Wilt
(7831)
(7831)
Sorry, again.
She was floating, aimless and lost. A distantly familiar sensation, something she’d felt maybe once or twice before. There’s a sense of elation, emptiness. Her hands grabbed starlight and her lungs filled with cosmos. She danced across the void, a lonesome waltz that neither started nor ended.
Then, that self-same empty was taken from her.
Bright lights, blinding. She waited for them to dim back to the black she’d been swimming in. When they didn’t, she focused in, leaving that ephemeral subconscious behind as her eyes registered being open.
The walls of the room were light. For an instant, she wondered if Divinitus had claimed her, but a cursory glance downward disproved her. She was swathed in a paper gown, and an IV was fed into her wrist.
What the fuck happened?
She sat up some, eyes acclimated to the invasive light and able to decipher the form next to the hospital bed.
Anima, a middle-aged olive-skinned laicar with cropped, unnaturally white hair sat in an old, wooden chair.
Micali was here again.
But no, she wasn’t. This was much more sensory than it had ever been, but there was no pain, barring the dull guitar-string thrum of a headache. Anima’s head was tipped down, asleep. This was different. With a wish to test this theory, Micali felt for the bandage that would be wrapped around where Foss emptied his clip into her stomach.
As her hands passed beneath the hospital gown and to her bare skin, she found only the ridges of scars that had lined her body for years.
This was not a memory.
“...What...“ She had to cut herself off, her voice scratchy and dry. How long had she been asleep? How did she get here?
A glass of water sat at the bedside table. She reached for it weakly, took it in hand, and downed the whole thing. With a clear of her throat, she was prepared to actually speak.
“Alsara.”
Micali turned to see Anima, now awake, stretching out before she stood. As if it were a mission briefing a decade earlier, Micali sat and listened for what was going to be said.
“Please say something, Micali,” the amber-eyed laicar said.
Micali’s brows furrowed. “Okay.”
Anima seemed to relax at that, a sigh leaving her. “Okay. Good.” She pulled the chair forward, and sat back down. “...Al-“ she cut herself off. “Micali.” A steady breath in, then out. “What do you remember?”
Micali shook her head, which hurt even more from the sharp movements. “I...don’t. How- where am I?”
The older woman nodded, as if expecting such an answer. “You...my men found you. They were...they were doing a sweep of the place, and saw you. They tried calling out to you, but you didn’t respond. They saw you had a gun, and one of them panicked and knocked you out.” Anima rubbed at the crown of her own head, which Micali mirrored, only for the headache to sharpen. “We took you here, where everyone else came, after…”
The sniper shook her head lightly, furrowing her brows further as she looked expectantly at her former mentor. “After what?”
Anima was suddenly unable to meet the brunette’s gaze. “After the keepers raided the bar.”
Then, a rush of memories filled Micali. Getting home from Aridus, the travel through the mountains, getting to the edge of Lucrus. Talrigori telling her that it was her fault. Getting to Dom’s. Rosa.
Rosa.
Her heart pounded heavy, the realization setting in as her breath began to come short. Rosa was dead. Rosa died and it was Micali’s fault. How long had she been sitting there, staring at the corpse that swung back and forth over her dead daughter’s room?
“Micali, focus. Stay with me.”
The bedridden woman’s eyes were wet when she looked back up to Anima, confused.
Anima seemed to understand, and explained. “It was evening when we found you. You were out of it for a couple hours, but when you woke up…” she sat back in her chair. “You didn’t…” it was a rare sight for the leader of a criminal organization to struggle with words. “You weren’t here. We tried to snap you out of whatever haze you were in, but nothing worked. It’s about midnight, now. They hooked up the IV as a precaution.” She stood and walked toward the door. “The others from the bar are also here.”
Micali nodded. It wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened, but it was the worst it had been. News that the others were here was reassuring, but the grim look on Anima’s face kept Micali cautious. “C-c-can…” she paused, let her mind collect itself, or at least enough of itself together to get words out in a successful string. “Can I see them?”
Anima nodded, and left the room. Immediately, Micali pulled at the tape around her IV, then removed it with a hiss of air in through her teeth. She threw on her clothes, familiarly folded up next to the bed. As she dressed, she realized this was not the same place as before - the Cura clinic she’d been in after her fight with Pallorus did not look nearly this nice. She vaguely recalled Rev and Volo mentioning that Melior Sed Supra had improved Cura funding, and clearly this is where it went. Then, she realized. Rev. She’d promised him she wouldn’t let Rosa get hurt. She failed. If he was here…Micali shook the thought, shook the grief, and moved. She needed to know that Dom was okay, the twins were okay. Walking through the halls of the clinic, she was disoriented.
