– For two years, you underwent medication therapy. And slowly – bit by bit – everything returned to normal. You recovered.

Throughout the entire story, Gobby’s mother still hadn’t looked at him.
Her gaze stayed locked on her own hands, fingers nervously turning the wedding ring – over and over, as if she could force time backward by sheer repetition.

And then, finally, she looked up.

She wasn’t ready for what she saw next.

Gobby’s face was bright red. His cheeks puffed like balloons – and the moment their eyes met, he burst.
He laughed. Not softly. Not even remotely under control. He erupted in wild, uncontrollable, shaking laughter that filled the room.

It went on for nearly two minutes.
He tried to stop – failed.
Tried to speak – failed.
So he laughed even harder.

When he finally caught his breath, he leaned forward, still grinning:

– Mom, this is the best. Seriously – do you even hear yourself? You’ve got one hell of an imagination. Have you been binging sci-fi again? AAAAH – maybe this is a prank? Where’s the camera? Where are you hiding it?

She clearly didn’t expect that. Her hands twitched. Her voice sharpened a notch.

– You want me to call your father right now? Because I will. He’ll confirm every word.

Gobby didn’t believe her. Not for a second.
But what stunned him… was that she believed it.

He stared at her, and his tone shifted:

– Alright, Mom… let’s say I believe you. Then how the hell does the guy who attacked me know about the hospital?

– I don’t know. Maybe he was staff? Can you describe him?

– That’s not easy. Everything’s blurred. It’s like fog in my head.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember – but nothing surfaced.

Then his stomach growled – loud, undeniable.

A switch flipped.

– Mom, is there a vending machine here?

– Yes, I saw one downstairs. Want me to bring you something?

– No, better question – can I leave the room?

– The doctors didn’t say anything. How do you feel? Want me to come with you?

– No. I want to go alone. It helps me think. Can you give me some money?

She handed him a few bills, and Gobby stepped into the hallway.

As he walked along the corridor, he ran into nurse Katya from episode six.
She blocked his path like a wall – arms crossed, unmovable.

– And where do you think you’re going, sweetheart? Wandering the halls? Planning to bolt? We had one genius slip away recently. NO ONE’S WANDERING OFF ON MY SHIFT EVER AGAIN.

– Auntie, I swear I’m not trying to run away.

I just really need to remember something… but my stomach’s completely empty, and my brain’s not working.

At the word “stomach”, Katya stopped mid-breath – like a sacred revelation had struck her.

– Ooooooooh… now you’re speaking my language.

Her eyes drifted somewhere above his head, unfocused, as if she were already tasting lunch in her mind.
Then she snapped back, brows lifted, tone warm and conspiratorial.

– Lunch is soon. Cutlets are on the way.

Gobby brightened instantly.

– How soon is “soon”?

Katya’s whole posture shifted. Now both of them were bouncing slightly on their feet like impatient children.

– Mmmm… thirty minutes. Maybe less.

Gobby deflated dramatically.

– No way. I won’t make it. I’m running on fumes already.

Katya sighed theatrically, flapping her hand like a benevolent empress granting mercy.

– I get it. Take the elevator down. As soon as the doors open – bam – vending machine right in front of you. Snacks, drinks, everything holy and sacred.

She leaned in, eyes narrowing with playful menace.

– But listen, hero. You buy what you need – you chew fast – and you come straight back. If you don’t return… I WILL DRAG YOU BACK FROM THE UNDERWORLD MYSELF. Nobody gets past me twice. Got it?

– Got it, auntie. Mission accepted.

Katya headed off down the hallway while Gobby pressed the elevator button.
The seconds dragged. The elevator refused to come. Time felt stalled.
His mind couldn’t hold a single thought except one:

Food.

He glanced left – spotted a door marked STAIRS.
Without hesitation, he stepped through it and started down.

The moment he hit the first floor, he was blinded – not by light, but by glory.
Right in front of him, the vending machine stood glowing like a holy relic.

He approached slowly, glanced around – no witnesses – and wrapped his arms around it.
Yes. Hugged it.

Then began the sacred ritual: choosing.
He studied every row like a scholar examining ancient tablets.
After a long and meaningful deliberation, he finally selected a chocolate bar and a drink.
Pressed. Waited. Unwrapped.

He was just about to step into the elevator… when something tugged at him.
A whisper. A craving.
He turned back, eyes slightly wild – and selected a soft cereal bar.

By the time he turned again, the elevator had vanished.
He called it once more.

While waiting, he devoured the chocolate.
Bit by bit. Like each piece was sacred.
Washed it down. Began the cereal bar.

Elevator arrived. He stepped inside.
Went up two floors.
Paused.

