6
The street comes apart under me, as blood-soaked tentacles composed of steel cable erupt from the ground. They trip me up and wrap around me, burrowing into my flesh. They coil themselves inside my body until it bursts, the flesh coming apart explosively. Organs and blood splatter everywhere-
I wake up with a panicked gasp. I look around, unseeing in the dark as the images fade. For just a second, I expect to feel Vanessa there beside me, her hand on my shoulder. The stiff, thin mattress under me, and the lights from electronics nearby bring me back to reality. I'm in a cyber-physician's clinic, not our little apartment, and I am alone. I reach over the side of the bed and hit the switch to raise the bed up to a reclined sitting position. I awkwardly push myself further into a more upright position and sit there, staring out into the darkened room beyond the doorway. I'm so sick of nightmares. I'm so sick of this bed. I'm most certainly sick and tired of not being able to walk.
Anger flares up at the memory of doctor Ido, promising me I'd be walking out of here yesterday. Turned out, there'd be no walking anywhere. They'd had to call Henry and let him know I wasn't going to be able to leave the clinic. I'm tempted to hope that today will be different, but I recall doctor Ido's previous comments quite clearly. The man has no clue at all as to why cybernetics refuse to link up to my nervous system. Hell, to top that off, I find out that Alita's his daughter, even if by adoption.
A powerful and dangerous cyborg, one of many people in this city I'd vowed to steer well clear of, and I end up stuck in her house of all places. I heave a tired sigh as the anger vanishes and turn my gaze heavenward.
"Sometimes, I think you've got a warped sense of humor," I mutter quietly, though not with any particular seriousness. God didn't put me in this position, I did when I decided to confront that drugged up cyborg punk. Despite my regret at how things turned out, there is no question in my mind that it was the right thing to do. My depression adds on to that thought by convincing me that, 'It's not as if anyone of consequence got hurt, is it?'
I look down at the outline of what's left of my legs under the blanket. All of this is so very real now. I feel tears well up as I scowl at what remains of my body. The life I had seems so very far away and so much like a dream. I'm starting to wonder, did I ever actually live that life? I wipe away the tears before they can break free and stare off out the doorway. This sickening fear seems to always be with me now. The feeling that everyone around me is going to explode into violence at any second. It's especially bad around Alita. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around her for fear of setting her off. I'm not entirely sure why, since she's given me no real reason to think anything like that'll happen.
Trapped, lost, abandoned, hopeless and powerless. These seem to be the only constants these days as everything around me is spiraling out of control. I raise my sight skyward again, sending a silent question heavenward, 'Why the hell am I even here?'
I close my eye and an old memory comes to me, unbidden. The feeling of a small circle of cold steel against the skin between my eyebrows as I pressed the barrel of the gun to my head. The feeling of my thumb building up pressure on the trigger, little by little. Just a tiny bit more and the .45 caliber bullet would have splattered my brains all over the bedroom wall behind me. I open my eye and emit another weary sigh.
"Yeah, I ain't ready to try that again," I mutter to no one in particular.
'Give it time,' whispers a little voice from a dark corner of my mind, 'You will be.' I pull in a deep breath, letting it out in another loud sigh. Breathing seems to be taking more effort. Gingerly, I scratch at the bandage over my empty eye socket, trying not to press down too hard. Unable to get at it, I try to ignore the mild itching I feel under that bandage.
There's a strong desire to sit in the dark and brood, but I've learned better than that over the years. Pushing back against the inertia that tries to trap me in place, I feel around in the near-darkness for the control switch to the light. As I observed nurse Gerhad do, I turn it on, adjusting it to low out of habit formed from having a roommate to consider. Afterwards, I grab my glasses off the little table and work through getting them settled in place. I sit and struggle through an attempt at breathing exercises in order to try and get some kind of control over my depression and anxiety. After a few minutes, my eye snaps open as I'm startled by a voice from the doorway.
"Hello?" Alita peeks her head into the room. She's dressed in some kind of black body-suit, and a black longcoat, all of which covers up any sign of her cybernetics. I notice, with a touch of heightened alarm, that she's holding a sort of partial metal scabbard in which that curved sword of hers is sheathed. The same blade I've seen her use in those Motorball games to carve up her opposition.
Keeping my features and voice neutral, as if I were facing down a wild animal, I say, "Howdy." I still can't bring myself to look her in those large, expressive eyes.
"Didn't expect you to be up. Everything alright?"
I flicker my gaze back behind her, hoping to see doctor Ido or Gerhad on their way. No such luck.
"Just nightmares." I keep my voice a calm monotone. Anxiety is compelling me not to do or say anything that might set her off.
The unwanted image of her slicing me into pieces enters my head, as does an inane scene of her explaining the mess to her father, "Sorry, Dad! We were talking and he just started gettin' lippy with me. So, I hacked 'im up! Figured that oughta learn 'im."
