Can you tell I like Arknights a lot, that I had a bit of wanting to do fics for it? Here's another one I started but abandoned.
One Soul
Excerpt- Session Two, Patient B1
I feel it is important to note how defeated I feel as a medical professional, seeing my patient clinging to herself and crying. If it were anyone else, I might have been able to offer them at least the comfort of a hug. But, because of the situation- and who my Patient is- I can only sit and wait for her to compose herself.
Nonetheless, I resent the position I have been put in. Finally, she looks up to me, and I ask her to continue.
Because it is better for her health- and because this is information that we need. She is right to grieve, but at the end of the day, there is more at stake than her feelings.
No matter how much it hurts me as a person.
Prologue
The Hour Hand
Blurs. Colors. Shapes. Then, there is noise. Sensation creeping in. She feels it- warmth, where everything else was cold. The stinging pain of stale air touching her flesh.
“ . . . “
She takes a breath- no, she struggles to breathe.
“ . . ! “
Yes, that’s right. The damage, it hurts. It feels like her lungs are on fire- and it occurs to her that it is strange she knows that.
“ . . to . . ! “
She struggles to take another breath.
“ Doc . . . ! “
Pressure on her chest, she knows somehow that she’s numb- because all she feels is a vague discomfort- like it should feel different but doesn’t.
“Brady . . . everything else is fine-”
Shapes and colors turn into form. The warmth envelopes her hand again, and she feels her fingers tighten, on reflex. She understands innately what a reflex is, knows it is important to her. Deep inside, there is a part of her that thinks of electricity, and pulsing rhythm. She remembers what a camera is-
Pictures flash through her mind. A woman's smiling face, the freshness of an Autumn day, someone's birthday-
Wait… that was important. Why couldn't she remember? She needed to--
"Doctor, take my hand."
Warmth. So warm. Form became information, and her eyes saw again. Dredges of the world without flooded in, the sound of sirens entering her ears alongside the sight of people crowded around where she'd been asleep.
A coffin, she wasn't sure why that thought came to her, but it felt appropriate. A wintry, unfeeling place where … something- something was taking place.
She knew she should remember, but she couldn't. She knew she was a she, and that was it. Her brain chemistry was balanced, most of the time--
Why did that thought occur to her?
"Amiya, we need to get going."
Form became sight, and the patch of wintry ice overlaid in her lashes faded away into cool tears, as chestnut brown and blue-eyes greeted her.
“Welcome back, Doctor.” That voice drew a breath from her lungs, just before ring-clad fingers brushed long sheafs of wintry white from her face.
“That’s… the Doctor?” Another voice asked, just as the rabbit-eared girl helped her from the coffin, aware that the patchy ice upon her skin left her numb and uncertain. She was awake now,l though. She knew that much.
One Soul
Excerpt- Session Two, Patient B1
I feel it is important to note how defeated I feel as a medical professional, seeing my patient clinging to herself and crying. If it were anyone else, I might have been able to offer them at least the comfort of a hug. But, because of the situation- and who my Patient is- I can only sit and wait for her to compose herself.
Nonetheless, I resent the position I have been put in. Finally, she looks up to me, and I ask her to continue.
Because it is better for her health- and because this is information that we need. She is right to grieve, but at the end of the day, there is more at stake than her feelings.
No matter how much it hurts me as a person.
Prologue
The Hour Hand
Blurs. Colors. Shapes. Then, there is noise. Sensation creeping in. She feels it- warmth, where everything else was cold. The stinging pain of stale air touching her flesh.
“ . . . “
She takes a breath- no, she struggles to breathe.
“ . . ! “
Yes, that’s right. The damage, it hurts. It feels like her lungs are on fire- and it occurs to her that it is strange she knows that.
“ . . to . . ! “
She struggles to take another breath.
“ Doc . . . ! “
Pressure on her chest, she knows somehow that she’s numb- because all she feels is a vague discomfort- like it should feel different but doesn’t.
“Brady . . . everything else is fine-”
Shapes and colors turn into form. The warmth envelopes her hand again, and she feels her fingers tighten, on reflex. She understands innately what a reflex is, knows it is important to her. Deep inside, there is a part of her that thinks of electricity, and pulsing rhythm. She remembers what a camera is-
Pictures flash through her mind. A woman's smiling face, the freshness of an Autumn day, someone's birthday-
Wait… that was important. Why couldn't she remember? She needed to--
"Doctor, take my hand."
Warmth. So warm. Form became information, and her eyes saw again. Dredges of the world without flooded in, the sound of sirens entering her ears alongside the sight of people crowded around where she'd been asleep.
A coffin, she wasn't sure why that thought came to her, but it felt appropriate. A wintry, unfeeling place where … something- something was taking place.
She knew she should remember, but she couldn't. She knew she was a she, and that was it. Her brain chemistry was balanced, most of the time--
Why did that thought occur to her?
"Amiya, we need to get going."
Form became sight, and the patch of wintry ice overlaid in her lashes faded away into cool tears, as chestnut brown and blue-eyes greeted her.
“Welcome back, Doctor.” That voice drew a breath from her lungs, just before ring-clad fingers brushed long sheafs of wintry white from her face.
“That’s… the Doctor?” Another voice asked, just as the rabbit-eared girl helped her from the coffin, aware that the patchy ice upon her skin left her numb and uncertain. She was awake now,l though. She knew that much.