Hhhng-tchoo!
Seraniti let out another sneeze, her body trembling slightly as she pulled the warm, fuzzy white blanket tighter around herself. She lay flat on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her mind was a hazy fog, the events of the previous day blurry and fragmented. She didn't remember much after her breakdown, but at least one thing was certain: her system had been reset—however temporary that relief might be.
Swishhh...
The door to her room creaked open softly, the sound almost apologetic as a figure stepped inside. It was Zora, her usual laziness replaced with an air of quiet purpose. She was dressed in a pink and white apron, an outfit so uncharacteristic that Seraniti blinked twice to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. In her hands, Zora carried a bowl of soup, steam curling up in lazy spirals. The aroma was comforting but slightly off—like Zora had tried to make it herself instead of ordering takeout as she usually did.
Zora placed the soup down on the desk with surprising care before turning her attention to Seraniti. Her feline ears twitched as her eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a squirming line of displeasure. Without saying a word, she strode over to the bed, her raised fist already primed.
"Wait… wait. Wait! I can expla—!" Seraniti's frantic protest was cut off as Zora's fist came down with the force of righteous fury, landing squarely on Seraniti's forehead. A dull thunk echoed through the room, followed by Seraniti's pitiful groan as she rubbed the rapidly forming red spot.
"You're lucky you only used half your magicules," Zora hissed, her voice sharp and dripping with exasperation. "Look at you—!" She didn't finish the sentence, choosing instead to emphasize her frustration with another well-placed knuckle sandwich.
Thwack!
"Ow! Ow! Okay, I get it! Stop hitting me!" Seraniti whined, her voice nasally from the cold as she buried herself deeper into the blanket. She massaged her forehead, glaring weakly at Zora through watery eyes. "I'm already sick, you heartless cat."
Zora's tail swished behind her as she crossed her arms, her glare intensifying. "And whose fault is that, huh? You think I have time to go looking for another mashaa because you can't take care of yourself?" Her ears twitched as her tone sharpened further. "Do you have any idea what it's like trying to track you down after you burn through half your magicules? You could've killed yourself, you idiot!"
Seraniti muttered something under her breath, her cheeks puffing out slightly in defiance. "I didn't ask you to find me…"
"What was that?" Zora asked, her hand twitching as if ready to deliver another blow.
"Nothing," Seraniti grumbled, sinking further into her blanket.
Zora let out a long, exasperated sigh, her tail flicking back and forth as she rubbed her temples. "You're impossible, you know that?" She grabbed the soup from the desk and shoved it toward Seraniti. "Here. Eat. And don't give me any excuses. If you're too weak to lift a spoon, I swear I'll force-feed you."
Seraniti hesitated, her eyes darting between Zora and the soup. The aroma was tempting, even if it smelled slightly off. She reached out reluctantly, her hand trembling slightly from both fatigue and the weight of Zora's glare.
"…Thanks," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Zora's expression softened ever so slightly, though her sharp tongue didn't falter. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make me regret wasting my time on you, you walking disaster."
Seraniti rolled her eyes but couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. For all of Zora's scolding and sharp-tongued remarks, there was an undeniable warmth behind the words—a care that lingered even when delivered with a fist to the forehead.
It didn't take long for Seraniti to finish the warm soup, though her body betrayed her exhaustion. She coughed harshly, her chest tightening as specks of black particles with a brownish hue escaped her lips. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her tired eyes flicking to Zora, who had paused mid-motion.
Zora's feline ears twitched, her sharp gaze locking onto the telltale signs of Óhrin—the incurable disease that plagued Humanvmy. She knew it too well, her expression hardening briefly before softening again. Seraniti was on that list, one of countless lives marked by its relentless grip.
"F—cough! Where's my car, Zora?" Seraniti rasped, her voice hoarse as she struggled to push past the heaviness in her chest. She leaned back slightly, her hand still pressed to her mouth.
Zora crossed her arms, her tail flicking sharply behind her. "Don't tell me you forgot? We're leaving this country after you finished that brilliant job of yours that went to complete shit." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but her brow furrowed as she continued. "I drove you here last night, and it's already been shipped to Yamatai. Where I was born and raised, remember?"
A screen popped up above the bracelet on Zora's left wrist, displaying a sleek interface. She tapped it a few times, her tone more serious now. "We leave in three days. Try not to cough yourself into a coma before then."
Seraniti tilted her head slightly, a literal and figurative light bulb appearing above her as she connected the dots.
"Right," she muttered, her tone distracted as her gaze drifted to a nearby bottle of pills. She picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly as she examined the label. "But I still need to see a doctah' and get more suppressors. We're running low." She exhaled sharply, setting the bottle back down. "Well, more like I'm running low since, you know… I've got it worse." Her voice trailed off, the weight of her condition pressing down on her.
