White Noise

He didn't give them any acknowledgement. It was almost enough for him to panic when he awoke, but it clicked in all too fast that he was in a hospital bed. The monitor beeping beside him, an IV drip now placed in his arm, bandages and gauze wrapped around his left hand, surely that TV world couldn't conjure up this. Surely, it wouldn't try keeping him alive after trying to kill him multiple times.

He was tired. They were asking him questions, but all he saw were hazy figures and their words came out like the Shadows' bubbling and hisses. Sometimes, when he blinked, he could see reality, hear the fragment of the sentence before it all faded back into his riddled hallucination.

He was fine now. They weren't going to hurt him. He knew where he was.

At least, he could only hope he knew where he was.

Trying to focus on the brief seconds of reality and the monitor beeping at his side is what was probably keeping him grounded. He continued to sit in silence, not bothering to spare a glance at the doctors and nurses that appeared as monsters for most of his minutes. They blubbered and gurgled, nothing but a mess to his ears until he fell asleep. He was exhausted. The same thing happened each day, however, every time he woke up, the hallucinations vanished longer. It was a relief, but he still didn't respond to the fragments of questions he managed to collect. He was being carted from room to room, tests and the like happening, but he didn't respond. He didn't want to respond until everything was cleared up, until the hallucinations were gone for good.

He was terribly drained. Every time he fell asleep, flashes of Yamano's body swarmed his mind, of Adachi's horrified look as he glanced to the glass embedded into his shoulder. There was always the sound of heavy knocks, rattling doorknobs, a crying child, screaming and yelling, which all merged into the background as the images strung along slowly in his mind.

One day, something filtered in behind the grating sounds, and he opened his eyes to the white ceiling. He could understand the conversation—his uncle was talking to someone who's voice he didn't recognize. He didn't turn to look, seeing how long it would last. They would usually fade to the gurgles and bubbles after a moment, the ceiling fading to be shaded in a murky yellow. He waited, blinking slowly, breathing lightly. It never changed. The ceiling remained white, his uncle's conversation with the stranger was crystal clear. He thought he'd be happier, laughing and crying when he was finally grounded back in reality; instead, he merely lay there, completely enervated.

He rolled his head to the side, blinking slowly as he looked at his uncle and a woman talking near the door on the far side of the room. The woman wasn't a nurse—she wasn't in uniform. Did his uncle get a girlfriend? No, that probably wasn't the case. He tried listening to the conversation, only to realize he had no context. He'd just been focusing on the fact that he could understand the words, he hadn't been paying attention to the sentences themselves. Something about investigating a junkyard?

"...Uncle..." he mumbled, shifting in his bed to try to sit up, finding it difficult with one arm still constricted tightly to his chest by a sling, the other with an IV drip in his inner elbow, hand wrapped so he couldn't bend his fingers. He gave up after a fleeting couple of seconds, his uncle whirling around on the spot and staring at him with wide eyes before it softened into relief. The woman excused herself, saying she was going to find a nurse while Dojima quickly made his way to the bedside. He noticed right away that his uncle's lip was trembling, the man's fingers shaking as he brushed them through Souji's hair.

"Souji..." Dojima said, and Souji could see his eyes starting to water. "I was getting so scared, I thought... I'd thought... They told me... They..."

Souji watched his uncle falter, the man bringing his hand back to his side before he cupped them around his face. He watched Dojima close his eyes, could hear the deep and heavy breath he sighed behind his hands before he slowly brought his hands back to his side, giving the teen a shaky grin.

"They're gonna want to ask you a lot of questions," he chuckled, pausing as he looked for a chair and brought it next to the bed. "And the police will be rushing to get answers, too."

Police. The image of Adachi flashed through his mind at the mention of the word. He thought he'd get worked up, voice peak in a panic, but he was so tired.

"...Is Adachi-san okay?" It sounded absolutely apathetic.

