Pleasantly Depressed Ch 19 – "Of X-rays and Envelopes"
by Skandranon
The ride through town consisted of him gazing out the window and thinking I killed someone on this bridge. Selphie got a concussion next to that bench. Hey, there's that apartment building with the bloody laundry room. Wonder if I should return their clothes.
Deling held a lot of bad memories for him. It used to also hold good memories, but they involved Rinoa and were best not thought of now.
They had arrived at the Deling Medical Institute of Study quietly during the first hours of morning. Arousing reporters and public interests was the last thing they wanted. Dr. Besutch was waiting for them on the front steps, and ushered them quickly inside.
Squall glanced at his "escorts". Four armed SeeD that he'd never met before, all of them over 6 foot and humorless, and Matron, to keep him company. It was almost amusing that he required bodyguards that watched him instead of for danger, but at the same time some part of him mocked the idea that they could ever stop him if he really wanted out.
They were led through dizzying corridors decked all in white, until finally they reached the Department of Magical Illnesses and Medicine. Most of the staff was off for the night, and the building seemed ghostly in the loud echoes of their passage. A few more corridors, and then a door, unlocked by a palm reader and key code.
Inside were all heavy machines with beige plastic hulls. An X-ray room, judging from the lead lined walls. They were painted over in off white to seem innocent, but he knew the smoothness of metal.
"Squall." Matron turned to him, gentle pleading in her tone. "The doctors wish you to-"
He ignored her and stepped forward. He wasn't a child; he didn't need to be talked to like one. "Let's do this."
For the next five hours it was one machine after another. Holding still as strange contraptions whirred and beeped at him, and magnetics and electricity made his hair stand on end. He was alone in the room, told by intercom where to go, how to stand or sit. There were no windows, no people. Just him and the machines.
Finally the door opened, and Matron ushered him out.
Dr. Besutch was calmly excited, jabbering on about basal cisterns and diencephalons and other nonsense. It was never a good thing to make a doctor excited. It meant there was something spectacularly wrong with you.
Grrface crawled out of his coat when he took it off the chair, and launched to tackle his waist. They'd allowed him the pet in hopes it could keep him grounded. It did provide him something to focus on, and was almost soothing, except when claws dug into skin. He shifted the critter so it hung off his belts, and seemed quite cheerful to do so.
No one seemed too eager to explain to him what was going on, so he sat in the corner and petted the moomba until it was purring loud enough to make his bones vibrate. Four tall blocky men tried to pretend that they weren't watching his every movement, and Matron and the doctor chatted in codes and five syllable words
After a while they came over to him, only to ask that he run through the tests again.
Another five hours of exhaustive lack of motion. The same machines as before, only now the intercom asked him to unjunction, junction, talk to Shiva while the machine ran, cast a scan spell, cast a cure spell, have Shiva eat one of his memories, actually tell her to eat his memories. By the end of it he was considering curling up in one of the machines and refuse to come out.
Finally, finally they brought him out, and all attention was in his direction. Dr. Besutch had the expression of a scientist trying to figure out how to dumb down their speech to make it palatable by "normal" people.
"It would seem," he began, "That you have, er, adopted Shiva."
He didn't wait for a reply, and continued on at a faster pace. "In the case of people with impaired senses, such as the blind or deaf, over time the brain may shift its energy to the other senses, so that they become heightened. In some cases, the brain may even convert some of the areas formerly used for the impaired sense, to serve other portions of the brain. You are following? The brain can, as it were, adapt, to varying circumstances."
"GFs take up space in our brains," Matron offered. "Space that should be used for other things. Like a tumor, only not deadly."
The doctor snorted at the interruption and jumped back in where he left off. "In your circumstance, your brain has accepted Shiva as part of it. Because you left her junctioned for so very long, some of your brain's mental processes were shifted to her, such as social awareness, emotional control, and such. You became, as it were, codependent on her, for these mental processes."
"It probably started out simple." Matron patted his hand comfortingly. "She would look after you, point out things you didn't notice, or calm you down when you got upset. But after awhile it got so that she had to do these things. You couldn't do them on your own, because those parts of your brain had shut down to supply the energy for her."
