Amélie Dulay, 4th may 2049

Helstrom hurried down from the observation chamber and workplace upstairs when I kicked the front door open and heaved the unconscious man over the threshold, grunting in exertion. He arrived wide-eyed, with a look of apprehension and wonder at my companion.

“Maît… Mademoiselle Dulay, what happened? Who is he?”

“A guest, of sorts. He climbed the hill- right through the blackberries. I tried to compel him to sleep, but it didn’t work- had to resort to a more crude means of preventing him from carrying out whatever it was he came for. And to prevent him from causing further harm to himself.”

At that, the former mathematician focused once more on the still bound and sedated man with the multitude of cuts and bruises. His look now eager, feverish.

“So he is- I haven’t seen somebody like him in half a decade! Fascinating! You have to let me take a sample- !”

“No medical experimentation on somebody incapable of informed consent, Dr. Helstrom. We have so few lines, so few constraints. We should cherish those we managed to keep.”

He turned at that, sharply, having already moved to make his way back up to the workspace, or possibly to one of the refrigerators at the stair’s landing. His back, usually hunched, was now ramrod-straight, the expression on his face neutral, almost concealing the diligently hidden anger.

“Mademoiselle… this opportunity is so rare, now. Any new changes could reveal trends and developments we otherwise might overlook for years. It isn’t like it will hurt him. Surely if your uncle-”

“If my uncle was alive,” I interrupted, now also with a deliberately impassive expression, hiding my own anger. “He certainly wouldn’t condone violating somebody’s human rights. You can make do with the blood draws we will need to make anyway over the next few days, and whatever he agrees to once he is awake.”

Now his anger wasn’t hidden anymore. “You haven’t been a part of this endeavor since before I even arrived here. This is really not a matter for debate-”

Now I also no longer bothered pretending I wasn’t irritated with the notion of taking biological samples and specimens from the body of an unconscious person. “Oui. C’est vrai. Assistez-moi.”

When I told him to help me, effectively declaring the discussion over, his body stiffened, then he slumped to my side, and between the two of us, we could pull the man upright by the armpits, to begin moving him upstairs. Well that was- troubling. And certainly unexpected. Not that now was the right time or circumstance to do anything about it.

We climbed the stairs, like people helping a drunk; Helstrom now again slumped. A fitting Igor to my doctor Frankenstein, I guess. Despite his gaunt form and advanced age, he likely was stronger than me, if barely. Another interesting detail.

Having reached the workspace, I looked around the room, glanced at the individual desks, crammed full of individual clutter and scientific instruments and annotations as they were. After a moment of hesitation, I made my way to the observation chamber. Regardless of its usual function, the bed inside was still a bed, and our guest was past being able to wonder or care about the multitude of observation equipment and sensors pointed straight at this chamber.

We entered the chamber, and the faraday-cage within, heaved the man onto the bed. Helstrom went for specialized supplies we would need, stored outside the chamber in refrigeration, and I took out the general medical supplies from the chest underneath the bed. The basic layout of the most important items within the room was virtually unchanged for as long as I remember, which meant I and everybody else who ever worked here knew where the things we would need were located.

I promptly bound the man’s arm with a rubber hose. Failing to find any readily accessible veins, I put back the intravenous catheter I prepared. In medical emergencies, time can be of the essence, and getting access to a patients’ bloodstream was critical, and more complicated than most people realize. Fortunately, my uncle had been well prepared for complicated patients and untrained helpers- I didn’t need to waste time trying to sting the guy clumsily, thanks to the very dependable alternative I now reached for. An intraossary needle is a common last resort in emergency and intensive medicine- basically, you just force a needle through the bone on a bonemarrow-rich location of the body; usually on top of the lower leg, just below the knee. There were drill systems and what amounted to a spring-loaded icepick. Painful, but the guy was already unconscious. And foolproof, as I demonstrated by applying it after cutting up what was left of his trousers. I filled a vial with the man’s blood, then affixed an infusion drip and started him on glucose. Due to the nature of the injection site, I also applied a pressure system to the infusion bag, to ensure it flowed at an acceptable rate.

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Helstrom came in and placed a case on the floor, opening it. A blinking light in the lid showed that the recorder that was included in this kit for documentation was now active and recording.

I looked over, reiterating what happened. “Primary responder, Amélie Dulay, no formal medical training, but nobody more qualified on-site. Patient wandered up the hill in an altered state. Subdued by myself physically, then cuffed and rendered unconscious via type D universal tranquilizer. Initial blood sample and application of glucose via intraosseous infusion, pressure system affixed to increase the flow rate. Patient still unconscious. Over to my secondary.” Helstrom moved to my side and began talking while taking the vial of blood from me to slot into a device. “Secondary, Olaf Helstrom. Not a direct witness to initial apprehension of the patient. Received blood sample, analyzing. Applying monitoring equipment.”

