How ironic, to be on the edge of what could be humanity’s biggest breakthrough, and yet, things only feel grim.

  The ghost of a migraine presses into Karim's right temple as he paces back through the halls of F-6. The image of the kid as he left the exam room is stuck in his head. The white-knuckle grip they had on the table. The all-too-familiar distant look in their eyes. It tugs at his gut like an insistent child.

  The factors in this situation are a special blend of inconvenience that he’s never dealt with before. Potential immunity to the virus isn't a foreign concept to the CPC's higher-ups and researchers, but the more knowledge they've gathered of the virus' workings, the chance of it being more than a pipe dream continues to diminish with each passing decade. That it might actually be possible, that it could be happening now - but with someone who came out of nowhere and hardly remembers their own name, almost feels like mockery.

  It’s not as if this was necessarily expected to happen, but it strays too much from what anyone could expect, making it feel like bait dangling in front of his face. Like there's something he isn't seeing. A feeling he hates more than anything else.

  There isn’t anyone who can breathe in that much mist without turning. He saw it himself, that moment in time still replaying in his head even as his thoughts linger on leaving the kid alone with the doctor.

  Unless this is an especially vivid dream of his, it has to be the real deal.

  Fuck.

  Karim turns a corner, nodding to a garrison member as he walks past. Their posture droops, unconcerned and unaware of the mess that Karim is sneaking through their corridors. He's so trapped inside of his head that the noise of the mess hall barely even registers as he passes through. The crowd should be at its peak, considering the late hour.

  What used to be a small, two-story inn serves as the quarters of F-6, its original structure repaired and refurbished to make it as airtight as possible. There are no remains of the moldy carpet and wallpaper that he imagines decorated the place prior to being renovated. The material beneath was only replaced as needed, where parts were rotting or creating openings to the outside. The result is much the same as the trailer-like hallways that draw the facility together: solid flooring, but blandly covered, as bland as the walls and all the rest. Based on what he's seen from photographs and abandoned buildings that he's been to in person, it doesn't resemble an inn at all anymore, but an institution. Not unusual for a CPC base of operations. Utility over flair, with rare exceptions where individual workers are permitted to add a bit of personality – within reason.

  It’s the building's exterior where the most work was done, giving it an insulated exoskeleton with system-regulated air filtration to keep the place from becoming a hellscape. The tech behind the condensers is powerful while being efficient, powerful enough that most of their bases either rely on it alone or in addition to respirator protection, but they can only do so much in a place like this. The amount of resources it takes to make this sector a viable place to operate would be entirely unsustainable if the layout weren't so tiny and if it didn’t rely so much on the pre-existing structures that comprise its skeleton.

  The intricacies of the technology make his head hurt and the drain on resources makes his skin itch. He wonders why they even bothered setting this place up since nothing of note ever seems to happen here.

  Not until recently.

  The place is quiet aside from muffled conversation and chatter between the garrison. He nods in greeting to anyone he passes by. Most of them give him a half-hearted nod back, disinterested in his presence. Better for him, in a situation like this, where he doesn't need the distraction of random small talk with other personnel.

  He takes a staircase to the second floor and stops at a room where its original doorplate has been repurposed: room 106. As he expects, there are voices from inside, but the volume is restrained. Hesitant. When he raps his gloved fist against the wood of the door, they go completely quiet.

  "Who's there?" Rani's voice.

  "Your boss," he says, letting the lilt of a weak smile come through. "Open up."

  A few seconds later, the latch clicks and the door pops open. Rani’s face peers at him through the crack, her deep brown eyes wide and full of anticipation. She then steps back and dutifully holds the door for him as he enters.

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  The rooms aren't anything fancy and little of the establishment's original furniture remains. Complete beds and other furnishings were swapped out for small mattresses on metal frames, six in total, arranged along the walls in neat rows. What was once a large window is now sealed off.

  Lionel stands in the back of the room, stalled mid-pace. Therese sits on one of the beds closest to the door, cross-legged and with the same piece of equipment in her hand that she never parts with. Rani stands by her. She holds her shoulders high, but the tilt of her head is too evident a break in her normal adherence to posture. Therese’s focus is locked on Karim even while the device in her hands emits a soft beeping. Lionel remains where he is, but the glimmer in his eyes is unmistakable.

  There’s an energy to the group that hasn’t been there since they were bright-eyed recruits, but it isn’t excitement. There may be excitement mixed in, but it’s not purely positive energy. They’re probably thinking the same thing I am.

  "Any updates?" Rani asks.