Anima was stood at a front desk, speaking to a nurse, then turned back to Micali as she approached. “One of your friends is okay. He’s in room four, the other two are in surgery.”
Micali nodded, then turned and walked. Every step was trepidation, worry. Then, as she neared room four, the emotions ebbed, knocked aside by anger, frustration, rage. When she turned the corner to the room and saw one of the twins, she remembered what Talrigori once said.
Those two, they fare well?
They knew her. Surging forward, a smile met her, then melted to fear as Micali shoved the spurii back, into a wall. “What the fuck happened?!” She spared no worry of health. If they had something to do with Rosa’s death, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. “Fucking answer me!” She pushed again, the man’s head banging into the wall behind him.
He opened his mouth, gurgling a loose, “I’m ‘orry.”
Immediately, Micali let up. This was Paulo. He was alive. Her friend. Not only was he damn-near mute, but the tears that ran hot down his face were proof enough for her of his innocence. As soon as she let go of him, she too felt tears well up in her eyes as a hoarse sob escaped her. He looked to her, crying turned to weeping, and the two embraced, tears staining shoulders.
xx——-
When a nurse came around, Paulo’s head was leaned on Micali’s shoulder, asleep. Micali spoke to ask her, “are Dom and Magno gonna be okay?” Something she hadn’t tried to ask Paulo before he cried himself to unconsciousness.
The elderly velen woman offered a sympathetic smile. “They’re in surgery at the moment. It’s not looking good, but our surgeons are the best on this side of the city. If they’re going to pull through, they’re in the right hands.” She then unlocked and shuffled through a file cabinet for a moment, grabbed the folder she evidently needed, then locked the thing and left. The words left a sour taste, a reminder that in Pes Exis, the resources afforded to the doctors were likely much more conducive to success.
It’s not looking good.
If Micali lost even one more person, she thought it might be too much, even for her. She was happy, finally happy. Then she let Talrigori back in, let her guard down. This was her fault. Now, she supposed she could only wait. Something she was used to in her profession, but something she was somehow entirely unable to do in that moment.
xx——-
When next someone came by, it was morning. A couple of surgeons came out of one of the nearby operating rooms across the hall to speak with them. Micali and Paulo clasped their hands together, a show of platonic camaraderie as they learned if their only friends and in Paulo’s case, brother, were dead.
“We operated on your brother. For now he’s stable, but the injuries were substantial. We managed to remove all the bullets that didn’t pass through, and thankfully, none of his vital organs were damaged. Even still, his body was put under a lot of stress. There’s not much we can do now but wait.” Both doctors gave the tired pair hopeful yet pragmatic glances, as if to say ‘brace yourself for the worst.’ Paulo’s hand tightened around hers, a squeeze in reply to the daunting yet possibly happy news.
Micali shifted then. “What about Dom?”
The two surgeons exchanged a brief, troubled look. They whispered between each other, hushed tones that the sniper couldn’t quite make out. Then, they turned back to the pair. “Dom’s injuries were even more extensive than Magno’s. They’re still in surgery, and from what we’ve heard, it’s not good. I’m sorry.” With that, the two surgeons moved past and out into the halls of the clinic.
The laicar wasn’t quite sure what she felt. First Rosa, now Dom? She couldn’t lose both of them. She wouldn’t allow it. Paulo leaned forward next to her, eyes trying to meet hers. She turned to him, and found herself resolute. “He’s gonna be okay. Both of them are gonna be okay. So don’t look at me like that.”
Paulo seemed to notice that he was, in fact, giving a concerned look, and quickly righted it to a soft smile, as if their lives hadn’t been turned upside down over the course of one day. He nodded, and then stood. Holding out a single finger as if to tell her to wait, he headed out into the hall. Probably to the bathroom, she reasoned.
By the time he got back, a firm smile was in place, the only happy thing she’d seen since she left Terminus. She quirked an eyebrow. “What?”
He only grabbed a foldable table that was propped against the wall, unfolded it in front of her, and pulled up a wooden chair opposite Micali. She only shook her head in question, looking for an answer he finally gave when he revealed a deck of cards from his back pocket. He cleared his throat before trying, “Pari?” His voice was almost identical to Magno, barring the slur that came from his tongue being cut out.
Micali thought for a moment. A simple card game to pass the time was more than a welcome distraction - it was a lifeline. With a nod, he shuffled the cards and got to dealing.
Much like the first time they played, and every other time they played in the six months before she left, Paulo was playing to win. It felt good, to have someone not take pity on her when something terrible happens. To feel like things are normal, even for the ten-odd minutes it takes to play a round of the game. She ended up winning a few of the nearly two-dozen games they played before they decided to take a break. They walked around the clinic, though it could likely be considered a small hospital given how well put-together it was.
