“Hm…”

“What now?” The patient says, once again scratching at her neck- That appears to be a nervous tic of hers. I pull her hand away again.

“Stop that. You’re going to scratch yourself raw…” I can feel my face shift into a concerned expression, my smile remaining but faltering slightly as I cross my arms. “Have you been eating enough?”

“Oh boy, here it comes.” She groans, crossing her arms again and rolling her eyes.

“693… Don’t avoid the question. You’re unhealthily underweight for a young woman your age and height. The ideal weight for you would be at the very least one-hundred and eighteen pounds. You’re fourteen pounds under that minimum.”

“First off. I’m underweight because I don’t get hungry. Secondly, I’m not a girl.”

The latter statement takes me off guard, causing me to cock my head slightly in confusion. I take another look at the patient’s file- It says that 693 is biologically female, though there is no indication of any differing gender identity. Glancing back at the patient, I speak up, raising an eyebrow.

“…What would you prefer that I call you, 693? I only see your biological sex on here.”

This elicits a perked-up reaction from the patient.

“I’m… Non-binary. I’d prefer gender neutral terms.” They mutter, fidgeting with the fabric of their gown. I nod, grabbing a pen from my pocket and scribbling down their preferred identity next to the F label.

“My apologies, 693, I had no idea. I’ve noted that in your file and will be sure to correct myself…” I set their file down. “But my point still stands. You need to get more food in your system… Do you struggle with an eating disorder?”

“What, no-! I just feel sick when I eat, and all the doctors tell me is to eat more! It’s fucking annoying!”

“They're telling you to eat more because you look like you’re about ready to snap in half. You’re extremely malnourished."

“Well, I was gonna eat something yesterday, but the damn advocate lady made me do that stupid bloodwork!” They snap, sitting up and shooting me a glare while pointing an irritated finger at me, “Then I freaked out when I tried to go because I thought I was gonna get attacked, then I couldn’t breathe, then they jabbed me with that Joy Serum bullshit which I’m allergic to god-knows-what’s in it; and I’m not even allergic to anything-! So excuse me for not eating since I got here!”

“You’re being monitored 24/7. We don’t miss anything.”

“You’re an asshole.” They huff, crossing their arms over their chest. “So what’s next? You gonna poke and prod me like a fuckin’ lab rat again?”

I find myself rolling my eyes at their outburst- getting annoyed at the harsh way they speak to me and challenge my authority.

“No. No labs this morning.” My tone gets a bit harsh as a low growl of annoyance escapes me, my tail swishing against the ground. “Though we do have you scheduled for a session with Doctor White in the Flasher room.”

“Oh joy. ” They mumble sarcastically. I ignore their remark, shifting my weight to one foot as a quiet scoff escapes me.

“Do you want to eat something before we go? Or are you still feeling nauseous?”

693 shakes their head, looking away and muttering to themself. I take that as a no and grab my keycard once again, turning on my heel to the door.

“Come along, then- I am going to escort you to the Flasher room. Do not make me drag you there.”

The patient stands up with another huff, their stance a bit wobbly as they begin to follow behind me to the Flasher room.

When we arrive, Trisha perks up from behind the observation window and pokes her head out of the door, waving her hand to signal for her team. Two Advocates approach us before putting a hand on the patient’s back and ushering them to one of the tables. To no one’s surprise, 693 attempts to fight back, though their outburst is quickly shut down when the Advocates grab them by the arms and drag them onto a table, buckling the restraints around their torso.

“I’ll come back in 30 minutes or so. That should be enough for the procedure, yes?” Turning to Trisha, I shift my weight onto my right foot. She nods in response, holding a file with what I presume is the lab results and recommended dosages.

“I may need a bit longer for the patient to recover… She’s quite feisty, and I’m not sure how long it will take for the effects to come down. But yes, that should be fine, hehe~!” She chuckles, tapping her foot eagerly, her excitement growing to try her hand at this challenging case. “I’ll page ya if anything comes up, boss, don’t worry about it!”

