The automatic glass doors of the New Eridu General Hospital slid open with a soft, mechanical hiss, letting in a brief gust of humid, smog-choked city air before it was entirely swallowed by the sterile, aggressively chilled atmosphere of the emergency lobby.
Patients sitting in the plastic waiting chairs, nursing minor Ether-burns or standard fractures, physically recoiled, their conversations dying in their throats as they watched the blood-stained Thiren maid lead the way.
In her arms, she cradled Cedric. He looked incredibly small against her, his skin completely drained of color, taking on the translucent pallor of damp parchment. His crisp white shirt was a shredded, crimson-soaked ruin, sticking to his chest.
The mangled, devastated remains of his right arm hung limply, a horrific sight, while his shattered right thigh was wrapped tightly in the improvised, heavy bandages made from the torn white lace of Ellen's maid apron.
Behind her, the rest of the rescue party followed like a grim funeral procession. Wise, Anby, and Billy were covered head-to-toe in the grey, cloying ash of the Hollow and the dust of crushed concrete. They were a stark, dirty contrast to the pristine white environment of the medical facility.
Ellen didn't stop at the reception desk to fill out forms. She walked straight to the primary triage station, her crimson eyes locking onto the head nurse with a gaze that brokered absolutely no arguments.
"Severe Ether erosion and crush injuries," Ellen stated. Her voice wasn't raised, but it carried a cold, piercing authority that immediately commanded the room.
"Massive arterial blood loss. Suspected pulverized left clavicle and a fully snapped right femur. He was caught in the Hollow. We need an emergency surgical team, immediately."
The triage nurse, a veteran of New Eridu's chaotic medical scene, didn't waste a single second asking questions. One look at the sheer volume of blood soaking the Thiren's uniform and the devastating, chewed-up flesh of the boy's right arm was enough. She slammed her palm onto a red physical button on her console.
"Code Red! Emergency team to the lobby! Clear the corridors to OR 3! Bring a crash cart, now!"
Within seconds, a synchronized team of doctors and nurses rushed forward, pushing a heavy-duty gurney.
"Put him down here! Carefully, support the cervical spine!" the lead surgeon ordered, his hands already reaching for his sterile gloves.
Ellen complied smoothly. With meticulous, agonizingly careful precision, she lowered Cedric onto the crisp white sheets, ensuring his shattered shoulder and mangled arm were not jolted by the transfer.
The moment she pulled her arms away from his freezing body, the medical team immediately swarmed the gurney, entirely blocking her view of him.
"Pulse is incredibly thready! Blood pressure is bottoming out!" a nurse shouted, rapidly wrapping a cuff around Cedric's uninjured left arm.
"Start two large-bore IVs! Push fluids and get O-negative blood on standby! Get an orthopedic specialist down here right now!" the surgeon barked. He grabbed a pair of medical shears and swiftly cut away the remaining, blood-stiffened fabric of Cedric's shirt to assess the physical damage to his chest.
The surgeon took one look at the deep lacerations and the horrific state of the right arm. He leaned in closer, clicking on a small penlight and flashing it over Cedric's pale neck and collarbone, fully expecting to see the tell-tale, creeping black veins of severe Ether erosion.
Any Hollow-related injury of this magnitude, with open wounds exposed to the corrupted atmosphere, usually carried the fatal risk of rapid, irreversible corruption.
But the surgeon paused, his brow furrowing in deep confusion.
The boy's skin was deathly pale from exsanguination, but it was completely clear of Ether erosion. Furthermore, upon closer inspection of the catastrophic arterial wounds on his arm and thigh, the surgeon realized something medically impossible.
The bleeding had already slowed to a sluggish, dark crawl. Heavy, thick clots were forming at the wound sites at an unnatural, hyper-accelerated speed.
"Doctor? His blood pressure is critically low, but it's... it's holding," a nurse reported, staring at the portable monitor attached to Cedric's finger in disbelief. "He's not crashing. The numbers are stabilizing."
The surgeon stared at the wounds. It defied every medical textbook he had ever studied. The boy's physical form was shattered, hovering on the absolute brink of death, yet his cellular biology was stubbornly, violently refusing to shut down.