They ended up walking around like this for a couple of hours, both glad to not be sitting in that damn room any longer. Micali was just about ready to get back to the waiting when a cleared throat behind her caught her attention.
Before the pair stood Rev and Volo. Micali’s mouth went drier than every dune she walked in Aridus. They both looked tired, and sad. Rev stepped forward first. “Can we talk?”
Micali looked to Paulo, who gave a curious glance. He doesn’t know. She didn’t know that she could bring herself to say it, to speak the words out loud. She was so busy worrying about Magno and Dom that she refused to even think about it. “You head on back, I’ll be there in a bit.”
Paulo nodded, and walked off.
Turning back, Micali followed the pair as they walked to the cafeteria. Sitting across from the two without Rosa at her side felt weird. Empty. There was so clearly a fourth person missing from the scene that she felt almost comically out of place. “...I’m sorry. I don’t know if anything I say will ever be enough to tell you how sorry I am. If you want to beat the shit out of me, berate me, go for it. I deserve it and worse.”
Volo reached across the table, putting his hand on top of hers. “Hey. It’s...we’re still not sure on all the details. Were...were you there?
She only shook her head. “I got there after. There was blood, and a lot of bullet holes. And her.” The tears were teetering on the edges of her irises again, and Vis, she was getting really tired of crying all the time.
Rev nodded from across the table, all three the look of solemnity. “Is this your fault?”
Micali almost started smiling at how well someone could read her mind, no matter how many times she tried to hide her deepest worries. “I think so. I don’t know how it happened. I was talking with Talrigori, and then...she said it was my fault. Then the gunfire started.”
The two exchanged a look before Volo spoke up. “Micali...she wasn’t shot. There were no gunshot wounds.”
The laicar woman’s gaze shot up to theirs, realization plain in her complexion. “I...I saw her. She was hanging. I know she didn’t do it to herself.”
The two exchanged yet another grim glance. Volo again spoke, though this time with much more hesitation. “We...there wasn’t…”
Rev took over where his husband could not speak. “There were no signs of a struggle.”
Micali’s hands stopped trembling. Her tears stopped their threats to spill over. Her head stopped screaming. “What?”
“The manner of death was ruled as suicide. I...We ID’d her body. I examined her, and from what I saw, the examiner was right. There was no excessive rope burn on the neck, no blood or skin under the fingernails. No signs of struggle.”
Micali shook her head. “But...she was bleeding. There was blood.”
Rev nodded. “Based on the patterns of the stab wounds, they believe it was done post-mortem. Whoever stabbed her and wrote the message did it after she was already dead.”
The sniper shook her head again, fervent this time, voice rising. “No. No, that’s fucking wrong. She wouldn’t-”
“She tried before.”
The laicar’s eyes stopped searching for a frantic truth and locked to Rev’s. Volo looked down, unable to participate in the conversation any longer. This was something Rosa had alluded to once or twice, but never confirmed, and it hurt Micali’s heart to consider.
“When she was a teenager. There was a pattern of depression.”
“Yeah, because her father married her off to some asshole who abused her. Rosa - not Aluna, but Rosa? She wouldn’t do this. Happy, cheery Rosa?”
“I can only tell you the facts.”
This was worse. This was somehow much, much worse than being berated, or attacked. Rosa wouldn’t...do that. She wouldn’t. She was stronger than that, too stubborn to give up.
“I heard her. Her voice, over the vox.”
“Are you sure?”
Micali could only nod slowly, too tired to try to doubt her memory. If she hadn’t heard Rosa, then she would have to question everything else. Coming out of whatever place she was in yesterday, she didn’t want to go digging around in her psyche any further.
The two across from her only sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. She’s gone. We just...wanted to know what you saw.” With that, they both stood, and moved to walk away.
“Wait,” said the assassin. “Where are you going?”
Volo looked back. “Home.” With that, the two continued to walk, leaving Micali alone in the cafeteria.
She wanted to begrudge them. To hate them for abandoning her like that, when Rosa’s memory was closest to the three of them, specifically. But it was her fault. Them choosing only to leave her behind without a word was the most humane thing they could do, and it was a better thing than she would’ve done.
She stood, wiped at her dry face, as if expecting phantom tears to be there, and returned back to room four.
When she walked in, she could’ve sworn she was seeing double.
Magno and Paulo both stood in the center of the room, wrapped tight in an embrace. The elder twin had seemingly recovered well, and was up and about like nothing had even happened. As her footsteps reached his ears, Magno pulled back from the hug with his brother and smiled at her, moving to embrace her as well. She accepted it, but pulled back sooner than she otherwise would’ve.