  "Nothing major yet. Doctor's still looking them over and I wanted to give them some privacy for a second. Where's Mikael?"

  Rani's nose wrinkles. "He was in the mess. Still in there, last I checked."

  “Smoking?”

  "Yes, sir."

  Can’t exactly blame him. “That’s fine. Lionel - do you have any spare clothing? I hate to be blunt, but you’re the smallest one here and this place’s storage is bleak.”

  Lionel’s cheeks turn pink. “Uh, yeah boss, I’ll check.”

  He dips down to the end of one bed, where a large duffle bag's contents are half-strewn across the floor. Karim grimaces, but he thinks it's safe to assume that Sira won't mind if the clothes they get are a little dirty. Anything must be better than the rags they've been walking around in.

  "Captain," Rani regains his attention as she straightens herself more, "do you know if they're doing okay, at least?"

  It takes a moment for him to formulate an answer. The severe memory loss – as they so claim - doesn’t bode well at all. He can’t tell if the lack of obvious signs of head injury makes that better or worse.

  "Can't say yet. Since they're up and walking, I'm assuming their condition is at least stable. We'll see what the doctor says, and if food and rest help."

  “Then after that, we’re going to the director, right?” Therese asks, though her voice is quiet. Laced with trepidation.

  "Unless something else decides to come out of left field today, that will most likely be the case. I’ll be getting in touch with her later to work out the details.”

  “That means back to HQ, yeah?” Lionel stands from his duffle bag. Karim notices he haphazardly pushed most of the mess back inside of it. He comes forward with what looks to be a black t-shirt and pair of joggers, both neatly folded. “Been a while since I had the noodles from that one place."

  Rani rolls her eyes as Karim takes the clothing. "Of course you'd say that."

  “Hey, I understand that we’re all stressed right now, but I need you to play nice while we’re dealing with this situation,” Karim says, raising his voice as he inspects the clothes. The shirt should do fine, a bit baggy at worst, and the joggers have an adjustable waistband. Finding a pair of shoes, though, is going to be more of a trial. “Mind you, that might take a good, long while.”

  The room goes quiet again. And still.

  “...do you think that this is what it looks like? That this might be…it?” Rani asks, hesitant.

  Karim rolls up the clothes and tucks them beneath his arm. The question weighs heavily in the air, with no one else moving or speaking. He’s not able to look any of them in the eye.

  "I think we're a long way from 'it,'" he decides to say. "The director is likely to want a lot more than just some basic tests. What she decides to do after that, I can only guess, and that's not even getting into the scientific side of things. I doubt Sira is going to be taken at their word when it comes to the memory loss."

  “But what if being optimistic wins out, and it is? Just hypothetically.”

  He doesn’t know what to say to that.

  The world has been dead for longer than anyone he’s personally met has been alive. It’s impossible to accept any revival of its corpse that would be as ‘easy’ as what Sira’s sudden appearance implies. Not without rigorous scrutiny. Besides, the phantom virus has no vaccine or cure for a reason.

  Karim tries to smile, but he can feel how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Let’s just hope for the best and leave the specifics up to the experts. You should all act as normal until a plan is figured out, not work yourselves up into a frenzy.”

  Therese stares down at her hands in her lap. Lionel fidgets with one of the buttons on his jacket. Mikael isn’t even present; Karim can only imagine the kind of things that are running through that one's head. Rani's shoulders slump, clearly looking for a different answer. Relaxation is going to be a tall order.

  He doesn’t have it in him to dress the issue up any more than he already has. It is entirely beyond his capacity to imagine a world where all the virus’ damage has been undone. That’s something that he’s sure applies to most people.

  “Anyway, the clothing is mainly what I came here for. Lionel, I’ll make sure this stuff gets back to you once we find something better. I will update you all again when we’re done at the clinic,” Karim says. “Until then, try to take it easy. I mean it. You’re probably going to need the energy in the coming days.”

  Rani nods, although it lacks its usual vigor. “We’ll do our best, sir.”

  Karim turns away and lets himself out of the room. The smile drops from his face once he’s back in the hall. Being careful not to let the clothes fall out from underneath his arm, he gently massages his temples as he tries to reorganize all the noise in his head into something more bearable.

  Today is a long way from over.

  Situating the clothes more securely beneath his arm, he makes for the stairs. If there’s even a small amount of grace for him in this world, he’ll find something that’ll be easier on a person’s stomach than the cafeteria’s gruel.

  The entire first arc (chapters 1-13 & bonus) is all on Patreon, in addition to some of the chapters from the Part II - Initiation. These will get removed from Patreon as they're posted publicly, but subscribing means having early access!