The silence in the isolation ward was heavy, broken only by the hum of the air recyclers and the rhythmic scratching of Ether's pen against a clipboard. Arthur sat on the edge of the examination bed, his legs dangling. The goddesium plating on his shins gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the pale, bruised flesh of his torso. The fever had broken, leaving him with a lingering chill and a throat that felt like it had been scrubbed with steel wool.
Ether spun her chair around, a tablet held loosely in her hand. She looked exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes seemingly permanent, yet her gaze was sharp, predatory in an intellectual sense. She tapped the screen with a manicured, albeit chipped, fingernail.
"Alright, Commander. Before we continue with your... rehabilitation, we need to handle the bureaucracy. I know, boring, but Missilis legal is terrifyingly efficient."
She thrust the tablet toward him. The screen displayed a dense wall of text, the kind designed to induce migraines and obscure liability.
"What is this?" Arthur asked, his voice rasping slightly.
"Standard waiver," Ether said, waving a hand dismissively. "Essentially, it states that you consent to emergency experimental treatment due to the novel nature of your infection. It also absolves Missilis Industry, the M.M.R. Center, and specifically me, Lead Researcher Ether, from any liability regarding side effects, up to and including: loss of motor function, hallucinations, permanent discoloration of the skin, spontaneous combustion—rare, but it happened once—and death."
Arthur frowned, scrolling down. "And the part about my personal belongings?"
"Oh, that just says we hold onto your gear—that fancy coat, the scary red bullet you were clutching like a teddy bear—for safekeeping. Decontamination protocols. You wouldn't want to accidentally introduce a surface pathogen to your own weapons, would you?"
Arthur looked up at her. "And if I don't sign?"
Ether smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. It was a cold, clinical expression. "Well, you're currently in a high-security isolation ward with a biological contaminant classification. If you refuse treatment consent, I am legally obligated to cease all medical intervention. You'll be locked in here, strictly quarantined. No food, no water, no medicine. Just you and the bacteria eating your stomach lining until you either miraculously recover through the power of positive thinking or... well, the other thing."
She leaned forward, the scent of antiseptic and stale coffee wafting from her. "I'm a researcher, Arthur, not a charity worker. I need data. You need life. Sign the damn form."
Arthur stared at the tablet. It was coercion wrapped in corporate letterhead, but he had survived the surface, the elevator crash, and the White Demon's sacrifice. He wasn't going to die of dehydration in a glass box because of stubbornness. He pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner at the bottom.
"Good boy," Ether purred, snatching the tablet back. She tapped a few commands and stood up, stretching. Her lab coat, stained and wrinkled, hung loosely over her frame. "Now, I'm done doting on you for the day. I have cultures to check and a shower that's been calling my name for forty-eight hours. Press the call button if you start coughing up blood again. Otherwise, sleep."
She turned and walked out, the hydraulic hiss of the door sealing him in. Arthur let out a long breath, a cough catching in his chest. He lay back, staring at the sterile white ceiling, the image of Snow White's last stand playing behind his eyelids until exhaustion finally dragged him under.
***
The knocking was soft, almost imperceptible.
Arthur jerked awake, his instincts screaming danger. The room was dim, lit only by the low-power night cycle lights. He sat up, his prosthetics whirring quietly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He watched the door. There was no one visible through the thick observation glass, but a small, folded piece of paper slid underneath the seal, rustling against the floor.
He waited a beat, scanning for movement. Nothing.
Pushing himself up, he walked over and retrieved the paper. It was a torn scrap, likely ripped from a medical file or a notebook. The handwriting was jagged, hurried.
*PM 11. Furthest to the right. CASE01. HEL*
The rest of the paper was torn away.
Arthur stared at the letters *HEL*. Help? Hell? Hello? Given the context of a secret note in a Missilis facility, 'Help' seemed the most likely candidate. He checked the wall clock. It was digital, displaying only the date. He had no idea of the time.