"I don't know how the hell he's still breathing with this much physical damage, but his body is fighting it," the surgeon muttered, shaking his head to clear his shock. "Move him! Let's not waste whatever time his biology is buying us! To the OR!"
The team rapidly wheeled the gurney down the hallway, their frantic footsteps echoing loudly before they burst through the double swinging doors of the surgical wing.
Ellen stood perfectly still in the center of the lobby, watching the doors swing shut. For a brief moment, her massive, powerful black shark tail gave a single, slow, restless swish across the linoleum floor. She looked down at her hands.
The blood was drying into a stiff, rusty brown crust on the pristine white fabric of her gloves. She closed her eyes, taking a long, slow, measured breath, forcing the violent adrenaline of the Hollow back down into the depths of her mind.
"Excuse me."
The sharp, authoritative voice broke the silence of the lobby.
Wise turned around instantly. Two officers from Public Security stood a few feet away, their hands resting comfortably near their utility belts, holding digital notepads. They looked at the soot-covered group, taking in the heavy weaponry Anby and Billy carried, and the sheer amount of blood on Ellen's maid uniform.
"We're going to need a statement regarding the patient," the lead officer said, his tone professional but laced with standard suspicion. "Ether-related injuries of that nature are a mandatory report. What happened to the civilian?"
The air in the lobby grew instantly taut. Billy shifted his weight nervously, his mechanical joints letting out a soft whirr. Anby remained a blank, unreadable statue.
Wise stepped forward, smoothly placing herself between the officers and her group. As a Proxy, dealing with the scrutiny of Public Security was second nature.
"He's a victim," Wise stated bluntly.
The officer raised an eyebrow, his pen hovering over the digital pad. "A victim of what? Explain."
"We were walking near an alley off Sixth Street," Wise explained calmly, grieving eye contact.
"A minor Fissure opened up out of nowhere. You know how unstable the perimeter has been lately. It happened so fast. The spatial shift caught him, dragging him inside before we could even grab his hand."
She gestured slightly to Ellen and the Cunning Hares.
"We dove in immediately after him to pull him out. It took everything we had to find him in the rubble. But... he was already a ruin by the time we reached him. The Hollow chewed him up before we could even get close. We dragged him out and came straight here."
It was a perfectly grounded, grimly realistic story. In New Eridu, Hollow boundaries were notoriously unpredictable. Innocent civilians getting caught in sudden Fissures was an unfortunate, thoroughly documented reality of their dystopian world.
It completely bypassed any questions about what they were doing deep inside a high-danger zone, and it explained why Cedric was so hopelessly mangled.
The officer nodded slowly, the suspicion fading from his eyes, replaced by a grim sense of pity. It fit the exact profile of a perimeter accident.
"Understood," the officer sighed, jotting down the final notes.
"Poor kid just had the worst luck imaginable. We'll need your IDs for the official incident report, and the boy's name."
"Of course," Wise said, pulling out her identification card without hesitation.
…
…
…
Miles away from the sterile, bright lights of the hospital, a quiet, heavy tension hung over the gloomy concrete architecture of Sixth Street.
Belle stood outside the door of Cedric's apartment complex. Her phone was clutched tightly in her hand, the screen displaying a frantic text from Wise.
-We are at the hospital. He is in surgery. I need you to get into his apartment. Grab his identification papers for the hospital registry. And Belle... secure the room. If the landlord decides to go in there for any reason and sees the incubators, it's going to be a disaster. Hurry.-
Belle shoved the phone into her pocket. She had sprinted straight here from the Random Play video store the moment Wise had sent the SOS. Her lungs were burning, but she pushed the fatigue aside.
She had already spoken to Mrs. Higgins, the elderly landlady on the first floor. A few frantic, tearful sentences about Cedric being in a terrible accident and needing his medical documents immediately had been more than enough to secure the master key. No one questioned a distraught, crying friend trying to help a quiet neighbor.
Belle inserted the key into the lock of Apartment 237. It clicked heavily. She pushed the door open and stepped into the pitch-black, silent apartment.
She fumbled along the wall, finding the light switch and flicking it upward.
The harsh overhead light flickered on, and Belle froze perfectly still in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat.
The apartment was utterly trashed.