“Hi.” She didn’t know how to tell them that Rosa was dead.
“Hey, Mick.” The nickname stung, something that he took to calling her in spring after ‘their friendship reached that point.’
Micali had to feel at her own legs to realize she could move them, then went to sit down in the same seat she’d been waiting in for hours and hours on end all day. “You’re feeling well.”
The spurii man looked down to himself, then back to her, and offered a short nod. “Yeah, good as new.”
Micali’s eyes sharpened at this, like there were loose threads in front of her, and with only the right amount of pulling, she could figure out the twins’ connection to Talrigori, and all this mess. “The doctors said you might not make it.”
“Well, I’m glad to prove them wrong.” The man shrugged, but Micali knew this was off. Better than most, actually. Healing magic be damned, it took at least a few days, maybe weeks of rest to be back to where he was.
“You didn’t just prove them wrong. You’re standing there, perfectly healthy. Like you weren’t littered with bullets less than twenty-four hours ago.” The twins exchanged one of their looks, then Magno turned back to her.
“I guess I’m just a fast healer.” Magno and Paulo, standing next to one another, took those loose threads and ripped from where they hung.
Micali’s eyes widened. “You two...I’ve always wondered why you look so identical.”
Magno’s face turned sour, his eyes suddenly worried. “We’re twins.”
She stood, eyes suddenly keen to make sure her rifle was leaned against the corner of the room where she left it, and was relieved to find it there, then moved to the door, and closed it. Behind her, she thought she heard a heavy swallow. “Twins with identical birthmarks, freckles, and voices. Spurii twins from the slums who happened into a job where Aluna Industria and an ex-member of Editus Malum’s personal task force were.”
Magno raised a hand. “Hold on, we were there before Ro! What are you trying to get at, anyway? Can’t we just talk about this later?”
Micali moved closer, steps taking her inches at a time as she pieced it together. “No. Talrigori let slip that she knows you. She cares about you. And she did this.” She moved closer still, Magno now moving back a little at a time as Paulo ducked off to the side, getting out of the way of the woman’s warpath. “Armac Elantur’s notes talked about tenebritium. Sound familiar?”
The spurii man’s eyes darted to his alleged twin’s, then back to her as he backed into a wall. “N-no! I have no idea what you’re even talking about!”
Micali stopped just short of him, the woman a few inches shorter yet dwarfing him as she shook her head. “When spliced with human cells, it gives regenerative powers. The kind needed to survive what you just did. The same black liquid that filled a pod with a body inside in Aridus.” She closed the last of the distance, a hand to one side of his head as she peered down at his now crouching form. “What are you?!”
He shook his head as it fell to rest on his knees as he took the fetal position. She listened carefully, worried that Paulo could attack her from the outside, but the sniffling at the other side of the room proved her wrong. “It’s...it’s all just a coincidence.”
Micali backed off, scoffing at a further realization. “There are no coincidences in Lucrus.” Magno looked up at that, and the sniper backed off a bit, then fell to the ground, body numb.
Magno looked unsure on what to do, and before he could ask, she spoke.
“Rosa’s dead. She’s dead and it’s my fault, and I need to know what you are. Why all this happened. Why…?” Sobs threatened to rock her body, and hot tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away, refusing to let her guard down before she knew she could trust them. Her eyes locked onto both of them, tempted to reach for the pistol in her back pocket, that luckily, had the safety on when she fell. Before her, the twins shifted. Neither breathed. The sniffles from Paulo in the corner grew to short gasps, then he too was crying once again. As she looked up at Magno, he too was crying. Great, we can all be a mess together.
When the two managed to get themselves under a semblance of control, Magno spoke. “Paulo and I...you’re right. We’re not twins. We weren’t born. We were made.” He crouched, and his eyes met Micali’s from across the room. “And we escaped. Talrigori helped us bust out, and sent us to Dom’s. That’s probably why she asked about us. We didn’t - we had nothing to do with this. Please, Mick, I promise.” His eyes looked sincere, and his tone even moreso.
Micali managed a sigh. “So...you’re replicari then?”
Magno only nodded, and moved to join his...clone? “We don’t know who we were made in the image of, just that we’re the only set of twins, we were the first time she wanted to try multiple copies.”
The sniper only shrugged from the opposite side of the room. “Who’s she? Who made you?” A bit stern of a tone, but she needed answers.
“We don’t know. We only ever called her ‘Zero.’ We were all given numbers.”
“...How many of you are there?”
“Originally...eight. One and Two were both sent off before Paulo and I were made. Three was the de facto leader, operating on Zero’s orders. I’m Four, Paulo is Five. Six died, Eight escaped, and Seven was still there when Talrigori broke us out.” He played with his hands, making busy while he explained. “But they were making more. Zero wasn’t one of us, she was our creator. A white enlil, but not Talrigori.”