Pressed Stop. Then Down.
The bar was gone.
The hunger was not.

He stepped out again and bought peanuts.

By now, people had started gathering near the elevator – too many.
Gobby chose the stairs.
He climbed. One floor after another.
Reached the fifth.
The peanuts were gone.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
Not logic. Not time.
Only the pleasure of chewing and choosing.

He went back down. Twice more.
Maybe he would’ve gone again – but the money ran out.

With the final crumb still melting on his tongue, he sighed and took the elevator back to his floor.

The doors slid open.

A smell hit him like a punch to the chest.
Warm. Fatty. Familiar.

It shattered what little control he had left.

Two nurses – the same ones – rolled by with a cart stacked with covered trays.
Food. Real food. Delivering meals to the rooms.

One of them smirked, sharp as a fox:

– What? Scared now? Good. You should be.

The other lifted a tray, eyebrow arched:

– By the way… you wanna eat lunch with your friend?

– German?

– That’s the one. Two doors down from you. Go on. I’ll tell your mom you’re there.

She handed him two food trays.

Gobby didn’t waste a second. He clutched the trays, curiosity bubbling, and hurried down the corridor.
The moment he stepped into the room, German saw him – and nearly launched himself out of bed.

– You’re alive! You’re okay! Gobby, I’m so glad!

Gobby dropped onto the bed, placed one tray in German’s hands and settled the other on his own lap. Without even lifting his gaze, he muttered:

– Yeah… I’m glad too. Tell me what happened. I don’t remember anything.

He opened his container. Not rushing. Not pushing. Just a silent cue: I’m listening. Go on.

For German, that was everything. That tiny gesture – calm, steady, unforced – was exactly the permission he needed. He dove straight in.

– I hit him. With a bottle! Can you believe it? He came at us – and I just swung! I still don’t know who that guy was, but–

He launched into the story, full fire, full adrenaline.

Gobby didn’t look up once.
His world had shrunk to three points: cutlet, fork, mouth.
Bite. Bliss.
He chewed slowly, reverently, savoring each molecule as if it might disappear.

The only moment his jaw paused was when German began describing the attacker.
Gobby stiffened mid-bite.
Eyes fixed.
Breath caught.
Listening.

And then… he went right back to chewing.

He finished his feast.
German kept talking – blazing, animated – but Gobby was drifting.
He closed his eyes, trying to capture the final aftertaste of that perfect last bite.
His body felt steady again. Anchored. Recharged.

He let the sensation settle… then lazily opened his eyes.

Looked down at his tray.
Empty.
Looked to the side.
Also empty.

He blinked.
Brows furrowed.

Then it hit him – not only had he devoured his own food… he’d eaten German’s too.

His eyes darted around the room like a thief casing the scene.

And there – jackpot.

An extra bed stood by the wall. On it lay a skinny old woman, dozing. White as paper. Bony as a scarecrow.

Gobby rose.
Creeped forward.
Eyes locked on her untouched tray.

One step… another…

He reached out –

WHACK!

A hand shot out like lightning, cracking him across the wrist.

– Ow!

He grabbed his wrist, rubbing the sting. The old woman was suddenly upright – fully alert, eyes narrowed, hand still raised like a weapon.

– What’s the idea, you little bandit? Ate yours. Ate his. And now mine?

Gobby backed away like a dog caught sniffing the stew pot. Shoulders hunched. Head lowered.

German froze – wide-eyed, torn between laughing and panicking.

Gobby paused mid-retreat, blinking fast… then pointed at German with a gesture that clearly meant: I’ll be right back.

He tiptoed to the door, cracked it open, peeked left… peeked right…

Bingo.

– Auntie Katya! German didn’t get enough food! Have you seen how small he is? How thin? He needs to eat more if he’s gonna recover! Can we please get just one more tray?

She blinked. Shrugged. Waved a hand.

Good enough.

Gobby vanished – and sixty seconds later jogged back into the room, victorious, balancing a full tray like a silver platter.

He handed it to German with mock ceremony.

– Eat. Now I’m telling you what my mom just told me.

German leaned in, listening more seriously than Gobby expected. At one point he even blurted out:

– So that patient… he’s the guy who attacked you? How is that even possible?

But interruptions weren’t allowed. Gobby’s hand had already drifted toward German’s new tray.

German caught the movement.
He sighed.
Looked Gobby in the eye – and nodded once.

– Fine. Take the broccoli. Just keep going.

Gobby grinned, took the broccoli like a prize, chewed slowly, finished the story.

German exhaled – long, slow, overwhelmed beyond words.

– We’re telling the police. We’ll describe him – let them look for him. And when I get out of here, we’re going to see that psychiatrist together. He better remember you.