He pocketed the note, his mind racing. Who knew he was here? The Monarks were in the waiting room, Ether had said, but they wouldn't have access to slip notes under isolation doors. This was someone inside. Someone desperate.
***
The next morning—or what Arthur assumed was morning based on the brightening of the artificial lights—brought Ether back into his orbit. She bustled in with a tray of instruments, looking slightly more awake but no less disheveled than the day before.
"Vitals check," she announced, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "Sit up."
Arthur complied, watching her work. She was efficient, her movements precise despite her chaotic appearance. She checked his temperature, shone a light in his eyes, and pressed a stethoscope to his chest, listening to the rattle in his lungs.
"Fever is down to thirty-eight degrees," she muttered, scribbling on her clipboard. "Lung capacity is improving. The pathogen is retreating. Whatever mutated nightmare you ate up there, your immune system—with a little help from my genius—is beating it."
She grabbed a syringe. "Arm."
Arthur extended his arm. As she drew blood from his organic shoulder, filling three vials with dark crimson fluid, he cleared his throat.
"Ether."
"Hmm?"
"I need a watch."
She paused, withdrawing the needle and pressing a cotton ball to the puncture wound. "A watch? Why? You have nowhere to be."
"It helps me orient myself," Arthur lied smoothly. "Losing track of time is disorienting. It hinders recovery. Psychological stress leads to cortisol spikes, which suppresses the immune system. You want clean data, don't you?"
Ether blinked at him, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Did you just try to use medical science against me? That's cute."
She finished labeling the vials and tossed them onto her tray. "But fine. If it stops you from asking stupid questions, I'll find you a cheap digital one from supply. Don't expect a Rolex."
"Can I walk?" Arthur asked, pushing his luck. "My legs feel stiff. Goddesium needs movement to recalibrate the neural interface properly after downtime."
Ether eyed him suspiciously, tapping the pen against her lips. "You're awfully demanding for a lab rat. You want to roam the halls?"
"Just this floor," Arthur said, keeping his expression neutral. "I won't leave the ward."
Ether narrowed her eyes behind her thick frames. "You're acting like you're expecting a visitor. Or planning a breakout. I should warn you, the security droids on this level are set to 'incinerate' for unauthorized personnel."
"I just want to stretch my legs, Ether. Being caged makes me restless."
She studied him for a long moment, weighing the risk. Finally, she shrugged. "Fine. You can walk the corridor of this wing. But if you try to enter any other rooms, the lockdown protocols will trigger, and I will be very annoyed if I have to scrape you off the floor. Do you understand?"
"Crystal clear."
Ether sighed and stood up from her stool. As she rose, a sharp *rrrip* sound cut through the air.
She froze. Arthur looked down. The black leggings she wore, already shredded at the calves from god-knows-what chemical accidents, had just developed a new, significant tear running up the side of her thigh, exposing a long stretch of pale, synthetic skin.
Ether looked down at her leg, then back at Arthur. She didn't seem embarrassed, just mildly irritated.
"Dammit. That was my last pair of comfortable pants."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "I could go down to the first floor and get you a new pair. I saw a uniform dispenser near the intake."
Ether opened her mouth to agree, then stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "Nice try, Slick. You're restricted to *this* floor. I'm not giving you a hall pass to wander the entire facility."
She bent over to inspect the tear, giving Arthur an unobstructed view of the curve of her hips and the way the fabric strained against her thighs. Despite the clinical setting and the looming mystery of the note, Arthur couldn't help but appreciate the view. Ether might be a mad scientist with the hygiene of a recluse, but she was undeniably fit.
She straightened up, catching his gaze. She didn't pull her coat closed. Instead, a sly grin touched her lips.
"Enjoying the show, Commander?"
"Just observing the structural integrity of Missilis textiles," Arthur replied deadpan.
Ether snorted. "Right. Keep 'observing' from inside the corridor. I'm going to go tape this up before I flash a security camera." She grabbed her tray. "I'll bring your watch. Don't make me regret letting you out."