The Lost Artifact Of Spode

22

His name stuck out like a sore thumb, plastered on this door. "Doctor Mel Yazzie."

He looks up and down the hallway he stood in. All the doors around him have name plates mounted on them, but all of the other doors were only one name long. No titles along with them, either.

The guard taps a screen attached to the door and the door slides up into the walls. "This is where you'll be staying now."

Mel replies in a monotone voice, "Wow, promoted from my cell. You shouldn't have."

Without another word from either of the two, Mel slinks into his new room. The door promptly shuts behind him.

His room isn't very large at all. The cell he was hold up in the past week is bigger than here. However, the room is already much more comfortable. The walls are no longer a harsh metal, but rather a pale concrete, and the floor is made of some sort of soft, spongy material. He has a bed now, and a real window to look outside of. However, with it being night, there wasn't much to look at right now.

Finally, what was easily the biggest improvement, is he now had a bathroom. On the counter rested a small box and what looks like some clothes. Mel steps inside the bathroom and looks through the white box.

Inside is everything that was on his person since before the operation. His worn down, dirty and bloody clothes, his EyePhi, his mushroom chain, and his wedding ring. A couple of eyepatches and rolls of bandages were thrown into the mix as well. Mel unpacks the box and lays the contents onto the counter, but he leaves his old clothes in the box. He then tosses his box of clothes onto the floor to kick underneath the counter.

With the box no longer obstructing his view, he caught attention of his reflection in the mirror. All it took was a short glance to see why the doctor had the reaction she did. Mel didn't just look like a mess, he was an entire train wreck of a mess. His hair is completely dishivled. His eye is dead and dull with large, dark eyebags hanging underneath. Bruises and cuts littered his skin in every place they could. Though by now, the brushes have healed enough to be a noticeable yellow against his skin, and his cuts have healed enough to be patchy scabs rather than clean cuts. To top it all off, his entire person is covered, head to toe, in dirt and dry blood. Mel could only imagine how much worse he looked before the doctors got rid of the worse of it all.

Mel gently touches the eyepatch that covers his left eye. His curiosity picked at him and started burying seeds into his skull. Does he have the Proximian's black eye now? He shouldn't take off his eyepatch yet, he knows better than that. But he's dying to know...

Mel quickly yanks his attention away from the mirror before he does end up removing his eyepatch. Instead, he focuses on the clothes left for him on the counter.

If he had the energy, his face would've dropped at the sight of what they expected him to wear. He's given what looks like a croptop with some fury shorts.

Even if it wasn't nearly 0° here, there's no way he would be caught dead in this outfit.

With a sigh, he takes the outfit with him back to his door. It took him a moment, but eventually he figured out how to open his door, and thankfully the guard was posted right outside for him.

The guard stares expectantly at Mel.

He shows off the outfit. "I can't wear this."

The guard glances at the clothes, then back at Mel as if to ask, "Why?" without actually speaking a word.

"Look," he starts, ready to go on a whole ramble, "It's *freezing* here for me. I grew up in a place that would rise to 38° annually." He quickly converted the numbers in his head. "That's about 311 kelvin."