It was over an hour after her call from Ali and Cassian’s mind was still racing. She sat in the back of a private taxi— perhaps one of the only vehicles still using the barren streets of Novus— intermittently taking drags from her e-cigarette and blowing them back out of the window. The Career Purple sat in the driver’s seat stared ahead in a spell of deep focus, occasionally peering around to assess the non-existent traffic before driving on.
Career Purples were second-best within the hierarchy of different Purples Cassian had made up in her head. They didn’t say or think a lot for themselves, but they maintained the crucial knowledge required to carry out their jobs safely and efficiently.
They worked the hospitals, factories and other sectors that required knowledge and muscle memory, so their code remained finely tuned by industry specialists within the Doloriak’s cohort. Professionals without the additional fluff and baggage, which is why Cassian felt strangely safe having one as her driver.
The car pulled up in front of Hollow Street Medical Practice. Once stopped, the driver turned and placed his arm over the back of his seat, pinning Cassian with his glowing violet eyes.
“How do you wish to bill this journey?” He asked monotonously.
“Bill it to this,” she replied, pulling her father’s bank card out of her coat pocket and tapping it against the module at the front of the car.
“Thank you, have a good evening,” the driver smiled vacantly as she climbed out with difficulty. She was still one-armed and had almost forgotten how vulnerable she felt going out without her prosthetic.
Gazing up at the white lights that glared out of Hollow Street made her uneasy. She'd hoped LaClaire would pay her a home-visit as usual, but lately he’d grown too busy with ailing Purples to leave the practice. She hadn’t been there in person since she was young, and her memories of it weren’t exactly pleasant.
“Alright Cass,” she said, taking a deep breath, “just a hospital.”
The medical practice was eerily silent upon entering, three Purples sat chained to waiting room chairs situated along a grubby wall. Their eyes snapped to her and the hoarse giggling kicked up as she passed. She felt her stomach turn.
At the front desk, another Career Purple stood awaiting her.
“Good evening…” the receptionist paused, blinking a couple of times as her Xytosystem scanned Cassian’s face, “Cassian McConnell.”
The receptionist stood there calculating, smiling weakly as though her cheeks were about to give in from the strain.
Cassian furrowed her brow, “Everything alrigh-?”
“Doctor LaClaire is not busy right now, my colleagues will take you to his office shortly,” she cut back in. Cassian should have known better than to bother speaking to it.
She took a step back from the front desk and waited, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. The Purples chained to the chairs loved it, watching in fascination and foaming at the mouth as they chuckled on.
Honestly, LaClaire’s decision to waste his time and energy on the Purples was absurd. Standard-grade Purples were near-enough soldiers. Their purpose was to win the war on Shadowers, whatever it took. Injuries were inevitable. Some would be lethal. LaClaire was a fool to think he could save every single one.
The sound of squeaking wheels and footsteps travelled towards the front desk, two nurses stood grinning to either side of a wonky old wheelchair.
“A wheelchair was requested for you Miss McConnell,” one of them spoke up, a little gravelly.
“Oh, sick,” She grinned, hobbling over and plonking herself down. It screeched as she sat and she clung to one handle tightly, “Oops.”
They began wheeling her down the corridor towards a lift, asking her various questions along the way.
“Do you feel lightheaded or faint?”
“Nope.”
“Have you experienced any chest tightness or shortness of breath?”
“I had the hiccups earlier..?”
“Do you think you might be pregnant?”
“HAH!”
The two nurses stared at her expectantly as they entered the lift, she rolled her eyes.
“No, I’m not fuckin’ pregnant. Who’d want a kid these days anyway?” The lift doors closed, “World’s gone to shit…”
The silence in the lift had Cassian’s mind running back to the predicament at hand. Tomorrow she’d be expected to entertain whatever plan Ali had to liberate the Shadow District, knowing full-well that the Doloriak aimed to eradicate it in the coming weeks. There was no way of ensuring both Ali and the regime’s success. She'd have to convince her dear friend to join her side.
It would be a monumental task, one that she didn’t have the headspace to calculate at that moment. She brought her e-cigarette to her lips and took a deep drag.
“No smoking in the practice, please.”
“Shit, sorry!” She coughed, vapour pluming back out of her mouth.
They reached the top corridor of the practice and the nurses hurriedly wheeled Cassian towards LaClaire’s office. This level was much noisier, Career Purples dashed from room to room and as the doors opened hoarse cackles and groans of pain echoed out into the space. Cassian reckoned she might have been LaClaire’s first non-Purple patient in a rather long time.