His uncle sighed and lowered his head, scratching the back of his neck, mumbling something to himself before he straightened up again. Before he could answer, the door opened again, the woman from earlier walking in with a couple of nurses in tow. They flocked over to him quickly, their voices soft and calm as they asked him questions and made him follow simple instructions. They quickly motioned for Dojima and the woman to follow them, saying it'd be just a moment before leading them outside. The door clicked behind them quietly, and Souji stared before he rolled his head to look back at the ceiling. He was so tired, he just wanted to go back to sleep. He didn't want to disappoint his uncle, though. He'd try, anyway, to talk for a little while.

He heard the door open again, heard the strength in his uncle's steps, the shorter ones from the woman next to his. He turned his head again as his uncle grabbed another chair for the woman to sit in before perching himself back in his own. Dojima smiled lightly, hanging his hands over the edge of the bed's rails before the woman forced a cough into her hand. He examined the woman quickly as she sat up close; strong and defined cheekbones resting against an otherwise soft face, black hair tied neatly into a bun and sparkling brown eyes looking at him with exuberance.

Straightening, Dojima gave a quick gesture to the woman. "Souji, this is Takara Hamasaki, a colleague of mine. She's one of the nicest people you'll meet in the office."

Souji turned his direction to Hamasaki. who he could see rolling her eyes before looking at him and giving him a bright smile before it faltered. "It's nice to meet you, Souji-kun. This is where I'd usually shake your hand, but, well, um, you know the whole... everything. Sorry. I just ruined that first impression."

He stared at her and then looked back at his uncle. "How's... Adachi-san...?" he repeated his question from earlier.

Dojima's face fell in what seemed like surprise, and gave Hamasaki a quick glance of possible concern before he looked back. He hissed lightly, twiddling his thumbs over the rails. "We... weren't sure if you... knew..." he faltered on each word, like he was trying to say the sentence delicately. "Don't worry, though, Souji, he's alive. Won't be doing field work for a while, but he'll be fine, it's okay."

Souji nodded, and the conversation fell into silence. There was an itch that was starting to form on his knee. He didn't move—he didn't want to disturb anything from his bandages to his IV. It was going to annoy him, but he was going to do his best to ignore it. Adachi was alive, that was good. Had the Shadow he'd seen when he woke up been a person too? He was glad he ran instead of stabbing it full of holes with the glass. He didn't want to think about what would have happened then.

He remained silent, watching as Dojima shifted uncomfortably in the chair before he started talking about Nanako, and how relieved she was to here he'd been found again. She'd asked if he'd come home this time, and Souji felt his heart twist in guilt. Hamasaki had quickly intervened the conversation to start talking about the first time she had met Nanako. Her and Dojima corrected and lightly argued with each other over how events started or how they happened, but they were laughing and smiling all the same as they told the story. Souji could only stare. He was so tired, and he couldn't help but question why Hamasaki was there.

"...Aren't you going... to interrogate me...?" he asked, interrupting her spiel about some guy knocking over a punch bowl with his elbow.

She looked at him for a second, face frozen mid-laugh until it fell, the woman waving her hands defensively. "No! No, no, no! I mean, I will on a later date but not today. We didn't even know if you'd... talk to us today. I didn't even think I was going to visit you today! I came to visit Adachi-san when Dojima-san popped in and then Adachi-san fell asleep so I just went along with your uncle to keep him company and... so... No interrogations, Souji-kun! Not today! You're free from the police questions... for now!"

He grunted in acknowledgement, and he found himself closing his eyes. He heard Hamasaki mumble an "oh" while his uncle sighed. There was quiet before the two adults started whispering among themselves and then there was the sound of chairs being moved, strong and tight footsteps, and the door opening and closing. Then, there was knocking, a child crying, screaming, a body strung in the air, Adachi shell-shocked as he looked to the glass in his shoulder. There was knocking, windows cracking, doors breaking, static bleeding through his ears, claws burning through his skin. There was knocking, the girl in green, his relatives, laughing and conversing. There was knocking. There was a chime.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room."

