though the puncture hurt. Raffe watched with detached fascination, but it felt like nothing really. The nanites in the serum would take time to learn his body and begin to enact the necessary changes. Raffe was hooked up to machines permanently now, though the technology was so advanced the monitors attached to his skin were barely noticeable, and he soon grew used to the various beeps and chimes of their feedback to various screens inside and outside the observation room. He had a button to call for one of the doctors if he felt he needed it. They told him to press it if he felt any awareness of the power encroaching on his senses too. Since both previous times had been a whirlwind of anxiety and fear, Raffe was not entirely sure what markers he might be looking for.
In the meanwhile he propped himself on an elbow and watched movies on the screen they’d given him. For a while he dozed too. Tried hard not to think.
“Hi.”
He hadn't heard her come in. Visha stood in the empty doorway this time, peeking slyly back over her shoulder before she came all the way in. The apples of her cheeks plumped into what he considered an entirely devious smile, and she made a scooting motion for him to shift his legs enough to make room for her to sit with him. In the light of day (well, the artificial light of day at least) her eyes were dark enough to look black, and her blonde hair was almost silvery, hanging close to her skull like fine-spun spider silk.
“I was starting to think I imagined you,” Raffe said in genuine surprise.
She looked pleased by that for some reason, or maybe it was just that she seemed naturally buoyant in nature. She was bedecked in blues and greys today, with lace and pearl details that seemed more fit for a fashion runway than a medical facility. Ruffles collared her slender neck. She was still wearing gloves. He realised she didn’t look like a doctor or another patient, which begged an obvious question he wasn’t sure how to ask.
“I want to know everything,” she declared. The intensity of her gaze was a little unnerving, but she was as friendly and earnest as a child. That was another thing he noticed now he saw her properly though. She was definitely not a child. After a moment she smiled at him, pressed the tip of her tongue to the edge of an incisor, and clarified with a laugh, “where are you from, what do you do? You look like a model. Apart from the scar. They could fix that here, you know. You would look much better without it.”
He touched the injury on reflex, rubbing at the numb skin, and felt his face flush with a little scrutinised shame. It naturally pushed his thoughts towards Nox. Visha was odd, but he didn’t conclude any judgement from the observation, and he doubted she meant the unintentional hurt. So he powered the screen down and indulged her apparent curiosity, not that he considered himself a particularly riveting subject. The distraction was welcome anyway. He sanitised the tale of his childhood when she pressed insistently for details, apparently marvelling at the idea of his being an orphan, but mostly they spoke of his work. The various flashy bars and clubs, and his home at Kallisti. Her eyes grew round with interest. When he realised it was the glitz and glamour that fascinated her he wove the tales into fun and fancy. It passed the time, until his voice grew hoarse enough to hurt.
At some point he noticed one of the doctors pass outside the long observation window, nose buried in a screen, only to more or less freeze in the doorway before turning around and heading back the way she came, expression pinched into a resigned grimace. Visha appeared to notice too by the prim way she glanced over her shoulder, but she only shrugged one of her shoulders by way of answer. A delicate sigh puffed out from her lips. She very deliberately checked her posture, tucked herself in close, and pressed her hands between her thighs.
“Visha, darling. You know you should not be in here.”
The voice to boom the interruption belonged to Ephraim Haart himself. Raffe had not seen him since their initial meeting, however many days ago that had been now; everything had begun blurring a little already. Today he was dressed in deep navy, curls perfect, face stern and patient as a concerned father.
“I haven’t touched him, Ephraim. Have I Raffe? Tell him, please.”
Raffe only blinked, a little confused by the question. Visha’s gaze was pointed, edged with demand, but when she turned back to Ephraim contrition melted the pertinacity. She stood in a way that seemed entirely boneless.
“You’ll skew the data. Come on now.” Ephraim held out a gentlemanly hand for her assured exit. As she obediently passed him he pressed that hand into the small of her back.
He was wearing gloves.
![[Image: Raffe-banner--scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/Raffe-banner--scaled.jpg)