“The patient identifies as non-binary, do keep that in mind… And don’t go too crazy now, you’ll bust another fuse.”

“I am the most careful one here, boss, don’t even worry, hehe~!” Trisha coaxes, nodding in acknowledgement at both statements before once again waltzing back to the observation room to prepare the equipment for 693’s session.

Rolling my eyes, I leave the Advocates to do their jobs in the Flasher room and head back down the elevator to the labs. I make my rounds through the Lower Division, peeking through the windows to the labs to check on their progress. Dr. Kelman’s team is working on a batch of Joy Serum, some meticulously pouring the glowing chemical mixtures into small vials, others testing blood samples and calculating dosages for patients. Making the Serum is certainly an intriguing process, definitely much more interesting than the work I have to do; managing patient files, discharge papers, and security monitoring. I glance through the window on the other side of the lab, observing the second half of Kelman’s team as they process the Ministry’s laughing gas formula. The magenta coloured gas hisses as it gets filtered into large yellow canisters, which are boxed up and put on metal flatbed carts which will later be brought up to the Giggler wing of the Sanctuary. 

Traffic in the Lower Division can get quite busy, especially during the later hours of the day when each sector of the Sanctuary gets a restock of all the materials necessary for marmalisation. Advocates filter through the halls like worker bees in a hive, moving aside with priority to make way for me as they hear my quiet footsteps whilst I walk past. Being the Lead Advocate certainly has its perks; level 3 access to all rooms and cameras, a personal office, my own room in the sanctuary, and most importantly, respect. 

I slide my keycard inside of the reader, entering my office and organising the patient files scattered along my desk into neat piles. There’s a bit of paperwork to fill out- just the usual discharge papers for a handful of patients who arrived a week earlier. 

.

.

.

“Boss… Something’s not right.” Trisha’s voice blares through the walkie talkie as it crackles.

“…God dammit.” I mutter, standing from my chair and heading to the elevators. This is going to be a shit-show, isn’t it? 

Upon my arrival at the Flasher room, I was correct; a shit-show was indeed waiting for me. 

Trisha stands in the doorway of the observation room like an idiot while 693 stumbles around in an attempt to walk before falling to their knees. The other Advocates stand around, clearly unsure of what to do as they look at me for guidance. The patient coughs a bit, vomiting onto the floor from what I can only assume is dizziness.

“Well don’t just stand around, you imbeciles-! Go get supplies to help them, now!" I lecture, rushing to the patient’s side and kneeling down to their level. Trisha follows suit and kneels down beside me, putting a finger to her chin in thought. “How long were they in there, Doctor White?”

“…About twenty three minutes, sir-” She stammers.

“Twenty three minutes?! Are you mad?! That is not a safe amount of exposure, Trisha! What lunatic authorised you to do this???”

“Those were the new orders that Dr. Gladwell’s team sent me, boss! Honest!” She looks down at the patient, chuckling nervously as I sit them up. “I just did what they suggested based off the previous trials of Inoculation, it was supposed to just disorient them-”

“Leave. Now.” I demand, letting out a little growl of anger as my tail starts to swish angrily, scaring Trisha back into her office as she lets out a little squeak of fear.

Disoriented is an understatement- 693 is in terrible condition. Sure, it’s normal to feel a bit nauseous after a session in the Flasher room, but nothing this severe…

“Look at me, 693…” My claws cup around their face as I try to assess their condition.

“Eugh… Which one…?”

“…What do you mean-? Are you seeing double?” 

The patient nods in response when I ask this, swaying with nausea and groaning as I try to hold them steady. 