She takes a step forward to stand inside the doorway, resting her empty hand on the door frame. A faint feeling of impending doom deepens. "Gerhad's asleep right now, but if you need anything, maybe I could get it for you."
At her mention of Gerhad, I'm seized by a very brief, hysterical impulse to scream for the nurse. Instead, I swallow it down and pause to actually consider her offer. Looking around to see if a cup of water might have been left for me, I find none.
"Well," I begin hesitantly, "I could use some water, if that's alright?"
"Sure," she answers with a faint, but warm smile, "Be right back."
When she disappears from view, I'm left feeling both relieved and confused. Why would someone like her offer to do something like that for some crippled guy, instead of waking up the nurse? Once more, the thought crosses my mind that I may have misjudged this young woman.
After a few minutes, Alita returns carrying a tall, lidded cup with a straw. She's no longer carrying her sword nor wearing her longcoat. The body suit leaves her arms and shoulders bare, and when she gets closer to deliver the cup of water to me, I'm able to make out details that I hadn't noticed before. Like the fact that the purple material on her arms is also visible in between the articulating metal parts of her hand. It flexes and moves, like some kind of artificial muscle. I don't know much about the cybernetics technology of this place, but I can tell that her body is obviously highly advanced. Probably more so than anything else around here that I've seen. I force myself not to stare.
I thank her for the water and take a long pull off the straw. After several seconds I notice that she's still standing there looking at me. She puts her hands behind her back, holding them there loosely, a relaxed expression on her almost doll-like face.
I take a last sip of water and rest the cup in my lap. In an awkward attempt to both find out what she wants, as well as initiate conversation, I lamely ask, "Didn't pull you away from anything, did I?" At the uncertain look that crosses her face, I elaborate, "It looked like you were on your way out."
"Oh. No, I wasn't going out. I was just coming back." She leans back against the wall, bringing one foot up to rest against it. "I finally tracked down the one who did this to you, and collected his bounty marker."
In a quiet voice, I say, "Oh." I lower my gaze to the cup in my hand. I'd forgotten about her being a bounty hunter. I'm well aware that 'collected his bounty marker' means she killed him. I'm not exactly sorry about that, but I'm no killer either, so the news brings up conflicting feelings. Among them is guilt. For some reason, I feel like I may have gotten the man killed, as if his death is somehow my fault. It doesn't make much sense, so I try to push it aside.
"You seem kind of… unhappy about that. I figured that you might be at least relieved to know that the man who did this to you was dealt with."
I straighten up, "Oh, well, yeah. I'm glad to know that he won't be hurting anyone else, certainly. I guess I'm just..." I trail off. Why am I even bothering to try to explain this to her? She's not going to care one way or another about my feelings on the matter. She waits for me to continue and for the first time since meeting her, I look directly into those big, brown eyes. In a rather flat voice, I quietly state, "Never mind. It's not important." I break eye contact and go back to slowly sipping on my water.
After a short pause she speaks, "I was going to wait until later today to talk to you, but I figure since you're already up, now seems as good a time as any."
Even knowing that they were likely going to start asking questions about me, I still find myself on edge and unsettled by her bringing it up. Maybe I'm unsettled because she is the one bringing it up? I put the cup down and am able to once again look her in the eyes. I feel strangely calm, despite this sense that something terrible is about to happen. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Well, about you, specifically."
"Alright." I surprise myself by keeping my eye fixed steadily on hers.
"When I asked your friend, Loretta about what happened, she was shocked, even horrified when you walked out onto the street to face that punk. She couldn't figure out what would possess you to do something like that. Considering there are two, maybe three people in this city that I can think of off the top of my head who'd be willing to put themselves at risk like that, I'm kinda curious." With a slight tip of the head to one side, she asks, "Why did you risk your life trying to save someone you don't even know?"
I look back at her silently for several seconds, wondering if this is some kind of trick, some kind of setup to ridicule me over what happened. Deciding that I don't really care, I wearily answer her, "I couldn't do what everyone else was doing."
"Which was...?"
With a minute shrug, "I just couldn't stand there and watch someone get murdered without at least trying to do… something, anything."
Her face gives no sign of the expected mockery or denigration of my actions. "Loretta said you had tried to talk to him. What did you hope to accomplish?"
I close my eye as the pain rises up again. I'm really starting to wish she'd go away. I look at her directly, as I answer, "I was just trying to keep someone from getting hurt, or killed."
A diamond-hard glint flashes across her eyes, as she asks in a soft voice, "Do you regret what you did?"
An unexpected spark of anger burns away the numbness, "No." The anger emboldens me, and I stare into her eyes defiantly. Gesturing with the stump of my left arm, "Would I have preferred a better outcome, yeah. But no, I don't regret it." I'm not even sure why her question makes me angry. It quickly burns itself out and I lower my gaze back to the foot of the bed. The effort of holding back the pain and the tears leaves me feeling even more wearied and worn down.