He got busy applying sensors for common vital parameters on the patient. Meanwhile, I went on documenting. “Patient has multiple superficial lacerations, and similarly damaged clothing, which consists of formal wear. I personally witnessed the man wounding himself on the local blackberry bushes. I am looking for identification.”

I went through the man’s pockets. “Found a wallet.” Taking a card from inside, I continued. “German driving license. Patient’s name is Alexander Möller. Not an absolute indication of his origin, but the last name is indicative of german, or at least german-speaking ancestry if I am not mistaken.”

Putting the wallet aside, I began systematically cutting his clothes off to save time for Helstroms’ subsequent duty of documenting and treating any superficial wounds. At that time, the device Helstrom was in charge of signaled preliminary results.

He glanced at the readout. “Initial blood sample shows high levels of a variety of appelè-associated proteins and a-proteinic-compounds. I am giving my formal approval as the secondary for application of immunosuppressants to my primary.” With that, he handed me a glass ampoule with a break-top and the gear to inject it into the existent infusion line. While I was doing that, he went over bandaging superficial cuts and bruises, commenting on what he found and did.

After a while, the patient began breathing oddly, and vomited. The both of us immediately turned him to his side and got out equipment to protect his airways:

On one hand, a medical vacuum system to prevent him from asphyxiating on his vomit, and to prevent him from breathing in smaller quantities which could lead to infection.

On the other, the tool to intubate him, as well as the tubus itself, and an oxygen supply. I probably should have done this to start with, as it was standard procedure in actual surgery. I really didn’t want to do this as the amateur I was.

But this process, treating the called, usually didn’t lead to vomiting. His breathing was- peculiar. I vaguely recalled one of oncle Pièrre’s lessons on medicine. “… an odd type of gasping for air. The original clinical description was Kussmaulatmung, which translates to Kissing-mouth breathing…”

Following a hunch, I grabbed the man’s wallet again, found what I feared I would. “Merde. Found a medical alert card. The man is a diabetic.” Helstrom joined me in cursing. “Dritt. We don’t have insulin here, and to be honest, I don’t know how that would play with the other components of this process anyway.”

“I agree, we should avoid introducing unknown factors, neither of us is a medical or biomedical expert.”

He nodded. “But extreme high blood sugar can be fatal.” I nodded, glanced at the readout of the patients’ blood sample. “He has to already have stage threes active, if early ones. Those eat sugar- that is the whole reason we give the possessed- the called- so much of it in the first place. We only never had a patient whose body itself is so vulnerable to high sugar. We should have thought of the possibility. But stage threes eat sugar…”

He scowled at me. “You were the one who said no to medical experimentation.” “Yes. I was. Get me a mature stage three.” He grimaced. “In this case and for the record, I should point out that this is a deviation of protocol and neither of us has expertise in relevant fields.” I looked at the patient, seemingly gasping for air. “So noted. Bring me a mature stage three.”

Helstrom moved downstairs, came back with a specimen jar and one of the syringes we usually used to take samples. The syringe was one derived from veterinary medicine, with an absolutely massive gauge size. The specimen jar contained a small solid mass, suspended in a striated cloud of viscous material of different densities and structures, bizarre looking, but not without order. Outgrowths of goo had affixed themselves to the glass of the jar itself, keeping the solid in the middle. The nutrient liquid in the jar was slightly cloudy itself, but the delicate web of interconnected, hair-like growths was still vaguely discernable, even in the more gelatinous parts of the cloud.

It was more noticeable because it twitched and pulsed, and because some of the growths seemed to try to move towards Helstom’s hand, lured by his warmth. I knew that without the glass, and in a liquid or otherwise electroconductive environment, his bioelectricity would have been just as attractive.

I took both, opened the jar, and used the syringe, careful to get the solid part, the network of fine hairs- mycelioids- being capable of replacing themselves, I knew.

I looked at Helstrom again. “Any secondary opinion on optimal implantation site?

He thought about it for a moment. “Liver.” I nodded. “That is what I was thinking. Ideal conditions; and a lot of blood passes through there before being re-oxygenized in the lung and being pumped back outwards.”

I stabbed the man, my patient, yet again, injecting the content into his side. It was a deviation of protocol, but inaction or introducing other untested factors may be similarly dangerous to him.

Now, we wait.