“Bloody hell…” Another grumble of annoyance escapes me as I yell for Trisha to grab a wheelchair. She complies, rushing out of the Flasher room while her team rushes in with some water and a cold washcloth which I quickly snatch before letting out a warning growl. The Advocates step back, clearly intimidated as they avoid the sharp tip of my tail. 693 shakily takes the bottle from me as I hold the washcloth to their head, keeping a hand on their back so they don’t sway or fall forward.

When Trisha arrives back with a wheelchair, I take my time to help the patient stand up, though they still stumble forward despite my efforts to be cautious with them.

“Easy, 693… I’ve got you.” I reassure, helping them into the wheelchair and taking the handles. “I’m taking you back to your room so you can recover.” They shoot me an exhausted glare as I wheel them to their room, but I pay it no mind and help them into bed when we arrive. 

The patient is dangerously pale and clearly in a terrible state, so I hold a finger to their wrist, feeling for their pulse.

“You’re awfully weak… I’m going to order a saline IV for you so–”

“N-NO-!” They tense and pull their arm away, tears welling up in the corners of their eyes. “No IV… no more…”

“693- You haven’t eaten in two days and you can barely stand on your own! We need to get some sort of fluids in your body. I’m ordering the IV.”

“S-Stay away-! I don’t want your goddamn poison!!” They cry out, scooting into the back of the hospital bed . Instead of snapping back in frustration, I pause, a nagging feeling brewing inside of me . It’s not anger, no… I’m not sure what it is.

“…Come on, 693… I promise you, I will not be giving you the Joy Serum. I will make sure of it. We’re not trying to hurt you…” A sigh escapes my lips as I hold my hands up in a surrendering manner. “…I want to help and get to the bottom of this case.” In response, they ignore me, hugging their knees and averting their gaze from me.

“…I don’t trust you.”

Normally, it would take everything in me to hold back frustration in a situation like this. No one in this facility has ever dared to backtalk me. The few times I have been defied ended in a lecture or the loss of a job if I couldn’t maintain my composure. Normally I wouldn’t be able to, not with a patient as stubborn and defiant as 693. For some reason, though, something within me aches instead, but I push it down so I can attempt to persuade them into treatment.

“…You have no reason to. But I want you to trust me, just this once.” I coax, my voice almost pleading, “There is a reason I took over your case, so please… Let me help you.” The patient seems to perk up at this, a tear rolling down their cheek before they give a hesitant nod.

Am I finally getting through to them…?

As soon as they give me permission, I raise the walkie talkie, ordering for an Advocate to fetch an IV bag of saline. Soon enough, one swipes his keycard and enters the room, wheeling in an IV stand. I step aside and 693 immediately tenses up, refusing to let the Advocate get near them; they even swat the Advocate’s hands away when he tries to insert the needle.

“693… Be still. Let him put the needle in. I won’t let him hurt you, I promise.”

“…I want you to do it.” They mutter, shooting a teary glance in my direction. Their fearful declaration catches me off guard- but I nod, taking the needle from the Advocate and dismissing him.

“Just stay still… and try not to freak out, alright? The less you struggle, the quicker I can get it done.”

Holding their palm, I carefully insert the needle into the back of their hand, taping it in place and hooking it up to the bag of saline. They wince, shutting their eyes in anticipation and scratching their neck, bracing in expectancy for something bad to happen. When there is no burning sensation, they cautiously open their eyes, the tension in their shoulders loosening a bit.

“…”

“See? It’s just saline, as promised… I’ll ensure that none of my employees will get the Joy Serum near you again.”

“…Good. I would have killed myself if you tricked me.” They respond, a weak chuckle escaping them. This triggers a faint laugh from me as well, though I feel a pang of concern in my mind.

“I wouldn’t have let you.” I turn on my heel, giving them one last glance before leaving. “Get some rest, 693, I’m going to add some notes to your file and get to the bottom of this.”

As the elevator hums on its descent to the basement, thoughts flood my mind regarding the difficulties that arise from the case of Patient 693, though one thought remains prominent:

There is a lot to discuss with Doctor Kelman.