"I've been told that you were then forced to unjunction her for a long period of time, yes?" The doctor asked, pushing up his glasses. "In this case, your brain was suddenly hindered, as it would be in a car accident or by a disease. It struggled to make up for the loss, by overproduction of… do you know what the amygdala is? No? It's the part of the brain in control of emotions. It receives emotional signals and sends them to anterior cingulate and the basal ganglia, which in turn control the body's physical reaction to emotions, such as crying, laughing, and so on. Anyway, your amygdala tried to overcome the loss of Shiva by… erm, turning up the volume, of the emotions you received. However, without Shiva to control the decision to act on the information, everything is transferred to action, and your emotions became heightened without reason, to the point of… er… to the point of, well, insanity."
Matron sighed. "You had twice as much feeling, but no way to tell yourself what to do with it. Instinct took over, and you couldn't help yourself."
"Unfortunately, returning Shiva to your brain only made things worse, as now there were two parts performing the same tasks. Messages overlapped, neurons were disrupted, and things became… well, very interesting."
"You told us that at times you couldn't even hear Shiva. We think that's because of the overlapping. Your brain was receiving two signals at once, like listening to two songs at the same time. It tried to make sense of them by shutting off all the outside noise and senses, including Shiva."
"So…" Squall interrupted, struggling to understand, "…I'm flipping out over every little thing, and can't stop it."
"And not reacting to logic, yes, essentially. And it's not just emotions. The examinations suggest that your brain placed Shiva in charge of other things as well. There's too much activity for just the amygdala."
"Why am I okay right now?"
Dr. Besutch eyed him with curiosity. "We think that your mind is reacting to the strain of the heightened emotions by partially shutting down the amygdala for short periods. How are you feeling right now?"
"…just… bland, really."
"Thought so. You're receiving very little emotional stimuli."
"So, do we take Shiva out again?"
"Oh no. No, that would only make things more complicated. Your brain might turn up the volume to three times the norm, or worse. No, for better or worse your body has accepted the current situation as "normal", and disrupting it will only increase the problems."
"So what do we do?"
"Well… I don't know."
To : Balamb Garden, Room 218 – Selphie Tilmitt, SeeD Officer
From : Timber Quarantine – Irvine Kinneas, SeeD Officer
My Dearest Selphie,
It is the day of March 12, Tuesday, about noon. The troop is holed up in an abandoned bookstore as I write this. There is, as always, the distant sound of gunfire and shouts, but nothing within five blocks of us.
I am well, uninjured, and decently fed. There is some difficulty finding sleep in the constant tension, but I nap when I can. We lost a good man yesterday, to shrapnel wound that got infected. Another man has a bullet wound to the shoulder that is showing the first signs of infection. I will try to pick up disinfectant when I send this letter across the barricade, and hopefully my next letter will bear better news.
Every day I do what I can to put down the rebellion, so that I may end this nightmare and return to you. But the battle is harsh, and I worry that it might be some time yet before I can see your beautiful face again.
The bloodstains on my coat are getting to be quite a nuisance. I don't believe it will be salvageable after this mess. Luckily my hat is faring well enough, but I'm running low on good ammo for my shotgun. I have plenty of backup weapons, however, so this is more of an annoyance than a real problem.
This is all the paper I have at the moment, so I will conclude. I long so terribly for the touch of your hand against my face, the green glitter of your eyes gazing into mine. I keep you always in my memory, sweet Selphie.
Irvine Kinneas, your lovable Galbadian chocoboy
To : Balamb Garden, Room 218 – Selphie Tilmitt, SeeD Officer
From : Timber Quarantine – Irvine Kinneas, SeeD Officer
My dearest Selphie,
It is the day of March 14, Thursday, in the late evening. My troop has been scouting the southern barricade for useful supplies. We are running low on perishables and decent medicine. It's been a while since I had something to eat that didn't come out of a vacuum pouch. I almost miss the Cafeteria cooking.
Jorrin, the man with the bullet wound, still lives, thanks to a slapdash cauterization. It damaged the use of his arm, but he says he has no regrets. We have lost no other people, but a little girl we rescued died from her injuries. She'd taken a bad blow to the head, and never fully recovered. She had to be about 6. I didn't even learn her name.
There are rumors of the quarantine becoming absolute, of them locking us in without any access to supplies. If this happens, the death rate will sky-rocket, among all sides. It's hard enough as is to get enough food and medicine, even with our SeeD supply line. I know the blockade will do what it must, but there are civilians in here that need to be evacuated. Children. I'm sick and tired of seeing small bodies in the streets.