At last the two nurses flung open the double doors to his office and pushed Cassian in.
And there he stood, leaning one-handed on his desk, glass of Regime’s Will in his spare hand, gazing out of the vast circular window that framed the glowing Novian skyline.
“Miss McConnell, Doctor,” one nurse announced before they both stepped back and left the room. He must’ve requested their absence.
Theatrically, the doctor turned over his shoulder, flicking his hair on the way round. Cassian could see in full the dark circles under his eyes, the black worms that wriggled beneath his skin from his most recent sip of the Will, but despite this he still beamed one of the brightest Doloriak smiles she’d ever seen.
“Cassian, my darling!” He cried out, darting forth as she got out of the creaking wheelchair, ignoring the agonising pain at her knee.
“Doc!” She exclaimed in genuine joy as the two of them met in the middle, throwing their arms around one another.
“My my it’s been so long, lovely,” LaClaire sighed, breaking away but holding onto her shoulders as he took the sight of her in, “a true testament to your durability.”
Cassian smiled truthfully for once. The fact she was here with him meant she wouldn’t be in pain for much longer, which was a wondrous relief.
Vincent LaClaire was an age-old family friend and Doloriak cohort and had been Cassian’s personal doctor ever since the passing of her mother. Perhaps it was due to his profession, but Cassian knew for certain he was the kindest Doloriak associate she’d ever met.
His appearance was one of great discussion within the regime, but not for his wiry navy hair, peculiar glasses or fake cybernetic enhancements. The focus laid instead upon his cat-like upper lip, which left many wondering whether he was a hybrid or not. What was certain, is that it was a touchy matter for him, and whenever it was brought up he’d briskly change the subject.
Today wasn’t about him, though, and he knew that all too well as he moved her towards the examination bed in a hurry, routing through his desk of medical tools as she sat down.
“You’re still smoking, I hear?” He held a hand out and Cassian sheepishly placed the e-cigarette into his palm. He lifted it to his face and examined it closely, “Although it is one of the milder models…”
“I’ve cut down,” Cassian added in the hopes it’d bode well.
“That’s good, dear,” He said, first putting her arm in a blood pressure sleeve, “I’ve heard many-a-thing about your espionage. Your job must be so much fun.”
As he took a sip of Regime’s Will she noticed how it didn’t seem to phase him at all. He remained calm and composed; if anything it seemed to energise him. It certainly came as a relief to see he had it under control.
“It’s goin’ better than I thought,” she replied, ignoring the fun remark. So far the job had felt anything but that, “Dad’s been a bit inconsistent with the encouragement lately, if I’m honest.”
“So I’ve heard,” LaClaire pouted at her a little as he removed the blood pressure sleeve, “Blood pressure a little above your average. The technika could be having an effect,” He crouched down and examined her knee, tutting to himself, “Your father’s work, hm? Naughty boy…”
“Did he tell you?” Cassian asked in disbelief, rubbing at her knee to soothe it.
“Indeed. He said he felt rather bad,” LaClaire rolled his eyes, “perhaps he’d have felt less bad having not done it in the first place, hm?”
Cassian nodded quietly. It was unlike her father to confess such a thing to a cohort. Doloriak code was rigorous in regards to associates harming one another. If information such as this were to reach The Minister he’d certainly be in for a harsh punishment.
“Cassy, darling, I know for the most part you and your father manage this way but if you ever find yourself in a spot of bother with the old man again, the practice has rooms with spare beds…” his urgency softened into a smile, “And the breakfast is delectable.”
Cassian was almost sold on the idea, “An overnight stay don’t sound too bad actually... I’m guessin’ this extractor will take a while?”
“Indeed. You’ll need to stay in the clinic overnight… Although the Purples tend to be a little disruptive here,” he walked circles for a moment thinking of a solution, “I wouldn’t usually offer this to patients but as you’re a family friend, I could put you up in my living room upstairs?”
“Anythin’ to get me out of hospital,” Cassian said, “No offence.”
“None taken dear,” he sighed as he tapped some orders into a nearby holographic interface. The harsh violet light streaming through the window cast exasperated shadows upon his face.
“Why are you trying to fix up the Purples?” She asked, “Must be exhaustin’.”
He spun around and sat on the edge of his desk, slumping sullenly, “Oh, I just feel so sorry for the poor things. Sometimes they’re beyond saving, so I try to get a better look at how their Xytosystems malfunctioned to feed back to your father.”
