With a sudden flash of understanding, Vance took a second, deeper look around the room. White, sterile, undecorated walls, honest in their plainness. The floor was a pale matte slab, somewhere between beige and bone, stretching out with an unremarkable blandness. The faint hum of strange, unfamiliar machines echoed softly, a low mechanical lullaby that filled the chamber's stillness. A single locker leaned against the far wall, its dull metal frame blending almost seamlessly with the antiseptic surroundings. And right beside it. Was a desk.
He squinted, narrowing his eyes against the fluorescent glare. Someone's there. Yes. Lying awkwardly around said desk, unmoving, was a man. His back rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, a faint wheezing slipping through his slightly parted lips.
Vance chuckled softly, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and understanding.
No matter what world you were on, it seemed naps always hit best in workplaces and learning facilities.
Ares caught the reaction and shot him a curious glance. "Mind sharing the joke?"
"No," Vance murmured, still smiling faintly. Should I tell him about my arrival from a distant land. Vance sighed, internally. In no scenario would that be a good idea.
Ares shrugged, letting it slide as they moved forward. Balgur, silent and focused, didn't slow. His heavy boots made muted thuds as he crossed the room toward the slumbering figure.
"He is?" Vance asked, eyeing the large coat draped over the man like a makeshift blanket.
"Doctor Shrill," Ares muttered. "Quite the moody bastard. Obsessed with sleep. I remember a time where I caught some disease from a mission. Pretty bad. Came with some weird symptoms, definitely needed urgent help. We woke him, while he was in a deep one, and I swear his face looked like he'd murder us just to get back to bed."
Vance raised an eyebrow. A sleep-obsessed doctor? He reassessed the frail-looking man. Not just tired. Maybe genuinely addicted to sleep. If that was even a thing.
The thought pulled a faint memory from the back of his mind. Blake.
A mean-looking Russian. Typical white dude. Six-foot-two, built like a brick wall. They'd met in the army. The guy could sleep anywhere; tanks, ditches, even under live fire. Didn't matter. And still, Blake was one of the most impressive snipers Vance had ever seen. Crawling was hell for someone his size, but he always got into position just to line up the perfect shot… so he could get the job done to go back to napping. He always wondered what was so shit about reality.
If only—
"Vance? You tired too?" Ares interrupted, grinning as he eyed Vance's slouched shoulders.
"Mhm," Vance mumbled, refocusing.
They had reached the desk. Balgur stood at its edge, one hand gripping the doctor's shoulder and giving it a firm shake.
No response.
The man remained limp, his breathing steady, comatose almost
.
Vance frowned. The doctor looked like he could be blown away in a breeze. His skin was pale to the point of translucence, almost ghostlike. His hair, thin and patchy, clung to his scalp like brittle dry grass. The oversized lab coat draped over him only added to his frail, spectral appearance.
Balgur, getting clearly annoyed, exhaled sharply through his nose, veins pulsing at his temple. He paused—then shifted his stance, coiling like a spring.
Vance instinctively stepped back. Ares, already a step ahead, motioned for him to follow.
"Step to the side," Balgur ordered, pointing toward the far end of the room.
Without question, Vance and Ares moved, brushing past a strange piece of equipment that resembled an old-fashioned washing machine. Vance blinked twice to double check. What kind of hospital was this?
Ares leaned in, smirking. "Watch this."
Balgur inhaled deeply, then grabbed the doctor by the collar, lifted him clean off the desk, spun smoothly on his heel—and launched him towards the adjacent wall.
Vance's eyes widened. The man became a blur of white, shuttling across the room with terrifying speed. He's gonna crash into the wall.
But just before impact, the doctor twisted midair. His limbs bent with freakish flexibility, his back arched, and he landed against the wall with a loud thud.
Then he stuck there momentarily.
Vance blinked. Once. Twice.
The man was still clinging there—arms limp, eyes closed, and head tilted—like a lizard.
Ares chuckled. "And that, my friend, is Doctor Shrill."
Vance could only stare, dumbfounded. The fuck?
A booming voice cracked through the air as Shrill finally graced reality with the blessing of his vision. "Who has the balls... Bal!?"
Shrill leapt from the wall and landed with eerie grace. His gaze swept the room until it landed on Balgur again. "You again?" He voiced with scorn.
His tone softened just a touch, but his face stayed twisted in that familiar annoyance.
"You here for an assessment?" Shrill asked, dusting himself off as he shuffled back toward his desk. He paused briefly to squint at Vance, then shot Ares a dismissive glance, as if deciding if the latter was even worth remembering.
"Yeah," Balgur replied. "It's… a complicated case."
"Of course it is." Shrill slumped into his seat, propped his bare feet on the desk, and sighed heavily. "Talk fast. I've got sleep scheduled in fifteen minutes."
Balgur gestured to Ares to speak, but Shrill immediately raised a finger, silencing the blond.
"Fine," Balgur muttered, stepping forward. "Here's the short of it: The kid's the only unascended survivor from his planet. And he seemed to survive through some strange encounter."
Shrill's brow lifted. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Cecilia found him fighting an orc. Bare-handed."
The doctor's posture straightened just a bit. Something had changed—fatigue gave way to curiosity. As he started looking at Vance as if he was and idiot.
"Continue"
Balgur nodded, catching the shift. "After we returned to the site for protocol cleanup, we found something… strange."
He glanced briefly at Vance, then continued.
"A few meters from the dead orc, we found a dented wall in the vague shape of a person. Torn clothes, blood, and a visible trail of cerebrospinal fluid. Nearby? A second blood pool that matched his."
Shrill raised both brows this time.
"No signs of ascension, no evidence of another attacker," Balgur added. "Just Vance, the orc, and a whole lot of questions."
"And you believe the answers can be found though appraisal?"