For a time, it's quiet. The only sound I can hear is my now-steady breathing. I can feel her staring at me, though I refuse to look at her. 'If she's waiting for me to react, then she's in for a very long wait. I am done with this conversation.' All I want to do is lie back down and curl into a ball. Unfortunately, she isn't done yet.
When she finally breaks the silence, the hardness is gone from her eyes and her voice is quiet and soft, "The pictures in your wallet, are those people your family?"
My jaw clenches and I feel my face slide into a scowl, as I try to hold back the onslaught of pain. I close my eye and look away from her, pulling in a deep breath through my nose, to stop a sob from escaping. I take another deep breath, trying to relax enough to answer, unsure of why I should even do so. "Yes," I say in a loud, hoarse whisper.
"That woman in the picture, is she Vanessa?"
I look over at her, to see her holding the pictures and my wallet loosely in front of her with both hands as if they were a hand of cards. To my relief, there's no further wave of pain. It's as if talking about them is somehow comforting. Even though I know it'll lead to more awkward questions, I can't seem to help myself.
"Yes." I nod toward the pictures she holds, "The other three were her kids."
To my surprise, I see a trace of a smile form as she looks at Vanessa's children. She gives me a questioning look, "They weren't your children as well?"
The pain fades to a dull, pronounced ache, "No. I helped her raise them, though."
A strangely wistful look passes over her as she asks, "Did the two of you plan on having any other children?"
I stare at the little photos in her hands, "No. She'd decided that, after raising three kids, that was enough." I let out a short, quiet chuckle as I add, "After having helped her raise three kids, I'd decided she was right."
A warm smile lights up her face, making her eyes seem to shine. It makes me forget to see her as the cold-blooded fighting machine that I'd regarded her as, and I realize that some part of me has been determined to continue seeing her in that light. There's still an expectation of some sort of betrayal, despite the more rational part of me seeing little evidence of it. Realizing that I let my guard slip, I try to raise it again, setting my expression back into a scowl.
She asks me a few more questions about the kids, their names and ages and such. I answer them as briefly as I can, determined not to let my guard down again. The room beyond brightens as the morning light begins filtering in through the windows.
I'm startled when Gerhad ask from the doorway, "You said you considered Loretta and Henry friends. Did you ever talk about Vanessa and the kids with them?" Guess she'd overheard some of the conversation.
I briefly consider why I should answer, but what would be the point in not answering? A petty act of defiance? I glance at Alita, and something in the way she looked at the pictures of the children seems to settle it for me. "No. I never talked to anyone on the farm about my family."
For a brief moment, Alita's eyes get a profoundly pained look. "What happened to them?" she asks quietly.
A hundred different lies run through my mind. I could tell them anything, but something compels me avoid trying to spin out some elaborate deception that would only get tangled. In a nearly emotionless voice I say, "I lost them."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Gerhad says sympathetically.
"You lost them," Alita repeats quietly. After a momentary silence, Alita carefully places the pictures on the little table next to my bed. "That doesn't really answer the question, and there are a lot of them surrounding you that have gone unanswered." She looks at me evenly, "You know, we really are trying to help you. If you want that help, you're going to have to start trusting us."
"Alita, this is probably not the best time -" Gerhad begins in a gently pleading tone.
Raising her voice just a bit, Alita cuts her off, "I need to know," she gestures sharply upward, "if he is behind any of this." There's no anger towards the nurse, just earnestness, and the unexpected ring of heartbreak. "For your sake, for Ido's, for Koyomi..." She gestures towards me, "He's been evasive and secretive with everyone. No one seems to know anything about him. Then there's all this strangeness with Ido's medical scanners and the cyberware you've tried to hook up to him."
She turns an intense, steely-eyed look in my direction, "Ido's looked at blood and tissue samples, trying to find some kind of nano-tech or anything that might explain what's going on with you. He's gotten nowhere. If it weren't for the fact that the Sheffields have had such high praise for you, that you risked your life trying to save someone-" She stops abruptly, briefly closing her eyes as she turns her head, her fists clenched at her sides while she seems to try and collect herself.
When she looks at me again, she seems more relaxed, but there's a fierceness in her eyes that's surprisingly intimidating. Combined with the way her brows are drawn down and together, it gives her an almost predatory look. Together with what I've seen her do to others, she scares the hell out of me.
"I don't want to believe that you pose any kind of danger," she says into the heavy silence, "but you get brought in here, with all these strange things, and I'm forced to wonder just what is really going on. Ido and Gerhad are going to do everything in their power to fix you up, because that's what they do. I'm going to get answers about who, exactly, we have in our home." The fire dies down some, but the determination remains. "How did you lose your family? Why aren't Ido's medical scanners working on you?" She holds up my wallet, "What are all these things in here? A few of them look like official documents, but they're unlike anything we've ever seen, and none of it makes any sense. Straight answers, now."
