I don’t know how long I spent drifting between dreams and not-quite-lucid consciousness, although from what little I could remember it was an experience I would never want to go through again.
My rough entrance into the weeks of sleep was reflected in my dreams- or more accurately nightmares. Time and time again, I would find myself back on the ground of the small, blown-out shop, pinned under the body of the demon. Although these times I was never rescued. Sometimes the demon would slowly pull itself back up as I watched on immobile, helpless as it stabbed its sword through my heart, watched me bleed out, burned me alive, or killed me in countless other ways. In the particularly bad dreams, it would carefully cut across my stomach and drag me back the impossibly long but startlingly short distance to the rest of the hanging corpses where it would string me up like them- mind forever trapped in a frozen body.
I’d heard dreams like these were supposed to end just before you actually died, but for me they usually continued long after I should have expired.
At some point in my endless repetition of the final moments of the Breach, I found myself somewhere new. It might have been another dream, or it might have been in the real world. I was talking with Cleo, but I can’t recall what was said- or even if sound was made- but I do remember the feeling of my mouth and tongue moving.
After that, my dreams were much more bearable. Instead of dying over and over, I found myself in a small, plain garden with a number of statues. Each was immaculately carved out of marble to the point they looked almost like they were alive and positioned in poses acting out normal activities which changed each time I visited. It took me a few repetitions of fading in and out of the dream to remember my previous ones, at which point I recognized the statues were somehow more alive versions of the bodies I saw hanging in the failed shelter.
When I finally woke up for real, I found the world to be a blurry and every changing mess of shapes. There were a few spots where things were slightly higher quality, but not enough to make anything out. Despite being too weak to sit up, I still tried to wipe the fogginess out of my eyes. My still sleepy mind was confused by only one of my eyes feeling something pressing on it, so I tried a second time to wipe my left eye.
Still feeling nothing, I shakily moved to grab my left hand with my right so it could wipe my eye, only to find I was slapping against my side. Still not realizing what had happened, but getting more frustrated at my left arm not cooperating like it should, I tried to push myself into a position where I could get a good look at why it was being so stubborn.
It was in my attempt to weakly flail around that a nurse finally got the alert I was awake and came to stop me from hurting myself. That maybe wasn’t the best idea because my completely-out-of-it grumpiness was shifted from my uncooperative arm to this new person trying to get me to lay down.
Due to my general uncooperativeness and what I was assured was a very small, possibly ULE influenced fire, I ended up knocking myself out from exhaustion.
The second time I woke up I was much more aware of my situation. Initially I panicked at my loss of ULE perception quality before Cleo appeared in perfect clarity and calmly told me, {please relax. Your prosthetics were disconnected to make your surgery and general care easier. You are safe in SEYA’s hospital. Can you give me some energy so I can call someone to go get them while you orient yourself?}
With my mouth incredibly dry and voice not working, I settled for nodding and strained to push some of my ULE reserves into Cleo, finally feeling the weight of their body appear on my chest as they shifted from two dimensions to the normal three.
It was funny seeing them air-walk over to the call button and speak to whoever was on the other end. Initially, the other person was confused by definitely not my voice coming though the call, but after a lot of explaining and a little passive-aggressiveness, Cleo managed to get everything sorted out.
Since I was not in a state to do it myself, Cleo had to strong-arm the nurse that delivered my prosthesis into also attaching them. Luckily for them, the designer of the system was right there to walk them through the process of popping off the temporary replacement covers and carefully pressing the proper parts into the proper places. After that, all it took was a little ULE from me to secure everything and get the system booting.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Just before I got everything working, I was stopped by the fear someone might have taken the opportunity to mess with the integrated computer and froze. As always, Cleo caught on to what I was thinking and explained, {hyperbolically, not only would someone messing with your stuff be signing their death-certificate for when you came to find them, but even with all of your little quantum computers, this world would be consumed by its sun before the encryption was cracked.}
Finding it difficult to get my vocal chords working, I settled for telepathically responding, “thanks… The past… however long I was asleep was pretty awful. And waking up minus an important body part for the second time is also… a downer.”
As they took a moment to consider what I had said, I fully powered the computer and thus prosthetics on. Despite everything, just having my little perception spheres back lifted my mood a bit. I hadn’t realized how much I had grown dependent on being able to know everything going on around me until I started tearing up at getting the ability back. There was a comfort in being able to know no one was waiting on or looking for you.
Or dead because of you.
As I shoved down thoughts of my dreams, Cleo came to rest on my chest and asked, {there are a couple non-urgent items I’d like to bring forward for your consideration, although getting more rest is also advisable.}
Shivering at the thought of returning to the shop or statue garden, I almost pleaded, “I’d like something to let me feel like I’m able to do anything.”
With a nod, Cleo replied, {in that case, I’ll start with the likely less fun things that need to get resolved. The administration for SEYA would like to hear your story of what happened. This doesn't need to happen today, or even this week- and I personally consider it the least important.
{Next, the MG-turned-surgeon who patched you up would like to talk sometime so he can go over what he did and further treatment options. This would include figuring out what you want to do about your arm. Unlike the last one, I do consider this to be important and worth organizing as soon as you feel well enough.
{Lastly for the impersonal items, I would like it if you talked to a psychiatrist. While mental resilience is a factor in who gets chosen as an MG, it is hard to create accurate models in regards to how you humans respond under duress. It is both frustrating and wonderful that you all are fairly unpredictable as individuals- especially when it comes to high stress situations.}
After a quick pause like they were catching their breath, Cleo’s voice softened but became more forceful,, {for more personal matters, it would probably be a good idea to tell your family what you’ve been doing.}
At the last comment, I felt a wave of nausea creep up and broke eye contact. I couldn’t stomach the thought of making them choose between being supportive or trying to keep me safe.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I convinced myself I was feeling fine mentally and gradually less awful physically, so I decided that the surgeon was the best choice. “So far, I have been generally unimpressed with only having one arm. While I can’t say for certain I won’t come to enjoy the inevitable looks of pity and false-empathy that come with that, I can say I would hate them now. Did the doctor leave a business card or something?”
Imperceptibly frowning at how I essentially spat out my decision, Cleo stated, {he did not. However, while you were out, I had a conversation with him and learned their email and phone number. Miracleworker did ask that you take a few days to recover before meeting. By then you should have recovered enough strength to talk for a few hours. For now, I would really encourage you to give your body as much rest as it needs.}
Clearly, the little I had done tired me out, with manifesting Cleo being the largest drain of energy, but the thought of sleep wasn’t enticing. I could almost feel the slight cold of the stagnant air amongst the statues as I hugged the blanket as best I could with one arm.
Luckily, being directly connected to an internet-enabled computer was a godsend for fighting off the encroaching need for sleep. I had nearly a month of content and pointless drama to catch up on due to my coma, but even endless, marginally entertaining videos and posts weren’t a substitute for the free trial of death we get every night.