Micali looked at him incredulously. “Then who?”
“...her mother.”
The laicar felt frustration bubble up again. There were too many names, too many puzzle pieces. So instead, she considered flipping the table. “Okay, just- what happened yesterday?”
Magno sighed deeply. “It was pretty normal, but then there were gunshots. The bar was pretty much empty, aside from Miss Immersa and a couple others. It all happened so fast…”
“Details, Magno. Who got hurt? Where was everyone?”
“Right. Dom was at the bar, and when the gunshots started Paulo and I came out to see what was happening. I got caught in the crossfire, but then Dom jumped in front of us and shielded us. That was the last thing I saw before I passed out.”
Paulo nodded solemnly.
Micali didn’t need to finish the sentence - he could only be referring to the pain, one she knew well. She sighed loudly. “Rosa?”
“She was upstairs, we didn’t have the chance to get to her…” he trailed off, clearly ready to drop the topic. The silence that followed reminded her of the wicker worms - a devastating entity on a warpath, frantic either in a blind rage or panicked escape.
Just when the silence got too much, when she was sure the room itself was bound to pop from the tension, a couple of doctors approached from the hall. “You’re with Dominus Cessabit?”
Micali stepped forward and spoke, ready to shoulder this burden. “Yes. Is he...okay?”
The doctor righted themself, finally meeting Micali’s eye after what felt like an eternity in an instant. “He’s stable, for now. But he’s not conscious. A bullet passed through his frontal lobe and into his cerebral cortex, and while we were able to get the bleeding under control, it’s unlikely he’ll fully recover.”
Magno stepped forward then, worry planted underneath each of his words. “What does that mean?”
Micali sighed yet again, a memory shuffled to the back of her consciousness propelling to the foreground. “It means he’s essentially braindead.”
The surgeon cleared their throat. “Not quite. He’s still alive, meaning his brain is still active, he can receive sensory information, but his brain is damaged enough that he cannot function normally. In some patients this can manifest as slurred speech or permanent disability, but based on the injury I’ve diagnosed him as being in a vegetative state. On top of this, the trauma from his injuries has left his body weak, and his lungs aren’t pumping in air correctly, so he’s currently on a ventilator.”
Micali had to swallow around the words she was hearing. Vegetative state? In her mind, that was worse than death. “What are his chances of pulling out of this normally?”
“Slim to none. I’m very sorry.”
Micali moved to a nearby chair and took a seat, the...clones not long behind her. She couldn’t lose Dom, she couldn’t. This wasn’t happening. Rosa was enough to ruin her, but Dom? Her best friend, the man who took her in, clothed her after everything she went through? It wouldn’t happen, she was sure of it. “Can we see him?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes. He’s in room seven at the moment.”
Micali scowled. She really hated that number. The three stood and moved immediately, and it wasn’t long before they were entering the room.
Dominus Cessabit, usually a smiling, cheery man, vibrant in all senses, portly and friendly, wisdom surpassed only by his generosity, was gone. The body that laid in the bed was foreign in all senses. Bandages swathed around the plucked feathers along his head, where the surgeons had gone in and stitched him up. Several tubes were fed into the veins of his wrist, and his mouth and nose. His chest rose and fell steadily, a machine in the room nearly matching it, overlapping every few seconds.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The metronome found Micali pulling up a chair in the room, sitting next to Dom, placing a hand over his. The twins took one look at him, and stayed still. The woman had to recall that most people hadn’t seen the kind of violence she had - even the people who were made, not born. “Hey. You can go get some food, I’m gonna stay with him.”
The twins nodded, and stuttered into hesitant steps away, then down toward the cafeteria.
Micali’s hand wandered from Dom’s own to his face, hand stroking along his cheek. She would allow herself this moment of vulnerability, for him. “Hey. I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, I really need you to wake up. Things are bad, and you’re always there for me when things are bad, right? So take some time, give it a few days, but I really need you to wake up and tell me what to do.” The tears that streaked her face were ones hidden, pent up and locked away. Suddenly, it wasn’t only Dom lying before her - it was Rosa, it was Cora, it was everyone she failed to protect, the people she was responsible for, the ones she basically killed with her own two hands. So, with the solace and privacy of an open door frame and bodies shuffling past in the hallway, she sobbed hard into the shoulder of her only true ally.
xx-----
By the end of that day, Micali had exhausted herself in her efforts to heal him, reciting the prayer on all ends of the day until she felt herself get lightheaded.
‘O wondrous light, I beseech you to mend these wounds.’ It may as well be tattooed on the inside of her eyelids at this point. Not that it mattered - he still hadn’t woken up by the next morning.