It looked as though a localized hurricane had touched down exclusively in Cedric's small living room. The wooden dining table was violently overturned.
The heavy mattress had been dragged halfway off the bed frame. The pillows were completely eviscerated, white synthetic stuffing drifting lazily through the air like morbid snow.
But the most alarming, terrifying sight was in the far corner of the room.
The massive, highly advanced incubator—the machine Cedric had treated with such intense secrecy, care, and reverence—was completely shattered. Thick, reinforced glass littered the laminate floor in a thousand jagged pieces. The nutrient fluid had spilled everywhere, soaking deep into the cheap rug.
"Oh my god," Belle whispered into the silence, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. Did someone break in? Was this a targeted attack?
A low, guttural, vibrating growl echoed from beneath the overturned bed frame.
Belle jumped, her survival instincts kicking in. She snatched a heavy, hardcover textbook from Cedric's desk, holding it up defensively in front of her chest like a flimsy shield.
"Who's there?!" Belle demanded, her voice shaking slightly despite her bravado. "I... I know self-defense! I have a Bangboo and I'm not afraid to use it! Well, I don't have it right now, but I will!"
The growl deepened, shifting into a sound of primal, defensive aggression.
From the pitch-black shadows of the destroyed bed, a creature slowly emerged. Its heavy claws clicked sharply, methodically against the wooden floorboards.
Belle stared in absolute bewilderment and sheer, paralyzing terror.
It was bipedal, roughly the size of a very large, incredibly muscular dog, but it possessed no fur. Its smooth, leathery skin was a sleek, oceanic blue, contrasting sharply with a vibrant, brick-red underbelly covering the lower half of its round body.
A distinct, aerodynamic dorsal fin sliced through the air above its head, while two rigid protrusions marked with light blue stripes jutted out from either side, giving its head a uniquely aggressive, hammerhead-like silhouette.
But the most prominent, terrifying feature was its massive, gaping maw that seemed to take up almost its entire body, lined with sharp, triangular teeth. Its short, stubby arms each ended in a single, sharp claw.
It stood amidst the shredded pillows, panting heavily. Its large, round black eyes with stark white pupils darted around the room with frantic, aggressive, defensive energy. It let out a sharp, clicking hiss, bearing its terrifying teeth directly at Belle
"Okay... okay... nice... mutant land-shark," Belle stammered, taking a very slow, careful step backward toward the open door. "I am not food. I am ninety percent caffeine, instant noodles, and regret. You do not want to eat me. Trust me, I taste terrible."
The creature crouched incredibly low to the ground. Its powerful, muscular legs bunched up tightly as it prepared to launch itself at the perceived intruder. It let out another warning hiss, the sound rattling in its throat like a warning bell.
Belle tightened her grip on the textbook, her mind frantically calculating the distance to the door. Could she outrun it? Probably not.
But then, it abruptly stopped.
The feral aggression in the creature's eyes flickered. It tilted its head, its pupils dilating as it suddenly sensed something much deeper—a specific, deeply familiar presence radiating from the terrified girl standing by the door.
It was an invisible, comforting resonance. It was the exact same warm, underlying aura it had occasionally felt outside its glass prison whenever Cedric carried the incubator with him to Random Play. To the newly hatched, highly perceptive creature, that specific resonance meant absolute safety.
The aggressive, coiled posture vanished instantly. The creature stood up, its massive jaws snapping shut with a dull clack.
It didn't attack. Instead, the terrifying, toothy monster let out a pitiful, high-pitched whine that sounded heart-breakingly like a lost, frightened puppy.
"Gyuuuuu..."
It waddled forward, its short legs moving with clumsy, desperate speed. It completely ignored the shattered glass and the overturned furniture, its eyes locked onto Belle.
Before Belle could even react, it threw its heavy body directly against her shins. It wrapped its stubby, single-clawed arms tightly around her leg, burying its massive, toothy face into the fabric of her jeans, and began to cry—a series of trilling, mournful squeaks that vibrated right against her bones.
Belle dropped the textbook. It hit the floor with a loud thud, but she didn't even flinch. She stared down at the creature currently sobbing into her knee.