'Well,' my rattled mind quips, 'that escalated quickly.' Reality begins taking on sharp edges, abrasive against raw nerves. I watch as nurse Gerhad walks over to me, to stand next to Alita. She looks concerned, but like Alita, also seems to be waiting for answers. I still have enough presence of mind to see that the only hostility I'm sensing is from within my own head.
I try to think of what to do, how to respond, but there's only noise. I'm certain there's nothing I can say that they're going to believe. The truth will just sound stupid, or crazy.
'What if I really am crazy?' Like a flash of lightning, the thought hits me, 'What if I've really lived in this city my entire life, but I had some kind of psychotic break? What if there isn't any answer, because none of it really happened?' My mind is sent reeling by the possibility. Light-headed disorientation washes over me as a disturbing buzzing starts in the back of my skull. Nausea rises, making it feel as if I'm about to heave my guts up, though nothing comes out.
"Oh shit," I mutter breathlessly, "not again."
The strength begins draining from my muscles, the water cup falling over as it's no longer held by my now-nerveless fingers. It feels like my lungs are trying to pull in air that's the density of thick syrup. Despite my attempts to stay upright, I slowly fall back against the pillow, and the world disappears behind a gray fog. Ice-cold sweat forms over my skin.
"Jason?" I hear Gerhad call in alarm. She sounds far away.
I try to respond, but I can't push any words out of my mouth. The only thing that comes out is a low groan. This is a far stronger panic attack than before. It seems like they're getting worse. I can barely even perceive the world outside of my head, let alone interact with it. I hear her call for doctor Ido. Then there's the sounds of activity and talking.
Unable to move, barely able to see for the grayed-out vision, hearing little else but the blood pounding in my ears. Suspended in a sensation of vague, distant horror, like an insect trapped in amber. Feeling like I can barely breath, on the edge of retching my guts out but never doing so. It goes on and on and on. After a time, my vision begins clearing up, the nausea fades and I start to feel normal again. As if coming up from a deep dive, I pull air into my lungs in a long gasp.
In contrast to the panic attack itself, afterwards feels calm, as if all the stress in my body and mind has been purged. Temporarily, at least. When my senses finally clear up, I'm aware of doctor Ido and nurse Gerhad hovering over me on either side of the bed, discussing what just happened.
Snapping his fingers in my face, doctor Ido is firmly calling my name, "Jason? Jason."
"Yeah," I reply irritably, "I'm fine, I'm fine." I try to wave them away but my only arm is being held by doctor Ido. Was he was worried I'd flail around or something?
The two of them look relieved and Ido releases my arm. Alita is standing near the doorway, her expression unreadable.
"Are you certain you're going to be alright now?" doctor Ido asks, picking up an electronic tablet from the nearby table.
"Yes," I answer a little less irritably. "I just need a moment to catch my breath." I concentrate on getting my labored breathing under control.
He nods and makes a note on the tablet. "I'm sorry about this," there's a clear note of regret in his voice. "I had hoped to have you back together before throwing all these questions at you. However," he glances over at Alita, "there are some very real concerns that should be addressed."
I get the distinct impression that he and Alita aren't necessarily in agreement over when these concerns should be addressed.
With a gesture to the room beyond the doorway, he says, "How about we take this into more comfortable surroundings?"
I answer back calmly, "Sure." It feels like everything is coming to a close. They'll ask questions, and I'll give them answers that they won't accept. Then what? I'm not expecting anything good, that's for damned sure.
I'm loaded into the wheelchair and the four of us head for that little living room area. As we pass through the main room, the view through the windows shows the street lights have gone out as the morning begins to brighten further. I'm parked next to the armchair that Gerhad takes a seat in, while Ido and Alita sit across from us on the couch. As if in a daze, I sit and listlessly wait for the questions to start. I turn my head to look around a little, fighting to keep everything in focus as my mind feels like it's trying to withdraw and shut down again. I'm inclined to let it, not really caring much what happens after.
"Alright," Ido says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, "why don't we start where you and Alita left off, before you collapsed?"
The two women rapidly fill him in on what was being discussed. While doing so, Gerhad glances towards me repeatedly, her expression conveying concern. This concern is mirrored in doctor Ido's face when he looks in my direction. It seems clear to me that they are worried about me in some capacity, at least. That thought brings some sort of comfort, the idea that they might truly care.
Alita is a bit harder to read. She seems relaxed but ready to act at a moment's notice. In a way, she reminds me of some of the combat vets who I'd run into at the Veteran's Administration clinic. She has this alert sort of readiness about her that I'd seen in some of them.
Her face is otherwise expressionless, leading me to believe she hasn't quite decided what to think about me. I try not to dwell on what she might do to me if she decides I'm trying to pull one over on them. Everything seems to be separated from me behind a thick sheet of glass. I wasn't actually feeling too badly after the panic attack subsided, but now it's as if a switch was flipped, and all the importance and meaning has been removed from the situation. It's a rather cold, empty feeling.