The cafeteria food was awful. Cura really needed to try and recruit better chefs. Then, Micali remembered that while Cura was officially recognized as a charity organization within the city, their funds were still running low, with small donations made by Melior Sed Supra and the occasional pittance from Silas Obitus. The twins had brought her some food before they left the clinic - they were going to go fix up Dom’s so that it could be ready for when he woke up, hopefully get it close to working again. Micali knew deep down that really they just wanted to give her time alone with him - while he took them in too, even they could recognize the importance of Dom’s and Micali’s friendship.
The showers were even worse. The temperature barely got above tolerable, and it made the sterile environment seep into her bones like a frost overtaking a patch of grass in the early hours of the day. Even still, she hadn’t left the clinic since she got there. She couldn’t. She couldn’t leave Dom, but she also couldn’t face reality. Not right now. Outside the clinic was a world without Rosa, and she needed to focus on getting Dom back up on his feet. So, as she sat in a chair next to him, she recited the prayer yet again, hand clasped over his, hoping she would feel him grip, or pull, or tug. Anything, any movement that could identify he had a semblance of consciousness left. When it didn’t work, she could only sigh to herself. She wouldn’t stop trying.
Then, one day turned to two. The twins came back and checked in. Upon learning that his status hadn’t changed, they set back out to keep working on the bar.
When two days turned to four, Micali lost track of who went where. She kept saying the prayer, kept spending every last ounce of her energy to try and heal him, but after the fourth day, she decided to stop. She just wasn’t strong enough, this tithe of healing magic that Rosa had taught her wasn’t powerful enough to fix the man, to rouse him from consciousness. The rest of the time, she was reminiscing, hoping that - if he could hear her - talk of Perdita or Rosa could work. She omitted Rosa’s fate - the last thing she needed was Dom chasing after her to try and keep her company. The grim joke made Micali feel sick the instant after she thought it.
That evening, the surgeons came by again to check on him. “Miss...Alsara, is it?”
She stood from where she sat, looking out the window but paying no attention to whatever vista laid beyond the wavy glass. “Yes. Is there news? Do we get to take him home?”
The surgeons looked between each other - did everyone at this damned clinic do that? - and one stepped forward, shaking their head slightly. “Unfortunately not. Mister Cessabit’s condition hasn’t improved in one hundred hours, so we must speak with the next of kin.”
Micali only shrugged. Next of kin? He wasn’t dead, and he was going to wake up. She also didn’t understand what it had to do with her.
As if understanding exactly what she meant, the surgeon in front continued on. “...That would be you. Mister Cessabit had named you next of kin.”
Micali wasn’t surprised, just...okay, yeah, she was surprised, but only because it was nothing she had ever considered. “Oh.” She swept the hair out of her face and behind her ears, and sat up straight, professional guise up.
“As his conditions have shown no signs of improvement after a one hundred hour period, we have to inform you that in another seventy-two hours, he will be considered to have entered a persistent vegetative state, meaning he will be moved to the basement floor and kept on his feeding and oxygen tubes there. Sadly, unless he wakes up, he can’t eat for himself, and at this time, he can’t breathe for himself. On top of this, his heart is struggling to keep up with the stress on his body. To remove the tubes would kill him. I’m incredibly sorry.”
Micali shook her head. “How long does it usually take for vegetative state patients to recover? To wake up?”
“Usually? They don’t. I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Alsara.”
She could only shake her head again, more fervent in her disagreement. “He’s not gone yet, don’t...don’t talk like this is over. There’s time.”
The other surgeon stepped forward, face much more impartial. “We’re obligated to ask if you want to remove the tubes on the end of the seventh day.” The first surgeon turned and gave a look to the second, but they continued, “many patients can be kept alive for months, even years, on the ventilator and feeding tubes, but we have to ask if that is the desire of the next of kin, or if they want to remove the tubes.”
The brunette laicar stopped shaking her head. They were serious. This was seriously something they were asking her. “I...how the hell am I supposed to know the answer to that? How do I make that choice?”
The second surgeon spoke, the first now turned back and face filled again with solemnity. “Many look at it in regards to quality of life. At this time, you’re the only person who can make that decision.”
The words were too real, too accurate. That reality she was avoiding outside the clinic seemed to infiltrate it somehow. Micali stood, hands shooting to her sides in tight fists. “I want you to leave.”
The two surgeons both did as requested, and Micali sank back into the chair, now alone again with Dom. “Can you fucking believe that? You’re gonna be fine. You’re really picking your moments here, but you’re gonna wake up. Because if you don’t, I’ll die too, and you don’t want that.” She sank deeper into the chair, long hair tangling along the back of it.