Her highly confused brain finally connected the chaotic dots. She looked at the blue scales. She looked at the shattered, empty glass of the incubator on the floor. She looked at the absolute, frantic devastation of the room.
"You... you hatched," Belle breathed, her eyes widening in profound realization.
The creature hadn't been attacked. It had simply woken up to an empty, silent room. It had felt the sudden, terrifying absence of the boy who had constantly spoken to it through the glass. The destruction of the apartment wasn't malice or an ambush; it was the frantic, terrified tantrum of a newborn waking up alone in the dark, desperately searching for the presence that had nurtured it, only to find nothing.
It had torn the room apart looking for Cedric, and finding nothing, it had hidden under the bed in despair.
Slowly, carefully, Belle knelt down on the glass-strewn floor. She ignored the mess and wrapped her arms around the creature's smooth, cool body. It was surprisingly heavy, incredibly dense with pure muscle, but she hugged it tight.
"It's okay," she cooed softly, gently rubbing the smooth skin behind its dorsal fin. Her initial anxiety completely melted into a deep, overwhelming empathy.
"Shhh, it's okay, little guy. You're just a baby. You're scared. You're looking for him, aren't you? He's hurt, but he's safe now. We've got him."
The creature whimpered, nuzzling its large head against her chest, seeking the comfort of a steady heartbeat. It felt incredibly vulnerable, entirely dependent on her for reassurance.
Belle looked around the ruined room. The reality of the situation crashed down on her. She couldn't leave it here. If Mrs. Higgins came in to check the damages, a walking, unregistered, highly dangerous biological anomaly would cause absolute chaos.
"Okay, we need to get you out of here," Belle muttered, her brain kicking into the high gear of a seasoned Proxy handler. "We're going on a stealth mission."
She spotted a large, black sports duffel bag shoved into the back of Cedric's open closet. It was big enough to conceal the creature, but transporting a thrashing, panicked land-shark was going to be a massive challenge.
She grabbed the bag and unzipped it wide. "Alright, in you go. We're going on a field trip to the hospital. You're going to see Cedric."
The creature looked at the dark, nylon bag and whined, shaking its head stubbornly. It planted its heavy feet firmly on the floor, absolutely refusing to move toward the dark confined space.
"Come on, please," Belle pleaded, trying to gently push the creature toward the bag. It was entirely useless; it felt like trying to push a boulder glued to the floorboards.
The creature let out a sharp, clicking growl, snapping its jaws in the air—not aggressively at her, but in pure, stubborn frustration. It was stressed, confused, and very, very hungry. The immense energy expenditure of its accelerated hatching had left it famished.
Belle panicked. She looked around the room, her eyes landing on the small, open kitchenette.
She rushed over, tearing open the cupboards. She found a half-empty bag of "Volcanic Beef" potato chips and a sealed, premium pack of teriyaki beef jerky.
She ran back and held a piece of jerky out. "Look! Meat! Good for growing... whatever you are!"
The creature looked at the jerky. Its eyes widened dramatically. The sight of protein triggered a primal response. It opened its massive maw and swallowed the entire piece in one gulp, nearly taking Belle's fingers with it. It chewed once, swallowed, and looked at her expectantly, licking its chops with a rough, sandpaper-like tongue.
"Okay, the rest is in the bag," Belle lied smoothly, tossing the bag of chips and the remaining jerky into the bottom of the dark duffel.
The creature didn't hesitate for a microsecond. Driven by a ravenous newborn hunger, it dove headfirst into the duffel bag, burying its snout deep into the snacks, completely forgetting its fear of the dark. The loud, crunching sound of chips and tearing plastic filled the quiet room.
Belle zipped the bag shut instantly, leaving just a small two-inch gap at the top for air.
The bag immediately began to thrash and bump violently as the creature realized it had been tricked into a confined space. It let out a muffled, indignant squawk.
"Hold still! Shhh!" Belle hissed, hoisting the incredibly heavy duffel bag over one shoulder. She grunted heavily under the sheer, dense weight of the monster. It felt like carrying a sack of lead weights that occasionally kicked her in the ribs.
She quickly grabbed Cedric's wallet and identification card from the desk drawer, shoving them into her pocket. She needed to secure the room before she left. She grabbed a thick winter blanket from the closet and threw it over the shattered remains of the Mark-IV incubator, completely hiding the incriminating metal chassis and the broken glass from view.