She stared at the pills for a moment longer before adding softly, almost to herself, "Even walking's hard some days."
Zora's ears twitched again, her tail flicking sharply once more, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she watched silently as Seraniti straightened, her tired frame moving with a stubborn determination that Zora couldn't help but admire.
"Zora, where are my clothes?" Seraniti asked, glancing around the sparsely furnished room. The walls were bare, the furniture minimal—a place that felt more like a temporary stop than a home.
"They're hanging up," Zora replied, jerking her thumb toward a small rack near the corner of the room. "Almost dry, so don't go tearing them off like a fool."
Seraniti let out a faint snort as she pushed herself to her feet, wobbling slightly before steadying herself against the edge of the desk. "Yeah, yeah… I'll just wear my pants and shirt. Thanks, Zora."
Zora didn't respond, only picking up the empty bowl before leaving the room. Her feline ears twitched slightly as she stole a glance at Seraniti changing, but she said nothing. Seraniti pulled on a fresh set of undergarments, her movements deliberate and slow, before slipping into the freshly cleaned clothes Zora had prepared. Once dressed, she moved to the small bathroom, her fingers running through her stiff, feather-like hair before grabbing her toothbrush.
A sharp snap of her fingers summoned the news onto a screen in front of her.
"Good morning, Barrio! Nice weather we've got, eh? Well, not for long as winter is fast approaching, so cover up!" The cheerful voice contrasted sharply with her tired expression.
The anchor's tone shifted, more serious now: "And in other news—a former captain of the Usegal Imperial Armed Forces is still on the run after being charged with conspiracy to sell state weapons, fraud, triple homicide, and seven counts of battery, among other things. He has been identified as Al—"
Seraniti swiped her hand dismissively, cutting the broadcast short as the screen blinked out of existence. She rinsed her mouth and checked herself in the mirror. "Not bad, me," she muttered before shaking her head at her reflection. "Jacket it is, then. Gotta meet Marcus before we leave too."
She left her bathroom and grabbed her jacket on the way out, her grey eyes landing on Zora. The feline was curled up on the couch, swords lying within arm's reach as usual. "Lazy as ever." Seraniti muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. She patted her pockets, confirming her knife and
The trip through the apartment building was as routine as it was mundane. The elevator hummed softly as it carried her down the many floors, the quiet mechanical noise a faint contrast to the chaos she was used to. When the doors opened, she stepped into the hallway, walking past the sparse but clean reception area and into the streets.
Outside, the city was alive with its usual rhythm. Cars passed by in a steady stream, their engines blending into the hum of conversation and distant machinery. The chill in the air was unmistakable, biting at her skin even as she adjusted her jacket. The towering buildings around her cast long shadows over the bustling streets, but the faint warmth of sunlight creeping over the horizon softened the edges of the cold.
Her bracelet chimed softly as she checked the map, the glowing interface displaying the closest clinic. "A pretty nice clinic if I say so myself even after a few weeks have passed." she muttered, lowering her hand as the map disappeared. Pocketing her hands for warmth, she set off, her boots clicking softly against the pavement.
The streets were busy, but not overwhelming. Pedestrians weaved through the sidewalks, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and purpose. Vendors called out from small stalls, the smell of fried food and roasted chestnuts wafting through the air. A child ran past her, laughing as his parents hurried to catch up, their arms weighed down with shopping bags.
The contrast struck her—families living ordinary lives amidst the harshness of the world. Strange, isn't it? she thought, her eyes following the child for a moment before moving on.
She passed a mix of old and new—graffiti-covered walls standing beside sleek, modern high rises with the sound of aerial vehicles passing high in the sky. A group of teenagers huddled in a corner, sharing a laugh as they watched something on a shared screen. The faint melody of a busker's guitar played in the background, almost lost in the city's ambient noise.
The farther she walked, the cleaner the streets became, the shift subtle but noticeable. The smell of exhaust gave way to the crisp, sanitized scent often associated with medical facilities. The clinic's building loomed ahead, its smooth, sterile facade standing out against the surrounding shops and homes.
The clinic served two purposes, catering to both routine health needs and services like transplants. Its entrance was wide, with automatic sliding doors that opened smoothly as Seraniti approached. Inside, the reception area was spacious and orderly, with chairs neatly arranged and screens displaying patient information and local health advisories.
A faint hum of activity filled the air—nurses moving between patients, the quiet murmur of conversation, and the occasional beep from nearby monitors. Seraniti scanned the room briefly before stepping toward the reception desk, her boots echoing softly against the polished floor.
"Hello! How can I help you today?" A kind older woman with her hair tied into a neat bun waved at Seraniti, her warm smile contrasting against the cold sterility of the clinic.