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know, he does fuck all with that information,” Cassian quipped.
“I know, lazy bastard—excuse me,” LaClaire cursed cautiously, fiddling with the instruments on his desk, “I just don’t agree with this mind control nonsense. I know it’s necessary for fulfilment of the ‘grand scheme’ but I think your father has taken it rather too far. Does he even touch the base code for the Xytonetwork anymore?”
“Nope.”
“Ugh! Then they’re nothing short of zombies!” He threw his hands in the air frustratedly then went back to gathering tools, “You know when I joined the Doloriak I hoped that my dream for the upgraded physique would be taken as seriously as your father’s Xytonetwork was…”
He moved over to Cassian’s side and pulled up a chair and wheeled desk, setting down his tools and gently moving her face to begin stitching up her scrapes.
“Have they been taken seriously?” She asked, trying to distract herself from the pinch of the numbing injection.
“Of course not, The Minister wants to streamline. The Xytonetwork is efficient,” he spat, “the assimilation of cyborgs such as yourself, is not.”
Cassian’s face soured, “Cyborg?”
“Oh, sorry dear I forget it strikes a nerve with you,” he said as he began stitching, “Not that it should, it's really quite an honour to be a scientific marvel. It was I that convinced your father to work on your arm, you know. We used to design body prototypes together… That all changed when the Xytonetwork took over…"
How could she have let herself forget? Her father had always taken the credit for LaClaire’s contributions to the design of her prosthetic and it was clear the doctor was bitter about the matter. It came up every time they met, she’d grown used to hearing it over and over again.
"I’ve continued to dabble since I was shut down," he continued, she felt his grip tighten on the surgical needle, "I have the old blueprints, including the one for your arm, they are fascinating! One hopes that eventually I’ll be able to put them to good use. To help people.”
“That’d be neat,” she was genuinely intrigued by the prospect of assisting other amputees; it would certainly be a welcomed development.
“Not to mention, I wouldn’t mind one or two myself,” he chuckled.
Cassian knew where this was about to go and crossed her arms impatiently.
“Vincent, all your limbs work.”
“Yes but functional does not equal optimal, dear,” he looked up from his stitching, “Just imagine a world where excellent minds can sport top-of-the-line, imperishable bodies? A world of metal and mind.”
The implication sent shudders down her spine that she hoped LaClaire couldn’t detect. Of metal and mind? It sounded like he needed a piece of her mind. But now wasn’t the time, he had a needle in her face.
He continued to ramble as he sewed and she humoured him as she usually did. Despite his strange ideologies, he’d been good to her, and didn’t pose even the slightest threat. In a way, she was grateful that The Minister hadn’t prioritised his ambitions the way she’d honoured her father’s. She didn’t want to imagine a world where people replaced perfectly good body parts for no reason.
At last he finished stitching up her face and put away his tools, pulling the gloves off his hand and smiling proudly at his work, “I’ll set up a MediBeam in the living room to heal your stitches as you rest. In the meantime, your father mentioned you were having trouble keeping down the Regime’s Will?"
Cassian wriggled uncomfortably beneath the extractor, "Well, yeah doc, it tastes like a fuckin’ fungal infection…"
"I know, and where’s the class in that, hm?" He procured a pot of little black capsules from his coat pocket and shook them around, "Might I interest you in capsule form? They’re my personal favourite."
Cassian eyed the pills cautiously. There was no escaping the fact that sooner or later she'd have to consume the Regime’s Will again, perhaps not having to taste it would alleviate the struggle.
“Sure,” she reached out for the pot and took it, fumbling clumsily with the almost weightless vessel.
“Excellent! I’ll make sure to keep you stocked up,” LaClaire smiled with alarming enthusiasm.
Cassian turned to gaze out of the circular window. The night lights flickered gently, soothing her worries for the time being.
“Oh, you are a star, Cassian,” LaClaire began packing up his things, “I’ll send for a nurse to take your bed up to my living room shortly, make sure to get some rest.”
“More Purples to fix up?” She half-smiled.
“Always,” he exhaled, finishing off his Regime’s Will as he began to leave the office, “But not forever… You know, I really quite envy you, dear. Your arm is just the beginning.”
Little did he know as he left the room that he’d also left in her mouth a taste so bitter she almost considered washing it away with more Regime’s Will.
She returned to watching the night sky whilst she awaited her transfer, gripping the pot of black pills irritably.
How foolish he was to envy a life like hers.
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