She quickly righted the overturned dining table and kicked the eviscerated pillows under the bed. It wasn't perfect, but it wouldn't immediately scream "biological anomaly containment breach" if someone peeked through the window.
Finally, she carefully picked up the smaller, intact blue water-incubator with her free arm. The cylindrical glass case felt fragile after seeing the destruction of the other machine. She held it securely against her chest, feeling the faint, rhythmic pulse of the water-type egg inside.
She turned off the light, plunging the ruined apartment back into darkness, and slipped out the door, locking it securely behind her.
She managed to smile politely at Mrs. Higgins on her way out, completely ignoring the fact that her duffel bag was occasionally letting out muffled, angry squeaks and vibrating aggressively against her hip.
"Just doing some heavy lifting for Cedric," Belle offered weakly, praying the land-shark wouldn't decide to tear its way out in the middle of the hallway.
…
…
…
The waiting room of the emergency surgical ward was a sterile, uncomfortable purgatory of beige walls, bright, buzzing fluorescent lights, and hard, unforgiving plastic chairs. The digital clock on the wall blinked methodically, each passing minute stretching into an agonizing eternity.
Billy Kid was pacing. The tall guy simply couldn't sit still. The heavy, mechanical joints of his legs whirred and clicked with every restless stride, pacing a worn path into the linoleum.
"I'm telling you, that thing was ridiculously heavy,"
Billy muttered to no one in particular, rubbing his chest plating where Ellen had effortlessly hurled her massive, frost-covered loppers at him earlier in the Hollow.
He kept casting wary, highly respectful glances at the giant weapon, which Ellen had since reclaimed and leaned against the wall next to her chair.
"And freezing! I honestly thought my core coolant was gonna solidify into ice."
Anby sat perfectly still on one of the plastic chairs, her hands resting neatly on her lap. Her vivid green eyes were simply fixed intently on the glowing red "IN SURGERY" sign above the double doors.
"The probability of a civilian surviving that long inside a Hollow with those specific injuries is less than five percent," Anby stated softly, breaking her long silence.
"He was very lucky we found him when we did. A few more minutes of exposure and blood loss, and there wouldn't have been anything left to save."
Billy stopped pacing, looking down at his quiet teammate. He sighed, the usual mechanical bravado fading into genuine, heavy concern.
"Yeah, well, luck or not, the kid looked like he was put through a meat grinder. He's just a kid, Anby. He shouldn't be dealing with this. I just hope the docs here know what they're doing."
Across the room, separated slightly from the Cunning Hares, Ellen sat slumped in a plastic chair against the far wall.
She hadn't spoken a single word since she surrendered Cedric to the medical team and dealt with the brief interrogation from Public Security.
She stared down at her white gloves. The blood had dried completely, turning the delicate fabric stiff and uncomfortable. Her black dress was torn at the hem, and the pristine white lace was ruined by soot and grime.
She leaned her head back against the cool plaster wall, her crimson eyes staring blankly at the acoustic ceiling tiles.
Every time she blinked, the image returned with vivid cruelty. The feeling of his broken body in her arms. It hadn't been the solid weight of a hardened fighter. It had been the weight of a fragile, broken boy who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, crushed by a world he wasn't built to endure.
"Here."
A warm paper cup was pressed gently against her cheek, breaking her dark train of thought.
Ellen opened her eyes.
Wise stood over her, holding two steaming cups of black coffee from the vending machine down the hall. The young woman's face was pale, her eyes tired and slightly red, but her expression was calm and steady.
Ellen took the cup silently, letting the radiating warmth seep through the stiff, blood-soaked fabric of her gloves.
Wise sat down in the plastic chair next to her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just sat side-by-side, sipping the bitter, cheap coffee, staring at the red light above the surgical doors.
"Thank you," Wise whispered, her voice quiet but thick with genuine, raw gratitude. She didn't look at Ellen; she just stared straight ahead at the doors. "If you hadn't been there... if you hadn't carried him out of that Hollow..."
Wise took a slow, shaky breath to steady herself. "Thank you for bringing him back to me."