Seraniti walked up to the desk, handing over her Lemos card with a quiet sigh. "Hi, I'm here for suppressors and a check-up," she said, her tone even but laced with exhaustion.
The older woman nodded, her fingers flying across the terminal with practiced ease. After a moment, she handed back Seraniti's card, her expression warm and polite. "A doctor will be with you shortly, okay?"
Seraniti gave a small nod before turning to find a seat. As she sat, her grey eyes scanned the room idly, noting the clean, sterile design of the clinic's waiting area. Monitors mounted on the walls displayed health advisories, while patients murmured softly among themselves. Nurses bustled between rooms, their movements efficient, accompanied by the occasional beep of monitoring devices.
The quiet hum of activity gave her a moment to herself, though her mind felt far from calm. Her fingers brushed the edge of her jacket, a subconscious motion that betrayed her underlying tension. Finally, her name was called, and she stood, following a nurse down a long, sterile hallway.
They arrived at a spacious room dominated by a sleek, black, rectangular device—the sarcophagus. Its semi-transparent panels gleamed faintly, reflecting the pale overhead lights. Surrounding it were smaller devices recessed into the floor, their surfaces polished and unused. The room smelled faintly of processed metals and antiseptic, a hallmark of medical technology in the Common Era.
Beside the sarcophagus stood an older man dressed in a flamboyant mix of colors, his layered attire resembling something between a fashion statement and an act of defiance against the clinic's sterility. He grinned when he saw her, his sharp teeth glinting in the light.
"Well, well! Look who decided to show up!" he exclaimed, his accent elongating his vowels. "Been a while, eh, little girl?"
"Yeah, Bones, it has," Seraniti replied, calling him by the nickname she'd given him long ago. "I need suppressors for a few months—double dosage. And I need you to check on my transplants."
Bones, whose real name was Jr, chuckled as he gestured toward the sarcophagus. "Double dosage, eh? Always with the heavy stuff." His feline-like ears twitched as his tone softened slightly. "Guess ya don't have much choice, do ya?"
Seraniti didn't respond, her gaze drifting to the sarcophagus. Her body bore the hidden scars of Óhrin—a disease that had crystallized six percent of her cellular structure into shards that disrupted her body. She was one of countless others afflicted with the incurable condition that loomed over Humanvmy like a specter. The suppressors helped, but they weren't a cure. Nothing was.
Bones moved to the sarcophagus and pulled a thin, triangular-tipped cable from its side. "Same drill as always. This cable ain't strictly necessary, but hey, placebo's a hell of a drug, eh?"
Seraniti took the cable without a word, running her fingers over its smooth surface before plugging it into her mediport, located at the base of her neural port. The mediport, designed to integrate seamlessly with her body's natural systems, could house three chips, the central slot slightly raised to ensure proper alignment.
The moment the cable connected, her vision filled with cascading data. Diagnostic information streamed into her augmented interface, detailing everything from her vitals to her transplants' functionality. She climbed onto the sarcophagus, the surface shifting slightly to conform to her form.
"Alright, let's see what we've got," Bones muttered, his sharp eyes scanning the monitors as he prepped the room. "Still kickin', eh? That six percent crystallization hasn't turned ya to stone yet."
"Not yet," Seraniti replied, lying back as the surface beneath her turned liquid-like. "Guess I'm just lucky."
Bones snorted as he adjusted a few dials. "Luck? Sure, let's call it that. Now, stay still while I work my magic—or, y'know, science."
The sarcophagus enveloped her as she sank into the processed collapse-liquid mixture. The liquid wrapped around her like a cocoon, its smooth texture cold against her skin. The device read her natural infotons, reading her physical and transplant conditions in tandem. The thin cable transmitted additional data, connecting with her mediport to assess her neural functionality and overall health.
"What about healing magic?" Seraniti asked, her voice transmitted clearly through the speakers connected to the sarcophagus.
Bones chuckled. "Magic? Bah, that ain't real healing, not the way people think. No waving your hands and poof—problems gone. Even the best healing sequences are just glorified surgery. Ya gotta prep everything first, line it all up proper. And let's not even start on Pitons—they'll throw a fit if you don't."
The sarcophagus hummed softly as the scans concluded. The liquid drained pushing her up, leaving Seraniti lying on the now-solid surface. She unplugged the cable from her mediport and sat up, rolling her shoulders to shake off the stiffness.
"All done," Bones announced, handing her a small container of suppressors. "Double dosage, just like ya asked. Don't burn through these too quick, ya hear? They don't grow on trees."
Seraniti pocketed the pills, her expression neutral. "Thanks, Bones."
Bones grinned, waving her off. "Take care of yourself, little girl. Don't make me track ya down next time, eh?"