His eyes fluttered open, his arms and legs movable and unrestricted by constrictive bandages and slings. The soothing piano from the quiet radio echoed lazily into his ears, the rich blue of the limousine soothing to his tired eyes. He couldn't help but notice the abundance of booze, but neither Igor nor Margaret had a glass at the table. He found himself thirsty.

"Do not be alarmed, you are fast asleep in the real world," Igor explained, grin continuously plastered on his face. "I have summoned you within your dreams."

Souji slowly tilted his head to the side. What was Igor? What was this Velvet Room? Was it all just a figment of his imagination—some kind of fever dream? A coping mechanism? He tilted his head the other way, and he thought he saw Igor about to mimic his movements before he stopped. Could he force Igor to do that? This was a dream, right? Margaret started talking, but her words entered as gibberish as he kept his focus on Igor, trying to concentrate on controlling the man. There was a moment when he heard Margaret stop her speech, Igor slowly closing his eyes and chuckling.

"It seems our guest has other things on his mind, Margaret," the man hummed in amusement. "This space is the separation between dreams and reality, mind and matter. We are more than just your imagination."

Separation between dreams and reality and mind and matter. He said that the first time, too, didn't he? Still didn't make any amount of sense repeated a second time. Margaret shifted in her seat, dragging the book to rest further along her knees, staring at Igor for a silent moment before turning to Souji with a curt nod.

"This is a space that only those with a contract may enter. In your daily life, y—" Margaret's speech continued, but Souji perked up at a sound past her voice and past the lull of the song in unseen speakers. There was knocking. Margaret's words fell deaf to him again as he slowly turned to the tinted window, squinting to try to see the outside. It grew louder. There was a pause—the music stopped, and he could sense discomfort in the duo across from him. All he could hear for a moment was the soft sounds of the wheels rolling over dirt pavement. He heard the bottles of alcohol clink and chime as they shook when there was the force of a loud shake outside. He could hear Margaret mumbling to Igor, but he never heard the man respond.

The bottles shook more, the knocking echoed into the distance. He couldn't look away from the window, even scooting closer as he tried to look outside. He couldn't see much, if anything at all. The air was thick, and he could hear Margaret lightly tapping the edge of her book as they waited. The sounds grew louder and louder, some of the bottles crashing onto the floor. Then, it stopped. He continued to peer out the window, hesitantly glancing to Igor before looking back out the window. Moments passed, possibly eternity passed, but nothing else occurred. Silently, slowly, Souji slid back to the middle of the seat, looking to the broken bottle underneath his foot before he glanced up to the duo.

Igor's grin was gone, his pointed ears lowered and his gaze still aimed out the window with half-lidded eyes. Margaret looked between him and Souji before straightening her posture once more.

"As I was saying," she started, hesitant, trying to cover up the fact that her voice was laced in confusion. "In your subconscious, you—"

There was a sharp thud at the window he hadn't looked through, Souji jumping and staring as two eyes bore into him from beyond the glass. They were red. They were glowing. They were looking right at him. He couldn't feel Igor's or Margaret's presences anymore, positive they were still there, but unable to look for himself as his gaze was fixated on the eyes outside. He watched as lines started to carve into the glass, a horrible screech shattering into his ears as they were made. Suddenly, he found himself being bombarded by the window's shards as it shattered and flew at him, Souji only catching a quick glance of what looked to be a woman before she leapt inside and covered his face. Sounds quickly became muffled, like he was swimming underwater. The woman gripped her hand tightly around his face, and it felt like his mind was on fire. He couldn't explain it, but it felt like they were burning away something from his existence, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Tears pricked his eyes as the pain surged, nails piercing into his flesh.

Then she let go and he took a deep breath, eyes snapping open to take note of what was happening.

He was back in the hospital bed.

He was tired.