When Brock regained consciousness, he thought he was dreaming. His body rested on something so soft it might have been a cloud, and silk-fine sheets covered his body halfway up his muscular chest. His grimy clothes were nowhere in sight, and his toes wriggled in delightful freedom against the sheets. A pillow propped his head up at a slight angle, removing any tension from his neck, and the only discomfort was a minor pinch in the crook of his right elbow. Without thinking, he reached over to move it away, but his fingers were stopped in place as soon as they touched what felt like a small metal rod. Maybe a needle?
“Please do not interfere with the medical insert. It is helping you heal.”
Brock opened his eyes, and would have peed himself again if his bladder wasn’t already empty.
Towering over the side of his hospital-railed bed was a terrifyingly familiar form. Eight arachnid limbs arched away from a gunmetal body festooned with cannons and missiles, along with stickers of puppies, cheerful slogans, and idyllic nature scenes done in what looked like finger paint. Its hellfire eyes were disconcertingly close to Brock’s own.
“Your heart rate is elevated. Do you require a sedative?”
“...mrp.”
“Administering a light sedative. Please relax, and be calm.”
Something cool tingled up Brock’s arm into his veins, and he felt a peaceful lassitude settle over him. What did it matter that a nightmare of violence was towering over him? This was fine. Everything was fine. He tried to reach out with one hand to poke the thing’s triangular face, but his arms were curiously heavy and wouldn’t move.
“...kaybee? ‘s that you?”
He started giggling uncontrollably, and the robot cocked its head to the side.
“Hmm. Perhaps slightly less sedative. And I believe you are referring to KB who works in Administrative. I am KB who works in Medical. We do not speak to each other.”
Another tingling ran up Brock’s arm and some of the euphoria faded away, though he still felt more peaceful than he thought he should be.
“Why don’t you talk to each other?”
Brock swore he heard a sniff from the robot.
“KB in Administrative is a cat person. I am a dog person. We do not get along.”
“You’re... a dog person?”
“Yes. Would you like to see pictures of my family?”
Before Brock could reply, the robot’s eyes flickered alarmingly, and then shot out a beam of prismatic light at Brock’s stomach. It resolved into a hologram of three dogs chasing each other through a grassy park, tongues lolling out of their mouths in happy grins. The dog in front lit up slightly brighter, a large one with a golden coat, and the robot’s voice gained equal parts excitement and pride.
“That’s Buttercup, a golden lab. She’s my oldest. She’s a big softy, loves everyone, but her hair gets everywhere.” The glow around the first dog faded, and the second dog brightened. It was much smaller, but had a tan, wiry frame that let it bounce around in leaps and bounds that kept pace with the larger one. “This is Princess Jenny. She’s a terrier/chihuahua mix. Friendly once she gets to know you, but it takes a while.” The glow faded again, this time focusing on the third dog. It was even smaller than the second, with a smushed-in face, bulging eyes, and a manic grin. “And that’s Todd.” Todd, as if hearing his name, turned his head up to the sky, which caused him to trip into a rolling tumble of black and white fur, but he was quickly back on his feet chasing after the other two, stubby legs moving in a blur, tail matching suit. “He... well, he tries hard. He’s a good boy.”
“They... they look very nice,” Brock managed to reply. “I like your video of them.”
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The robot let out a bone-chilling noise that Brock hoped was laughter.
“Oh, this is a live feed. One of my drones is watching over them at the park while I am at work. It is very irresponsible not to pay attention to your dogs.”
“Your... drones?” Todd paused, then circled and squatted down, laying a tiny poop on Brock’s upper abs. As the dog bounded away, a blinding laser flash neatly vaporized the excrement, leaving a small charred spot in the grass. Brock gulped. “How conscientious.” The hologram blinked out, and the robot’s eyes resumed their burning red hue.
“Excellent. Your serotonin levels are now stabilizing naturally, though somewhat slower than expected, and your vitals have recovered. You should consider proper diet and exercise moving forward, in order to avoid dehydration and malnourishment. It has been my pleasure to assist you.”