"Jason," Ido says after having been filled in, "are you aware of whether or not you have any psychological problems?"
Moving only my eye, I look over at him. "Yes," I answer mechanically. I distantly recognize what I'm experiencing; depression pulling the rug out from under me again. There's no point now in hiding anything, or trying to fight the inevitable. It's like I'm sinking, with no hope in sight.
Ido straightens up and rests his hands on his knees. "Would you be willing to tell me what they are?" he asks in a calm, relaxed manner.
I briefly stare off into space as I try to dredge up the details. "Chronic depression, dysthymia, and some sort of anxiety disorder." I rattle off a few other little details that I can recall, clinical stuff that I'd often hear from the psychiatrist.
When I finish, Ido looks faintly startled for a second.
Gerhad glances between him and me before saying to Ido, "I know enough to recognize those as mental disorders, but I didn't quite get all of that. I take it you did?"
Ido nods, "I'm no mental health specialist, but yes." He turns to me, "From the sound of it, you've had a professional diagnosis?"
I barely glance at him, "Yes."
"Have you ever taken medication?"
"Yes."
"Could you elaborate on what they were?" he asks patiently.
I manage to momentarily break myself out of this enervating state I seem to have fallen into in order to answer, giving the name of the two medications I was on for so many years. "The first was for the depression. The other one was for the anxiety problem," I explain in a flat voice.
"When was the last time you took these medications?"
"Around nine months ago."
Alita turns to Ido, "Well, if he needs these medications, is there anyone who could provide more?"
"I'm afraid we're not likely to find any, hun," Gerhad says. "The only psychiatrists you'll find in Iron City, are little more than drug dealers. Most of them just pretend to help people as a way to lure in more customers. Even the ones who actually try to help, usually just do more harm than good."
Alita gives me a sidelong look, "Is that what you were taking? Regular street drugs?"
"I doubt he was taking anything like that," Ido says, preempting me. "I found no sign of any narcotics in Jason's tissues or blood, so I'm inclined to think they were legitimate medications."
Gerhad glances at me in surprise, "Where could he have gotten them? You didn't find any sign that he used to have a mark of Zalem, so that couldn't be it."
Ido shrugs, "Even if he were an exile from Zalem, they don't provide that kind of psychological help up there." He narrows his eyes slightly, "Jason, where did you get these medications?"
I close my eye for a moment, feeling the need to rest it, "The Veteran's Administration would mail them to me as needed." I open it again, but still feel so damned exhausted.
Everyone's quiet for a moment, looking at each other as if to see if someone knows what I'm talking about. I see doctor Ido's eyebrows come down as he focuses more intently on me. It's almost as if something may have occurred to him.
To Alita and Gerhad he asks, "Could I speak with the two of you privately for a moment?" With some small amount of confusion, they agree, and he tells me, "We'll be right back."
I nod, and they get up to huddle a ways off as they talk quietly. I try to shake off this feeling. Even after all these years living with this, however, I never figured out how to effectively fight against something when it's my own brain that is the very source of the problem. A numbing fear begins to further sap my energy.
After a few moments, they return to their seats.
Resting his elbows on his knees, Ido asks, "Jason, did your family have a Christmas tree when you where growing up?"
I only briefly consider this strange question before answering, "Yes."
"Could you describe how one of those trees looked?"
This is enough to start jolting me out of this mental quagmire. Instead of answering, I just look at him, puzzled. I'm peripherally aware of the other two watching me rather closely. This all seems just too strange.
Ido gestures for me to proceed, "Please, Jason. I know it's an odd question, but could you describe one?"
I sigh heavily, close my eye and try to focus my faded and scattering thoughts. "Pine tree, about your height. Colored lights and shiny glass ornaments hung on it. Usually a star on the very top." I open my eye and look at him. With a careless shrug I add, "My parents liked to do the traditional thing and stack our presents under it."
He puts his hand over his mouth in a thoughtful manner as he looks at me intently. "Your family did this every year?"
I get the feeling he's up to something. I shrug again, "Yeah." I glance nervously at Alita and Gerhad. The two of them are just sitting and watching me carefully now. This makes me even more uneasy.
Ido clasps his hands between his knees and exhales slowly through his nose. Keeping his eyes on me he says, "Around here, the only celebrations are typically personal milestones or small family events, if people even find the time to celebrate at all. Up on Zalem however, they celebrate the annual holiday of Christmas, among a few others. But I already know you're not from Zalem, where Christmas is an ancient holiday, dating back centuries."
My heartbeat picks up as excitement begins burning away the lethargy. Could they actually be willing to believe me about where I'm from? Or is this the prelude to something worse? I glance at Alita. She's simply watching this all unfold with calm, yet intense, interest.
