"His pulse is normal, and his heart rate is healthy," Doctor Sylvia said, her tone unusually firm. "There was no sign of a seizure as you claimed, Gabriella. He'll be discharged in a short while. For now, rest easy. Ortega is perfectly fine." She glanced around the room before carefully removing her surgical gloves and disposing of them in the bin nearby, avoiding eye contact as if to reinforce her words.
The tension in the room seemed to melt away at her words. The women present in the clinic let out collective sighs of relief, their worried expressions softening as they glanced over at the still figure of Ortega on the hospital bed.
Doctor Sylvia's clinic was unlike any other. It exuded an aura of luxury and serenity, designed to calm the senses and provide comfort to its patients. The walls were adorned with calming artwork—subtle, abstract pieces that soothed the eye and mind. Soft, ambient lighting cast a warm glow, creating a tranquil atmosphere.
The floors were lined with plush, deep-pile carpets that absorbed sound and gave a feeling of walking on clouds. The furniture was elegant and modern, with ergonomic chairs and sofas upholstered in luxurious fabrics. A large, circular reception desk stood at the entrance, manned by attentive staff in professional attire.
The beds were fitted with soft, high-thread-count sheets and comfortable pillows, ensuring the utmost in patient comfort.
"I discovered a four-finger imprint on the patient's face. Seeing as he was brought here unconscious, would any of you mind explaining how this happened?" Doctor Sylvia asked, her tone even and authoritative, as she walked to the center of the room and folded her arms.
There was a momentary silence as her colleagues exchanged uncertain glances. Doctor Sylvia's discerning gaze swept over each person in turn, waiting for an explanation.
"I was with him, Doctor. He had just submitted an assignment I gave him when suddenly, he started sweating profusely. I asked what was wrong, and he covered his mouth instead of replying. The next thing I knew, he was on the ground, spasming..." Gabriella answered after a brief pause, her voice tinged with concern. Her explanation was met with a mixture of disbelief and surprise from her colleagues as they processed the information.
"It was so scary. I even thought he was dying..." Gabriella continued, her voice trailing off slightly as she recalled the frightening moments.
Doctor Sylvia nodded thoughtfully, her expression serious. "Thank you, Gabriella. It sounds like a frightening experience indeed. We'll need to monitor him closely for any further episodes."
As she spoke, a nurse entered the room, carrying a tray with medication and a glass of water. Doctor Sylvia gestured for her to approach the bed, and the nurse gently placed the medication beside Ortega, ensuring his comfort and well-being as she did so.
The luxury clinic maintained its serene ambiance, even in the midst of uncertainty. The women continued to discuss Ortega's condition, their voices hushed and concerned, as they awaited his recovery under the watchful eye of Doctor Sylvia and her team.
"It was me," a voice declared. Everyone turned to face a tall, busty brunette. Her eyes flashed with determination as she stood tall, her hands on her hips. "He kept screaming highly offensive stuff, like he was hysterical. I couldn't stand his words scaring everyone, so I hit his face to shut him up."
The room was filled with shocked silence. Doctor Sylvia's expression turned stern as she assessed the situation, her arms folded as she looked directly at the brunette.
"Mind explaining exactly what he said that made you react this way?" She asked, her voice calm but firm.
The brunette sighed and looked up, her eyes meeting Doctor Sylvia's with a hint of guilt. "He was ranting about how big our... assets were and how he'd like to squeeze them, I think. It's hard to remember the exact words." She held Sylvia's gaze with a brazen expression as she spoke, "He sounded like a creep."
The women murmured indignantly upon hearing Ortega's offensive remarks from the busty lady's mouth, some feeling that hitting him was justified.
Even Dr. Sylvia was briefly struck silent, but she quickly regained her composure and urged everyone to calm down. To her, regardless of the provocation, violence wasn't the answer, especially against someone in need of medical attention. Determined to resolve the situation, she decided to address both parties.
"Well, that was clearly out of line, I'll admit. But you shouldn't have resorted to violence," Dr. Sylvia said firmly, addressing the tomboy. "His mind wasn't healthy at the moment, and no matter how offensive his words were, you had no right to hit him. You're lucky he didn't suffer a concussion from your actions; you would have had yourself to blame," she sighed disappointedly and shook her head.