Ellen looked down at the dark liquid in her cup, her reflection rippling slightly.
"He was just unlucky," Wise said softly, tracking the pattern on the sterile floor tiles. "He probably didn't even see the Fissure coming."
Wise then turned her head, looking the Thiren girl directly in the eye with a small, polite smile.
"The Proxy from earlier mentioned your name is Ellen, right?" Wise asked gently. "We didn't get a chance to properly introduce ourselves in all that chaos. I'm Wise."
Ellen took a slow sip of her coffee, her crimson eyes remaining guarded over the rim of her cup.
"Ellen Joe," she replied.
"Thank you, Ellen," Wise said softly. "And… how do you know Cedric? He doesn't really... go out much. Or talk to many people."
Ellen thought about the quiet boy who practically lived at the arcade, the one who always managed to perfectly parry her attacks in fighting games, the one who never seemed to get annoyed by her lethargy.
"We hang out at the arcade on Sixth Street sometimes," Ellen replied simply. "He's just my friend. Someone has to make sure he doesn't completely isolate himself."
Wise's smile widened just a fraction, a genuine expression of relief washing over her tired features. "I'm glad he has a friend like you watching out for him."
Before Ellen could respond to that, the heavy double doors of the surgical wing swung open with a soft pneumatic hiss.
The red light turned off.
The head surgeon stepped out, pulling down his surgical mask. He looked profoundly exhausted, his green scrubs stained, but the deep furrow in his brow spoke more of intense professional bewilderment than grief.
Wise, Ellen, Anby, and Billy were on their feet instantly, moving rapidly toward the doctor.
"How is he?" Wise asked, her voice tight with suppressed fear.
The doctor ran a hand through his greying hair, letting out a long, heavy exhale.
"He is out of danger," the doctor announced.
A collective, massive sigh of relief washed over the group. Billy visibly slumped against the wall, his chassis letting out a hiss of decompressed air. Wise closed her eyes, a quiet, desperate prayer of thanks escaping her lips. Ellen simply nodded once, the tight, suffocating coil of tension in her spine finally relaxing.
"But I have to be honest with you," the doctor continued, looking down at his clipboard as if the medical notes written there were a puzzle he couldn't possibly solve.
"I have been an emergency surgeon for twenty years, and his recovery process is... highly anomalous."
The doctor looked up, meeting Wise's eyes.
"His cellular structure stabilized almost immediately on the operating table. His blood clotted at an impossible rate. It was as if his body possessed a hyper-accelerated baseline resilience. We didn't even need to use half the transfusions we prepped."
"Is he going to be okay?" Ellen asked, cutting straight through the medical jargon to the only point that mattered.
"Yes," the doctor confirmed. "We managed to salvage his right arm. We didn't have to amputate."
Ellen let out a slow, quiet breath. His arm was saved.
"However," the doctor cautioned, his expression turning grim once more.
"The muscular and structural damage to his right forearm is extensive. The bones are set with pins, but he will require a long period of intense rehabilitation to regain proper motor function. And he will carry massive, permanent scarring from the elbow down."
"He's alive," Wise stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. "That's all that matters. We can deal with the scars."
The doctor nodded slowly. "He is currently in the ICU recovery ward. He is in a deep, medically induced coma to allow his body to focus entirely on the healing process and to manage the pain. He won't wake up for a few days. You can go see him, but do not expect him to respond."
"Room 402."
The group walked silently down the sterile, white hallway. The atmosphere was a heavy, intoxicating mix of profound relief and lingering exhaustion.
They reached Room 402. Wise gently pushed the door open.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft, golden afternoon sunlight filtering through the horizontal blinds and the rhythmic, glowing screens of the complex life-support monitors.
Cedric lay in the exact center of the pristine white bed.
He looked incredibly fragile, like a porcelain doll hastily glued back together. Heavy, stark white bandages wrapped thickly around his chest, his left shoulder, and completely encased his right arm from the bicep all the way down to his fingertips. An IV line ran into his uninjured left hand, dripping clear, life-sustaining fluids into his veins.
He was deathly pale, his eyes closed tightly. His chest was rising and falling in a steady, deep, rhythmic breathing. He was deeply entrenched in his coma, completely unaware of the sterile room, the beeping machines, or the people standing vigil around his bed.
