The infirmary turns out to be a modest building towards the center of the base’s construction. Karim holds the door for Sira and ushers them through. They notice him look in both directions as they go inside, as if to make sure no one else is around.
Right. This is supposed to be low-key.
They enter a medium-sized room, the interior colored exclusively in shades of gray and sterile white. Uncomfortably sterile. That shouldn't surprise them, due to the purpose of the building, but with what Sira has seen of the rest of the base, this makes the other buildings look like dumpsters by comparison.
The back area is decorated with rows of curtains that section off modest cots, most with IVs and other equipment positioned beside them. Towards the front, closest to the door, a woman with a tan, brown complexion and a white coat sits behind a large counter, writing something diligently on a sheet of paper. Her hair is cut into a tight bob and a round pair of glasses sit on her face. She looks up from her task at the sound of Karim closing the door, and a smile spreads across her face.
"Captain Jamil Khader," she greets, raising a brow as her eyes flick between him and Sira, "what brings you here tonight?"
Sira stays where they are, but Karim’s expression loses some of the jovial quality it had as he approaches the desk. He rests his palms on its surface and lets it take some of his weight in a motion that Sira would say is far too casual for someone with the title of ‘captain’ attached to his name.
“Evening, Doctor Pereira. I’m sure you see my friend here.” He nods his head back in Sira’s direction. “See, I need you to give them a quick check-up - just to make sure they’re holding up alright - and then something else...but all of has to be, well, strictly off-the-record.”
Her smile fades. She carefully sets the pen down on the desk. “What is this about?”
“If my suspicions are correct, it’s something I’m going to have to report straight to the Director on. More than likely an in-person meeting. This is something she could be very, very interested in, but you’re closer to us than the HQ’s medical facilities.”
Dr. Pereira considers his words for a moment, then rolls the chair she's sitting in backward. She gets to her feet, brushes off the lower part of her coat, then wordlessly beckons for them to follow her. Once she turns away, Karim looks back to Sira and gives them a cheesy thumbs-up.
Sira has to wonder how this man achieved his position.
Karim follows the doctor, Sira in tow, to a small back room. This one is also in sterile white and grey, but with an array of cluttered desks, counters, and a handful of machines set up against the walls. Centered in the room is an operating table that gives Sira back pain just from looking at it. The ceiling lights are dimmer here, but the glow of the various devices and the monitor of a bulky computer on one of the counters help to compensate for the missing light.
Dr. Pereira plops herself into the chair in front of the computer and retrieves a pair of gloves from a box near the computer. She stands again as she pulls them over her fingers, a wary expression on her face. “Is this going to get me in trouble?”
"Not one bit, so long as you can keep a secret," Karim assures her, his token grin reappearing on his face, "I'll even put a good word in for you with the director if you'd like."
She shakes her head. “No need. I’m content with where I am now. Keeping my head down and doing my work is the kind of lifestyle I prefer to live, so you won’t hear any complaints from me about keeping whatever this is secret.”
“Happy to hear it.”
The doctor, gloves now secured over her hands, looks at Sira. Some measure of gentleness returns to her countenance. “What’s your name, dear?”
They fidget with the flimsy hem of their shirt, something they realize they’ve been doing subconsciously since they first entered the building. It’s then that they take in the state of their outfit again: tattered, rag-like, and stained. They most assuredly appear to others like a street urchin.
“It’s Sira, ma’am.”
“Are you from one of the settlements?”
"N..." They pause. "...I'm not sure."
It's not a lie. Surely, they must have had a life before waking up in that underground chamber, before the distant sensations of that...red place. That could have been a dream. They woke up, so they must have been sleeping, right? If they don't recall anything before that point, there's nothing they can say for certain about their past.
"Amnesia," Karim says from his position by the door, standing with his back against the wall and his arms loosely crossed. "Might be worth checking for a head injury."
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The gentleness drops from Dr. Pareira’s face. “Amnesia? How bad?”
Karim quirks a brow at Sira, prompting them to answer for themselves. They stare into the reflective tile flooring. This encounter isn't going by fast enough. "Um...I haven't been able to remember anything about myself. Or my life." Their fingers' grip on their shirt tightens. "And I'm telling the truth about that.”
“And how long have you been feeling this way? A few minutes? Hours? Days?”
Sira shrugs. “Several hours, at least.”
The doctor purses their lips, thinking for a long moment. Then, she gestures to the operating table in the center of the room. “Why don’t you sit down for me, dear?”
They take a deep breath and shove the discomfort building inside of them down, down, down. The lights on the ceiling fill their ears with a faint buzz that becomes overwhelmingly loud if they focus on it too much and the floor is cold against the bare soles of their feet. This place is uncomfortable - no, it’s worse than that, but they can’t put a name to it. Either way, they don’t think there’s a way to get out of this. Karim’s words echo in their head: You’ll want to get this part over with as soon as possible.