"I expected better from you, Dina."
Dina clenched her fists and bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Doctor," she replied in a remorseful tone.
"What you did was uncalled for and unprofessional. A simple apology won't suffice, but I'll let you off with a warning," Dr. Sylvia continued sternly. "Let this be a lesson to you. Is that understood?"
Dina nodded, her expression filled with guilt.
"Good. Now leave," Dr. Sylvia ordered.
Dina bowed again, turned around, and silently made her way to the exit.
"You too Gabriella."
"Yes, Doctor."
Everyone watched as both women silently closed the door behind them and left. The room became silent once more, and the occasional beeping of the heart rate monitor assured everyone that Ortega was going to be alright.
"He needs privacy to recover, so let's give him that." Dr Sylvia said and gestured towards the door, emphasizing what she meant.
One by one, the women left the clinic, murmuring as they did so. They were surprised by the strange turn of events. Ortega was someone they barely knew, and it was a pity how someone of his caliber could be so unfortunate as to have been inflicted with a terrible illness.
"Poor guy..." The women thought as they gave one last look at Ortega, wearing pitiful expressions as they chatted amongst themselves in low volumes, expressing their sentiments. Eventually, the door shut, and Dr Sylvia dipped her hands into her lab coat pockets and said to Ortega as he slept:
"Now, tell me what really happened, young man. You have three minutes to explain yourself," she turned and looked at his body lying supine on the hospital bed, awaiting a response.
Ortega's chest rose and fell, and his white-collared shirt stuck to his body, drenched in sweat. However, he didn't budge, and his eyes remained shut. Dr Sylvia only shook her head and walked up to him.
She gave a dull sigh, "Drop the act, I know you're awake."
Ortega opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry about the whole thing doc, I'm very grateful for your help."
"I don't want an apology, and you shouldn't be smiling, because I'm not," Dr Sylvia said with a serious expression and Ortega suddenly felt the room temperature drop. He wondered why his superiors were so intimidating and his mind raced as he thought of a suitable sob story.
He was knocked unconscious by Dina's slap, and it seemed that immediately quelled the awful backlash from using the 'Diligent Employee' title. Ortega looked at the clock stationed on the clinic wall and realized that he would have still been convulsing if he wasn't unconscious because the backlash would still be active by now, seeing as it wasn't even up to 30 minutes since he blacked out.
"So losing consciousness is a way out?" Ortega thought, a relieved expression clouding his features. He now had a surefire way of getting out of trouble whenever he used the skill and suffered its backlash.
However, he cringed upon imagining how he was even going to attempt to knock himself out. He wasn't a masochist, so the idea sounded very extreme, but he was going to have to work with it sooner because it was his only option.
Raising his upper body and adjusting to a sitting position, Ortega looked at Dr. Sylvia.
She was strikingly beautiful and splendid in her well-fitted white lab coat, which exuded an air of authority and professionalism. Her frayed skirt, a touch of personal style amid clinical precision, added a hint of warmth to her otherwise clinical attire. Her gold-rimmed spectacles perched elegantly on her nose, accentuating her intelligent eyes.
Dr. Sylvia's melanin-rich skin glowed under the sterile white lights emanating from the ceiling bulbs, giving her an ethereal quality. Her slightly parted lips were a deep shade of silver, contrasting against her warm complexion, and were full and inviting, though currently set in a firm line. Her dark, curly afro, held back by a stylish headband, emphasized the graceful curve of her neck.
However, she wore an impatient expression as she looked down at him, her foot drumming on the floor and her arms akimbo.
"I'm waiting," she said, her crystal blue eyes narrowed as she tilted her head, catching a subtle reaction from Ortega.
Ortega balled his fists, gritted his teeth, and shifted his gaze to his feet. He now knew what he had to do, his analytical mind weighing the possibilities of his explanation being satisfactory. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then looked up at Dr. Sylvia. His mouth opened, but he hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.
The tension in the room was palpable, the silence heavy with anticipation. Dr. Sylvia's gaze remained fixed on Ortega, her expression unreadable yet somehow conveying both authority and a subtle disdain. Every second that passed seemed to stretch on indefinitely, until finally, Ortega spoke, his voice slightly trembling.
"I... I am epileptic."