"So, Jason," Ido continues conversationally, "would you be willing to tell us about where it is that you're from? Is it this 'Washington' that you mentioned earlier?"
I begin feeling disconnected from reality, but I do my best to fight past it. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Praying to God that I'm not misreading things, I ask, "You're really not going to turn me in to the Factory, or something like that?"
"No, we aren't going to do anything of the sort," Alita says with a solemn earnestness. This sentiment is echoed by the others.
I slowly shake my head and try to swallow the dryness in my throat, "I still don't think you're going to believe me. I wouldn't, if I were in your shoes."
Ido takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes, "At this point, I'm not sure there's a lot I won't be at least willing to consider. Your body's reaction to cyberware, your strange resistance to my medical scanning equipment, which has been a serious point of worry-"
Gerhad gives a brief, humorless chuckle, "And then some. Because of the lack of those imaging systems, our work on you took about three times longer than it should have."
Ido nods in agreement with his nurse, "There are a lot of mysteries surrounding you, my friend. If I don't get some answers, I don't know if I'm going to be able to find a way to solve this problem with your cybernetics."
"So," Alita leans back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other, "maybe it's time for you to be straight with us about what's going on with you?"
Everything seems to be moving so quickly again, slipping away from me. I run my hand through my hair as I bow my head, trying to collect myself. Where the hell do I even start? My brain is spinning with all the thoughts rushing through it at breakneck speeds. I'm still inclined to doubt that they're being sincere, but I decide to trust them.
I pull in another deep breath as I straighten up to look at them, "Anything specific you wanna know, or… what?"
"Well, I think a little bit about where you originally come from, to start. Considering you've celebrated an ancient tradition like Christmas, I'd be interested in hearing about your home," Ido says leaning back into the couch.
I oblige, starting with where my home used to be, converting from miles to the more commonly used metric system here, "It's about eight or nine-thousand kilometers north of here, in North America." I give a quick background on Washington, particularly the forested area that Vanessa and I had chosen to settle in. When I mention that Washington was part of the United States, that's when things seem to get a little dicey.
"How big was this United States?" Gerhad asks incredulously.
I glance nervously between the three of them, "About four or five thousand kilometers from coast to coast."
Ido also looks skeptical. "It's a little hard to believe we haven't heard anything about this place, even if it is so far from here. A nation that size certainly wouldn't have escaped Zalem's notice."
I let my gaze fall to my hand, curled in my lap. Uncertain as to how badly this is going to go, I say, "That might be because it was destroyed in whatever that last, big war was. If not earlier." I glance up, but upon seeing the looks they give me at that statement, I close my eye and shake my head. "I told you, you wouldn't believe me," I say quietly.
"That is a little hard to believe," Alita says, "That war was three-hundred years ago. Are you saying you're hundreds of years old?"
The light-headed feeling is starting to get worse, the room almost seems to be spinning. I gesture at the wallet Alita still holds, and wearily tell her, "One of the little plastic cards in there is my driver's license. It has some of my official information. My date of birth is on it." I doubt this is going to do much good, but I'm running out of answers for them.
She opens my wallet and flips through it a bit, then pulls out the little plastic card with my picture on it. She looks it over, then looks at me with raised eyebrows and deepening frown. Keeping her gaze leveled at me, she hands the card to Ido.
Ido takes it, puts his glasses on and looks it over, then also looks at me with raised eyebrows. "You were born in nineteen-seventy? So you're saying you're almost six-hundred years old," he states calmly.
Gerhad looks at Ido and I both as if we've both lost our minds, "What? Six-hundred? You can't be serious!"
Throughout it all, I keep my eye on the floor as I feel more and more sick. 'This was a mistake. I shouldn't have trusted them.' I close my eye, trying to reign in this sensation of spinning out of control. I snap it open again and look up as Alita springs to her feet, a rather angry scowl on her face. She stalks off several steps, and stops with her back to us.
"Alita?" Ido calls out tentatively.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she turn her head to say stiffly over her shoulder, "You know, I was ready to believe just about anything, but this..." she shakes her head angrily.
Ido gets up and walks over to stand a little between her and me. "Alita," he says to her, one hand raised, "let's just hear what else he has to say, alright?"
She turns halfway around and looks at him with imperious anger, "Really, Ido? Even if this isn't some trick of Nova's, this is way too much! He ends up in this clinic? With the only person in the city who's three-hundred years old, and he's also claiming to be centuries old?" She directs a withering glare at me, "I've already had at least one fan and one reporter try some pretty low down tricks to get close to me. I don't know what you're after with this insane claim, but you are playing a dangerous game here." The look in her eyes is chilling.