The next day, she thought about it, and the twins sat alongside her after she explained the situation.
Dom wouldn’t want to be kept alive on machines. He wouldn’t want to be a drain on the resources of an already struggling medical clinic in the poorest part of the city. His injuries wouldn’t be recovered from - that thing in the woods hadn’t, and it seemed to ignore most of the hurt she dealt to it. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. The black blood that thing had...
“Hey.”
Both twins turned to look at her.
“You said one of the replicari escaped, right? Where were you guys? Like, were you in the city?”
Magno shook his head slowly. “The cathedral. Science guy’s notes didn’t say that?”
Micali’s heart pounded in her chest. “No. It didn’t.” Rosa had said she saw some lab there as a child. Viktor Industria had a meeting...with Auctoria Geminos. Above the lab that belongs to Colomba Fallitur. Pieces were falling together. Zero was another new name, but maybe it belonged to one she already had. Colomba Fallitur could’ve been Zero, and while the name still sounded distantly familiar in her mind, she couldn’t quite place it. Assuming this, Colomba was Talrigori’s mother. But Colomba’s daughter was called Ilori. Suddenly, Micali had to think about what she really knew about Talrigori. None of them spoke much of their backgrounds while they were on a team together, save her and Pallorus between each other. It was almost taboo among the Insidiis. Was Talrigori’s true identity Ilori Fallitur? Why kill Rosa? To get at Viktor Industria? She settled on accepting what she knew for sure. “I’m pretty sure I killed Eight. In the woods between here and Amanta.”
The two exchanged a look. “Probably for the best. He got made...weird. Aggressive. Like a rabid animal.”
Micali nodded, that made sense. Appeased to fill in more of this puzzle, she let her mind wander again.
By the time the twins left, it was late. Micali glanced at a clock in the hall outside before returning to the room. They were at the halfway point - he had thirty-six hours to wake up before they had to move him. He had thirty-six hours to bail her out from having to decide whether he lives or dies.
She wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t consider it. He’d wake up at the last second, she wouldn’t consider elsewise. She would, however, agonize as the hours bled into minutes, then had her walking out to stare at that damned clock every few minutes hoping an hour had passed. Placing a timer on things really made this more insufferable. At the twenty-four hour mark, she started to get worried. “Hey, Dom. I’m doing okay, and I know you’re gonna wait another twenty-three hours, but please just save me the heartache and wake up, ‘kay? I wanna go outside. It’s that part of summer where the heat’s really good. Your favorite.” She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat evenly. In the background of the room, as always, she tapped into that electronic metronome.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
She forgot it was even there. It had been six days since she’d left this building. The twins brought her changes of clothes, knew she couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t.
At the twelve hour mark, she started to chuckle. “This is fucking ridiculous. Dom, c’mon, this was funny, but you’re really gonna make us wait? Really? You’re going to do this at the last minute just to spite me for leaving? I get it, I do, this is you pulling one over on me for all the times I freaked you out. This is a good one, your best yet, for sure.” She giggled to herself for some time before the laughter turned bitter in her mouth.
As the hours dwindled down, she kept herself busy with little things. Stretches, humming some song she’d heard Rosa sing to her, then stopping upon thinking of the velen woman, pacing, reciting the words to some book over in her head as best she could. The twins showed up at the one hour mark, and sat with her, none saying a thing.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
When they were ten minutes out, she stood, and walked over to him. The twins followed behind a small distance. “I’m ready for this wait to be over.”
Magno cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”
She turned and offered a short smile and a shrug. “He’s gonna wake up any second now.”
The spurii clone gave her a concerned look. “Mick…”
Micali only shook her head. “Nope. That’s his nickname for me, and I don’t wanna hear it from you until after he says it again, okay?” She was giddy though her words betrayed the sense of jubilation. Ten minutes and he’d open his eyes and start coughing and ask how everyone else was, because of course Dom would do that. If he didn’t - which he would - she’d decide then.
When the surgeons walked in five minutes later, she rolled her eyes. “Miss Alsara? We have the paperwork, we need to know if you’ve come to a decision.”
Micali was certain she’d shaken her head far too many times in the last few days to count, but she did it all the same. “We got five minutes. Just wait.” The surgeons stood back and did as such. As the minutes clocked down to sixty seconds, she moved next to him. “Alright, it’s time, big guy, give me something.” She placed her hand in his, and waited for him to squeeze, or groan, or something.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The time that passed was far longer than sixty seconds.
Eventually, a sad sigh. The second surgeon spoke. “Miss Alsara-”
“Quiet. Give him a minute.”
Silence again.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
More than a minute passed.