Suddenly, the heavy, emotional silence of the ICU was shattered by a loud commotion in the hallway.
"Excuse me, miss! Miss, wait!"
The door to Room 402 was shoved open violently.
Belle squeezed through the doorway, looking panicked, incredibly disheveled, and completely out of breath. She was lugging a massive, black sports duffel bag over one shoulder, and carefully cradling a glowing, water-filled cylindrical glass case securely in her other arm.
"Sorry! Family emergency! Highly sensitive medical supplies!" Belle shouted back at the bewildered nurse in the hallway, slamming the door shut and locking it with a sharp click.
Belle leaned against the door, panting heavily, sweat beading on her forehead.
"Belle?" Wise asked, quickly wiping her eyes, looking at her sister in utter confusion. "What took you so long? And why is your bag... vibrating?"
The heavy black duffel bag on Belle's shoulder wasn't just vibrating. It was thrashing violently.
Mmph! Grrrrr!
Muffled, angry squeaks and the distinct sound of sharp teeth gnawing aggressively on nylon fabric echoed loudly in the quiet room.
"I got the ID papers," Belle gasped, pushing herself off the door. She gingerly walked over and placed the intact blue water-incubator on the bedside table next to Cedric, making sure it was secure, before lowering the heavy duffel bag to the floor with a loud thud.
"But your 'medical supplies' woke up, Wise," Belle explained, pointing an accusatory finger at the bag. "And they are extremely uncooperative."
Everyone in the room stared at the moving bag. Billy reached for his holsters instinctively, his robotic eyes narrowing. "Uh, Belle... did you bring a wild animal into an ICU?"
"Just watch," Belle muttered, rubbing her aching shoulder. She reached down and grabbed the zipper.
She yanked it open.
A round, blue head, dominated by a massive jaw and distinguished by the two light-blue striped appendages flanking its sides, burst out of the bag with a loud, indignant roar.
"GIBLEEEE!"
It scrambled clumsily out of the bag, vigorously shaking potato chip crumbs from its dorsal fin. It stood proudly on its two stout legs, its massive jaws opening wide to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. It looked around the sterile white room with aggressive, frantic black eyes, assessing the new environment.
"What in the Hollow is that?!" Billy yelped, jumping backward so fast he nearly collided with Anby.
Wise stared at the creature, her exhaustion completely overridden by sheer bewilderment.
"Belle... what is that?!" Wise demanded, her voice an octave higher than usual in a panicked whisper.
"Why did you bring it into an ICU?! Where did you even find—"
She cut herself off. Her teal eyes darted from the blue, toothy monster on the floor to the incubator Belle was still carefully cradling in her arms while the other one couldn't be found anywhere.
The impossible puzzle pieces finally snapped together in her brain.
"Wait," Wise gasped, her eyes widening in profound shock as she looked back at the creature. "Is that... is that Cedric's? It actually hatched?!"
Gible twitched. Its eyes locked onto the bed in the center of the room. It smelled the sharp tang of antiseptic and the lingering scent of blood, but most importantly, beneath it all, it recognized the boy who had constantly checked its glass prison.
It let out a joyful, high-pitched trill.
The land-shark waddled as fast as its short, muscular legs could carry it, rushing toward the bed. It couldn't jump high enough to reach the mattress, so it slammed its heavy, blue body against the metal frame, planting its front claws on the edge and straining its neck to look over.
It saw Cedric lying there, pale and unmoving. It let out a soft, affectionate whine, gently resting the side of its massive, toothy face against Cedric's limp, uninjured hand hanging near the edge of the bed. It nuzzled the pale fingers, seeking the warmth it remembered.
Cedric did not stir. He remained deep in his coma, his breathing steady, completely unaware of the small, terrifying monster pressing against his hand.
The Gible stayed there for a long moment, confirming its master was safe. Then, its nostrils flared wide.
It smelled something else. Something incredibly interesting. Something that smelled remarkably like... kin.
The Gible turned its large, blue head. Its dark, round eyes with bright white pupils swept across the room.
Then, its eyes locked onto the figure standing at the foot of the bed.