The robot gracefully withdrew from the side of the bed in a flurry of limbs, and Brock realized that the ‘medical insert’ in his arm was actually a whip-like tendril protruding from one of them. It slithered out and back into the insectile leg as the robot disappeared around the corner to his right, and he suppressed a shudder, but after patting himself down, he realized he actually felt quite a bit better. A bit hungry, but not nearly as disoriented as he’d been before. He shifted up into a sitting position, sheet falling down below his waist and exposing a set of pale blue cotton pants.
A slight cough from his left drew his attention.
In the next bed over, a woman with blonde hair and a circlet of green leaves was slowly pushing herself up into a sitting position as well. A network of fine purple lines covered the right side of her face, slightly livid and raised, like still-healing scars, and her ears were long and pointed. She coughed again, hand trembling, then looked at Brock.
“So, the Overlord got you too? Damn. How’d we survive?”
Brock stared at her, confused. He vaguely recognized her, but she was definitely talking to him as if they knew each other. After a second, it clicked. She was the fourth person he had seen on the ground, back at the battle site. Verdant? After another second, he realized her eyes had shifted to his neck, brows drawing down. He held up his hands in a placating gesture.
“I’m sorry. My name’s Brock. I-”
“Verdant!” someone squealed, and then a blur of red hair rushed past him, arms flinging out to embrace the figure on the bed. “You’re okay!”
KB’s disapproving voice came from around the corner.
“Please do not reinjure my patient, Fiona. She is still recovering. Captain Tara, it is good to see you. Where is Mikael?”
“Debriefing,” came the low reply. Brock heard clicking footsteps beneath Fiona’s excited chatter, and then Cap stepped around the corner, black boots stamping hard against the checkerboard tile. She gazed at Brock dispassionately, but he noticed her right hand worrying at the ring finger of her left. “Which is where this one needs to be. Come on. KB says you’re fine now. Get dressed and let’s go.” She tossed a balled up bundle of cloth at him as she stepped past his bed towards Verdant’s, smacking him in the face. Brock unrolled it to reveal a plain white t-shirt. It smelled like sunlight hitting fresh-cut grass.
As he pulled the soft cotton over his head, Cap exchanged a few words with Verdant that Brock couldn’t make out, but he heard what sounded like a soft sigh. Upper body covered, he pushed the sheets fully down, exposing his bare feet. He looked around for something to put on them, then noticed a set of thin slippers on the white tile next to the bed. They matched the color of his pants, that same pale blue, and looked like they could be bought by the dozen at a medical supply store. He swung himself out of bed and placed his feet in them.
Simultaneously with his bare feet sliding into the scratchy slippers, Brock finally realized his arms weren’t restrained anymore. In wonder, he brought his hands up to his face. They still looked odd compared to how he’d been before, but the calloused palms were starting to feel a bit more his own. Next to him, Cap tsked.
“If you can stare at your hands, you can walk, Sekkie. Follow me.”
Bemused, Brock followed her around the corner into a reception area. KB waved at him from its perch behind a desk, metal appendages splitting into writhing tendrils, and hesitantly Brock waved back, then stumbled as Cap grabbed his other hand and dragged him out the doorway.
The door slid shut behind them, leaving them alone in a wood-paneled hallway. Before Brock could move, Cap spun and cupped his face with a fierce intensity, dragging him down so they were eye to eye.
“Starak, can you hear me?” Her nose was almost touching Brock’s own, and some distant part of his mind noticed that she smelled just like the shirt he was wearing. “Are you there?”
Her one visible eye stared into his own with a pleading that bordered on obsession, and Brock felt queasy. It was obvious that whoever’s body he’d taken over meant a great deal to Captain Tara. He slowly withdrew, her fingers desperately clutching at his cheek as he backed away.
“I’m sorr-”
She shoved him, hard, slamming his shoulders back against the wall.
“I’ll get him back, Sekkie. I promise you. I’ll get him back, or I’ll die trying.”
Face like chiseled stone, she clamped her hand around Brock’s wrist.
“Until then, you’re not leaving my sight. Let’s go. After that little stunt with the Appraisal machine, the Director himself wants to debrief you.”