Reluctantly, Sira sits down on the end of the operating table, letting their legs dangle over the edge. They don’t have anything to rest their back against but their heels, scraped raw, sing with relief from no longer having to support their weight for the time being. Without warning, Dr. Pareira steps towards them and grabs hold of Sira’s chin with her gloved fingers.
Something in Sira's brain grinds to a halt once the gloves' smooth material makes contact with their skin. Their whole body freezes, although the doctor is still able to lift their chin to angle their head upward, studying their face with intense scrutiny. If she notices, she doesn't say anything.
It might be that she thinks Sira is holding still in obedience towards whatever the doctor plans to do, but the pounding of the heart in their chest and the icy sensation that washes over their skin says otherwise. They can't move or speak as she tilts their head in one direction, then the other.
“Pupils aren’t dilated, your speech seems normal, and since you’re walking around just fine, I think it’s safe to say your coordination and balance aren’t noticeably impaired,” she says as she lets go of Sira’s chin. “Considering that, it’s unlikely you’ve sustained head trauma severe enough to cause such a rare and significant degree of amnesia. It could be psychogenic.”
Even as Dr. Pareira backs away, the iciness continues to spread through their body and their heart isn’t calming down. Any movement feels like an agonizing effort, this time not due to weakness, but they manage to blink and shift their eyes in the doctor’s direction. “It’s...what?”
“Psychological in origin rather than caused by damage to the brain. Loss of identity like this is called fugue, I think. Also rare. I’m not aware of any known cases in the CPC’s system.” She sighs and straightens her glasses. “But I’m a physician, dear, not a psychologist.”
Sira’s throat tightens. They’re not sure why knowing this now unnerves them so much, but it does.
Karim thoughtfully strokes his chin. “Hm...we’ll have to talk it over with someone who knows more about the subject at a later date, I suppose. Say--” he stands up off the wall and slips his hands into his pockets again, looking at Sira with a half-grin, “--I think I’m gonna go ahead and grab you a snack, something to drink, and a spare change of clothing while she does her thing. Sound good?”
Please don’t leave me alone here, part of Sira wants to say but they can’t articulate the words, and the prospect of not having to endure the entirety of this without food, water, and clean clothes is too tempting for them to turn down. So, they nod weakly.
There's a flash of concern on his face - at least, Sira thinks there is, but they're unsure if they are projecting what it is they want to see - before the corner of his mouth lifts again and he raises his hand to his forehead in a quick, two-fingered salute. With that, he exits the room, leaving Sira alone with the doctor.
They notice that she's been staring at them, silent, and with a pensive expression on her face. Neither of them moves or says anything for a long, discomforting minute. Their heart still races, although the pace at which it does so slows ever so slightly.
“You’re shaking,” she comments.
Some of Sira’s attention goes back to being aware of their body, an awareness that can slip away from them so easily. They find that yes, they are shaking. It’s the slightest tremble. They’re a little surprised Dr. Pareira picked up on it, but then again, she is a doctor.
“Hm. When is the last time you ate or slept?”
“Not sure about eating, but I think I was sleeping before I came here.”
“You think? What do you mean by that?” She asks, cocking her head.
Sira purses their lips. They're going to have to explain the chamber to someone eventually, they're sure. Hopefully, by then, they'll be able to come up with something to decently convey that experience. "I don't know how much I'm allowed to say."
The doctor is silent for a moment, before shrugging. “...fair. I’m also probably better off not knowing.”
Sira watches quietly as Dr. Pareira turns and shuffles around some of the objects laid across one of the counters. She retrieves something that looks like thin rubber tubing with other bits attached to it. Again, the word for it pops into Sira's head after a few seconds: stethoscope.
"You got tense earlier, so I assume you're not fond of being touched. I'm sorry for doing so without giving you a heads up,” the doctor says, a hint of a comforting smile on her face as she turns back to Sira. “I’m just going to do a basic physical exam, but without any of the more invasive steps. Of course, that other stuff should be looked at too, but perhaps at a time when you feel more prepared for it. Would it help if I explained everything that I’m doing as I go along?”
They think for a moment, then nod. It will probably still be uncomfortable, but knowing the reason why the doctor grabbed their chin and stared at their face earlier would have allayed at least some of the fear that pulsed through them when she did it. Something is better than nothing and they think it's important to know whether their body is falling apart, even if the process is...unpleasant.
"Good. Now, I do have one last question..." Dr. Pareira pauses for a moment as if carefully considering her words, "...are you male, female, or..?"
Sira stares at her blankly. It only now occurs to them that everyone has avoided assuming one way or the other. That makes them feel more self-conscious about their appearance than they already did.
"I'm not sure how to answer that. Sorry."
“That’s fine. I think I can work without that information. “She wears the same warm smile as when Sira first saw her. “Now, let’s begin.”