“Miss Alsara, I’m quite-”
She moved up again. “Dom, c’mon, you’re making me look bad in front of a bunch of doctors. It’s time to cut the shit and wake up.” The hand that reached her shoulder was definitely Magno’s, but she shook it off all the same. “Stop, stop, he’s gonna wake up. Give it just a few more minutes.”
Magno spoke behind her, “Micali...it’s over.”
Her eyes widened, the scorn from the moment of betrayal insurmountably obvious. “What the fuck?! You’re just giving up on him? He’s not dead!”
The first surgeon spoke up, now, “Miss Alsara, I’m incredibly sorry for your loss. But we do need an answer.”
For some reason, that was what broke her. The only person in this room who had the delicate opinion needed to handle Dom’s life had turned on her, too. Was reality the real traitor? Was it over? She moved back to the chair and plopped down into it. “Wh...what?” She used all her energy, all her mind to try and understand. Dom couldn’t die - Rosa was dead. She couldn’t lose both, that wasn’t fair. They were the two people she loved most, and they were both just...gone?
Eons passed. She sighed, eyes fighting back the tears threatening her. “I…” she needed time to think. They already gave me time to think. This was...really happening? “Give me the form, please.” Her voice cracked, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t, because if she cried it was over. The form found its way into her hands, and she read through it. A lot of the clinic not claiming responsibility, then the final boxes to be ticked and signatured - one to keep him on the life support, the other to remove it.
She hoped the pen in her hand was empty of ink, that an explosion would rock the other side of the city - she waited for any divine intervention to prolong his time, because that’s what he was waiting for, right?
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
When no such time came, and someone in the room cleared their throat, she moved her hand.
The form was taken from her, and she only sat back and put a hand over her mouth, eyes wandering to anywhere but nowhere.
“Our condolences.”
When the nurses came in and started to unhook him from machinery, she felt her heart nearly rise out of her when she saw the ventilator come out, almost mimicking the sensation, or at least she imagined. They left the electronic metronome to denote his heart rate. Then, it was the six of them again. The clones, her, and Dom. She held his hand, and watched as his chest began to rise and fall. “Whoa- he’s...he’s breathing!”
“Yes...that’s...actually incredibly common in these cases. The body is keeping itself alive, but there’s no telling how long it will last for. Sometimes it’s a few hours, sometimes a couple days, sometimes longer. But at this point, his chances of waking up have been reduced substantially, even from the very small chance it was before.” The second surgeon’s voice rang out, and for once, Micali was grateful for it, destroying any and all hope she had.
“So he’s...just gonna lie like this for a while?”
“Yes. You should take this time to say your goodbyes.” With that, the surgeons exited.
Micali could only breathe in, then out.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“We, uh...we found a crematorium. In the industrial district. It’s cheap, and looked really fancy.”
Again, her eyes turned to Magno, sharper than the knife in her pocket. “You’ve...you already knew?”
He only nodded, eyes downcast. “We’ll...we’ll give you your time.” On their walk out, Paulo placed a hand on Dom’s arm, and let out a short sigh before both disappeared down the hall.
Then, it was just her and Dom.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Is this it? The moment I’ve been waiting for? You’re gonna wake up now, right, when we’re at the worst case scenario. Right?” She looked at his closed eyes, hoping for the smallest twitch in them. “You know, everyone else is already sure you’re gone. Would be really cool to prove them wrong.” She saw no reaction again. “Dom, are you really fucking dead?” In the still silence that followed, her emotions bubbled out of her. “What the fuck? You’re fucking kidding right, if everyone’s given up on you, why are you still breathing, huh? Why hold on? What’s the point if you’d just be stuck like this? I want you to wake up and answer me, because I don’t know why you’re...” then, she realized. She realized a lot. “You’re holding on for me.” The tears that welled in her eyes were more dangerous, more heavy than the ones from before. In a last ditch effort, she needed some kind of a reaction. “Rosa’s dead.” Again, deafening silence. “You already knew, didn’t you? I’m sure you’ve got one foot in both sides right now. Can’t decide whether to stay or go. And I’m the one keeping you stuck.”
Dom’s form still laid near-motionless save for the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
“We’re...we’re gonna be okay. If you need to go, you should go. Your parents are over there, and Rosa…” her tears were falling freely now, hard as bullets and hot as blood, and this was happening, this was really happening. “And Perdita. I can take care of things here. You go.” Empty words, but ones he probably needed to hear in his final moments. Because these were his final moments, and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair, but it was still happening. She pushed on, for him. “I love you...so much. So much.” Her hands tightened at her sides and the tears continued to stream down her face and into the cotton sheets. “But you can go. We’ll be fine. We’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. I love you.”
Beep. Beep.