If I'm figuring right, it's about the time that you begin prepping the Spring Festival, yes? I'm sure it will be as wonderful as it always is when you're in charge. If I miss it, try not to be upset. I give you full permission, in fact, I demand, that you have fun and dance with other men. Be sure to twirl Squall around the dance floor for a couple songs; he needs the exercise. Give him your full pout if he refuses; no one can stand up to that. And eat lots of chocolate. But not too much, because I know it makes your stomach "floppy".
I wish you much luck in all things, darling, and hope you think of me from time to time. But not at the Festival. I want you happy, sugarstar of my heart.
- Irvine Kinneas, tired but still doing just fine
To : Balamb Garden, Room 218 – Selphie Tilmitt, SeeD Officer
From : Timber Quarantine – Irvine Kinneas, SeeD Officer
My dearest Selphie,
I apologize for the long delay, my darling. Paper is at a premium here, and there is little time for pleasantries. It is the day of March 18, Monday, early evening. This is the first time in days I've had a spare moment that I haven't needed to spend on sleep.
Yesterday and the day before were spent running around an awful lot. A group of rebels, one of the more extreme factions, has taken a handful of people hostage, for use in ways I won't mention. We've been tracking them through the streets and buildings, and have finally taken them down.
Unfortunately, there weren't many survivors, and we lost two good people in our troop. Dean got knocked in the back by a grenade, and Wena was crushed under a collapsing roof.
My hat has a troubling chunk taken out of the rim. For the life of me, I can't remember when it happened or how. I think maybe a bullet.
I write to tell you that I am mostly well. I took some shrapnel to the leg, but it's not a debilitating injury. I'm having nightmares, but I fall back asleep easily enough. I worry for my troop, though. Most are not as well off as I. Our numbers are worryingly low, almost too low to do any good.
I hope the next time I write, I can give you better news. I keep you in my heart, my honeyrabbit.
- Irvine Kinneas
To : Balamb Garden, Room 218 – Selphie Tilmitt
From : Timber Quarantine – Irvine Kinneas
Selphie,
I can't say much. They're closing the quarantine. This'll be the last message I can send for a while. I am fine. My leg healed well, no new injuries. Don't worry for me, I can handle myself. Try to convince Quistis to send in a retrieval troop for the civilians.
- I.K.
To : Balamb Garden, Room 218 – Selphie Tilmitt
From : Timber Barricade – Border Patrol
This is to inform you that Irvine Kinneas sends word that he is alive and well, and not to worry about him. He sends his love.
To : Balamb Garden – Quistis Trepe, Asst. Headmistress
From : Timber Barricade – Border Customs
This is to inform you that the SeeD Troop, Blue Diamond, has reached and checked in at the Border. There are four people counted, and the names and ranks given are as follows.
Minz Trubechen – SeeD, Rank 9, S# 184734
Jaxon Lerrenger – SeeD, Rank 8, S# 174937
Salle Kirsten – SeeD, Rank 5, S# 723436
Jorrin Tess – SeeD, Rank 4, S# 184739
SeeDs Trebechen and Lerrenger have suffered debilitating injuries and will be detained at the Border Infirmary. The others have mild injuries but will be released for transfer home after the paperwork has cleared.
Medical records :
Trebechen received a bullet wound to the abdomen that has become badly infected. He is in threat of blood poisoning, and will be kept until stable.
Lerrenger suffered a head blow from the shrapnel of a grenade, and is currently in a coma. His condition is uncertain at the moment, and he has mild brain hemorrhaging.
Kirsten's left arm is broken in two places, reported to be from a beating with a baseball bat. He has been given a cast and otherwise suffers no health risks.
Tess has an older shoulder injury that shows signs of continual infection, possibly blood poisoning. Suggest monitoring and antibiotics.
The rest of the team is declared missing, assumed dead. Request confirmation to declare them KIA under codes of conduct during Quarantine, section D-12, paragraph 5.
Author's Notes – the brain information is mostly accurate, though I may not have all my facts right. If you'd like to see my collection of nifty fanart drawn for me by my buddy Neko, including two adorable Grrface pics, feel free to contact me.