I'm hit with confusion as to what, or who this Nova is. When I hear her say that she's three-hundred, my confusion only deepens. The discussion quickly devolves into an argument, which then becomes more heated. She seems to get angrier, while Ido pleads with her to take a calmer approach. I get the impression that he's had to deal with violent outbursts before. Even Gerhad stands up and takes a couple steps towards her before stopping, possibly to let Ido handle things. Or maybe she's afraid to get any closer. In my current state, I'm inclined to go with her being afraid to approach an angry Alita.
My thoughts become white noise as the only sound I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. At first it's the fear thickening in my head, and the anxiety twisting the world into a kaleidoscope of dizzying confusion. Then the anger hits. That little voice in the dark part of my mind whispers at me, 'You're no longer welcome here. Just as well, since you don't even belong in this world. The good doctor has wasted enough time and resources on a lost cause like you, don't you think?'
The anger intensifies as my mind twists and turns it's way through my current circumstances. I can't walk, I lost my arm and eye, I might be about to die at the hands of a suspicious cyborg. If that did happen, would it really be so bad? I would finally be reunited with Vanessa and my family. There's nothing for me here, anyway. No reason to stay, and I'm of no use to anyone in my current condition, which apparently can't be fixed.
As if in some kind of fever, I think to myself, 'I sacrificed part of my body saving a man's life, nearly dying in the process. While I was able, I've done what I could to help the Sheffields work to keep their home and livelihood. It doesn't matter what happens to me now. It doesn't matter what the people here believe.' I look over at the doorway to the little Recovery room I've been staying in and I reach, what is to me, the only logical conclusion.
I glance over at the others, to see that they're now caught up in their argument. Alita, convinced that this is all some scheme that I cooked up, Ido trying to convince her to give me a chance to explain. I quietly slip off the wheelchair and onto the cold, hard floor. I tip over onto my right side and begin pulling myself along towards my room. Using the stump of my left arm, I try to keep the back of my gown mostly closed as I crawl/slide along. As I go, I focus on the anger, letting it drive me even if it's driving me to do something stupid. I am past caring now. I'm tired of not having legs, I'm tired of this clinic and I am tired of this city. I am done. I am done with space elevators. I am done with floating cities. I am most certainly done with cyborgs.
It's a strangely liberating, almost exhilarating feeling, being done with the world. I'm leaving, and fuck anyone who tries to tell me otherwise. To hell with that cyborg girl who seems to think I'm just cooking up some plot for who knows what. I don't owe her or anyone else an explanation!
Just as I get to the doorway to my Recovery room, I hear Gerhad say loudly behind me, "Jason! What are you doing?" I hear the argument between father and daughter come to an abrupt halt.
Fueled by this liberating anger, my mind quips, 'I have to go. Bad.' I hear Ido call out as well, then the sounds of feet approaching me.
I pull myself up to lean my back against the doorway as I turn to face them, breathing a bit heavily from my exertions. Doctor Ido and Gerhad get to my position and each of them crouches down, making to reach for me. Whether to restrain or to help me, I don't care.
"Hold up there," I say, putting up a hand to ward them off. Ido speaks before I can say more.
"Jason, what are you doing?" he asks with strained calm. Behind him, Alita is looking at me with an expression of both anger and puzzlement.
The clarity with which I had been thinking begins breaking down and my thoughts tumble together. Out of sheer stubbornness, I maintain the course of action I'd decided on. I look him in the eyes with a mixture of anger and an unsettling, sickening sensation. "I think I owe you an apology, doctor. It would appear I've wasted your time," I say to him, letting the anger strengthen my unsteady voice. "There's a keyring in the pocket of the pants I was wearing. On it is the key to my footlocker at the Sheffeild's farm. What little savings I have is in there, help yourself and feel free to take anything else you find." Ido and Gerhad try to interrupt but I hold up my hand again as I shout over them and continue, "I will, however, be taking the blanket on the bed."
I turn to focus on Gerhad, "Vanessa was a nurse, so I have some idea of how hard this sort of work is. Thank you, for taking care of me." I feel the anger begin to falter, so I stoke the flames a bit. I glower at Alita, still standing behind Ido and tell her, before anyone can interrupt me again, "I'd also like to apologize to you. It was thoughtless of me not to consider the effect that losing my family and getting torn apart might have on you."
I don't think I'm making a lot of sense, but considering my current state of mind, that's not too unusual.
I let sarcasm heavily color my voice, "I am sincerely sorry to have bothered you with this sick, fucking joke that is apparently my life." I was going to say more, go on some enraged rant, but my throat tightens up as I nearly lose control and break down. Instead, I swallow it down and tell her with false cheerfulness, "But! You'll be happy to know that I'm not your problem anymore. I'm leaving."
"Jason-" Gerhad begins, reaching out to me again.
Ido cuts her off with a gesture before rubbing the bridge of his nose, looking tired. "Jason, why are you doing this?" Behind him, Alita stands there looking at me with a mostly perplexed expression.