It locked onto Ellen Joe.
Ellen froze.
The Gible stared at her. It looked at her sharp, jagged teeth, partially visible as her lips parted in slight confusion. It looked at the massive, powerful black shark tail swaying slightly behind her.
In a room filled with strange humans and a clanking metal man, this girl was the only one who possessed the exact same defining, predatory features it did.
To the newborn land-shark, the conclusion was simple, absolute, and deeply instinctual. This large, powerful, toothy creature wasn't just a fellow predator.
Ellen was its mother.
The Gible's eyes widened with pure, unadulterated joy.
"Giiii!"
It abandoned Cedric's bedside instantly. It waddled across the linoleum floor with terrifying, joyful speed, making a direct, unwavering beeline for Ellen.
"Whoa, hey, what is it doing?" Ellen took a step back, her eyes widening in genuine alarm. The girl who had just bisected a massive Ethereal without blinking an eye was suddenly backing away from a knee-high blue sand-shark.
The Gible didn't slow down. It slammed its heavy, muscular body directly against her shins. It wrapped its short, clawed arms tightly around her calf, burying its large, toothy snout into the fabric of her torn maid dress, and began to happily, affectionately rub its dorsal fin against her knee.
"Gii-gii-gii!" It trilled, a sound of absolute, adoring affection.
Ellen stood completely paralyzed, looking down at the creature like it was a live bomb.
"Get it off," she said, her voice entirely deadpan but laced with genuine bewilderment.
"Why is it hugging me?"
The Gible, seeking more affection, let go of her leg and waddled behind her. It grabbed her massive, sensitive black shark tail with its small claws and playfully, gently bit down on the fin. Not hard enough to break the skin, but a firm, affectionate gnaw.
"Hey!" Ellen yelped, her stoic demeanor finally shattering as her face turned a brilliant shade of tomato red. She spun in a circle to look at her tail.
"Let go of my tail, you weird blue gremlin!"
She tried to shake her tail to dislodge the creature, but the Gible just held on tighter, enjoying the ride and happily spinning with her.
The heavy tension in the hospital room broke instantly.
Billy let out a booming, mechanical laugh, slapping his knee. "Oh man! The great Shark defeated by a knee-high blue shark! I need to record this!"
Belle and Wise burst into giggles, the crushing stress of the day finally snapping, allowing genuine, hysterical laughter to fill the room.
"I think it thinks you're its mom, Ellen," Wise laughed, wiping a tear from her eye.
"I am a Thiren! Not a fish! And definitely not a mother!" Ellen snapped. She finally managed to pry the Gible off her tail, holding the heavy creature at arm's length by its scruff.
The Gible just dangled there, blinking its eyes at her happily, completely unfazed by her scowl. It let out a contented, raspy little snort.
Ellen glared at the creature. She looked over at Cedric, who was sleeping peacefully in the bed.
She let out a long, defeated sigh.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she pulled the heavy blue creature against her chest, holding it awkwardly in her arms. The Gible immediately snuggled its large head into the crook of her neck, letting out a deep, vibrating purr that rumbled against her collarbone.
"Fine," Ellen muttered, refusing to look at Wise or Belle, her cheeks still dusted pink. "But if it bites me again, I'm tossing it out the window."
…
…
…
Far away from the sterile lights of the hospital, deep within an unknown, shifting spatial dimension, the air was thick with a suffocating, oppressive aura.
Standing in the dead center of the boundless darkness was a man.
He wore an midnight blue silk suit tailored so sharply it looked like a second skin, paired with a crisp white shirt and a blood-red tie. His black hair was slicked back, shining like oil.
And his name was Dealer.
A pure, suffocating wave of murderous intent rolled off his body, so heavy it caused the very fabric of the void beneath his feet to warp and crack.
"Joyful..." he whispered into the empty shadows, his voice a ragged, trembling rasp.
Silence answered him.
"Come out here!" he suddenly roared, his voice twisting into a furious, guttural snarl that echoed endlessly through the unknown dimension.
He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging so hard into his palms that drops of blood fell into the abyss below.
"How dare you," Dealer hissed, his face contorting into a mask of pure, homicidal rage.
"How dare you touch him... even after I explicitly warned you."