Despite this terrible isolation that's fallen over me, despite this sudden surge of pain making me want to break down, I grit my teeth and set my face into a deep scowl. "Because I'm done here, I've had it." I drop down to begin dragging myself over to the bed as I continue more angrily, "I told you, you wouldn't believe me. It was stupid of me to think you would. I was a stupid, fucking idiot." Having arrived at the bed, I pull myself up and balance against the side before reaching up to grab hold of the thin blanket and pull it off. "Just another stupid mistake on my part." I begin awkwardly trying to wrap the blanket around myself, something to provide more cover than this damned gown.
Ido steps into the doorway and squats down, leaning on the doorframe with one forearm. "And this is somehow going to fix that mistake?"
Becoming increasingly frustrated with my battle with this blanket, I retort, "What does it matter?" I'm keenly aware of the fact that I probably look ridiculous. Having started, however, I'm damned well going to press on. The anger boils over a bit as I spit out, "Regardless, I sure as hell ain't stayin' in this shit-hole of a city." I finally settle for laying flat on the floor and wrapping myself up in it like a human burrito. This would all be so laughable if it weren't for the tears blurring my vision, as well as the helpless anger and searing heartache. Some part of me is absolutely convinced that this is the only way any of this could have realistically ended.
Gerhad carefully edges past Ido to stand near the foot of the bed, on the other side from me.
Ido sighs heavily, "You can't go anywhere like this. You aren't doing this because of that argument, are you?"
Getting my arm free, I manage to sit up. Forcing my anger down for the moment, I answer back, "That argument, specifically the reason for it, was just one more in a long line of indicators," I glance angrily at Alita, "that I don't belong here." I crawl my way over to the doorway and stop in front of Ido. "Move," I order him.
He looks at me calmly, "That's not going to happen. I'm not going to just let you leave in this condition, when there's the very real chance you could get seriously hurt or worse."
I sit myself up, frustration building and I bite out, "Get out of my way."
With infuriating calm, he responds, "No."
I'm beginning to feel trapped. Through clenched teeth, I tell him in a near growl, "So help me, doctor, get the hell out of my way." The urge begins percolating up from somewhere within, to verbally attack them, to hurt them. To make them turn their backs on me. Make them do something that the self-destructive part of me believes that I somehow deserve.
Ido glances up and behind me, probably at Gerhad, then tells me, "Alright, but do you even have any place to go?"
"Anywhere but here," I growl at him. Driven by some nebulous need to go back to the jungle, I had decided to head for the nearest gate. Despite the fact that, should I try to pass through on 'foot' without proper ID, I'll likely get shot by the Centurions. Some part of me is still capable of recognizing it as a bad sign, that such an outcome is seen as a positive. Chances are, I'll never make it as far as the gate, anyway.
He finally relents, putting his hands up in surrender. He stands up and moves aside, giving an 'after you' gesture as he does so.
The shaking has started, muscles shivering as if I were standing out in cold weather. I feel almost giddy with the fear and anger, but there's also a sense that I finally have control over something in my life. I am, however, well aware that this is likely to be the end of me. Aside from a vague sense of sadness, I don't feel much of anything else.
Alita looks at the doctor in surprise. Sounding as if she can't believe what she's seeing, she begins to ask, "Ido, what are you-?"
Ido silences her with a look. Not an angry look, from what I can see, more of an 'I know what I'm doing' look. She nods and takes a step back when he finally moves out of my way.
I tip forward, catching myself on my right hand and lowering myself down onto my right side, to begin sliding on my hip through the now-clear doorway. Just as soon as I'm through the doorway, I feel an arm come from behind to wrap around my neck. Gerhad holds my head firmly to one side as she deftly applies a small square of plastic over my carotid artery with her cybernetic hand with lightning quick speed. I almost immediately feel something cold enter my bloodstream.
Out of reflex, I bring up my hand to try to grab her flesh arm around my neck, as she holds me firmly enough to keep my head off the floor.
Before I can even cry out, Ido tells Alita, "Grab his arm!"
She does so without hesitation, wrapping one hand around my forearm and easily pulling it away so I can't try to pry Gerhad's arm from around my neck.
Surprise at their tricking me quickly turns to outrage and I shout, "Let go!" I catch sight of Alita's metallic hand, holding my arm in a seemingly unbreakable grip, and I'm struck with a vision of that hand clenching tightly. I gasp loudly as I can almost feel the bones snap and crunch, seeing the flesh squeeze between her fingers like blood-soaked clay. It's as if my mind unravels.
I scream, "STOP! LET GO OF ME!" I struggle with as much strength as I can muster, in a sudden, panicked frenzy as I try to free myself. I can almost feel my arm being pulled apart at the elbow, the flesh separating as tendons and cartilage rip and tear. Unable to stop myself, I scream for them to let me go, begging them to stop as sickening terror fills my head. I'm still screaming, tears streaming down my face as whatever drug was on that plastic patch finally does it's work, and I fall unconscious.
