Coming Undone

Chapter 7: An Unwelcome Reminder

Runt slowed his pace and tipped his head back as he paused on the sidewalk, the cool morning air comforting him as drained the last of a paper cup of coffee. The nearly-frozen concoction of cold brewed coffee in vodka and a tiny hint of sugar went down smooth, making his body thrum with life and energy. The sun was still below the horizon, but New Medina's overpowering star had started to paint the skyscraper-rimmed horizon with oranges and purples. The arrival of the blistering sun signaled the end of the day's activities for all but the most stubborn of Springers. But Runt was just getting started, and between willpower and coffee, he planned to make use of his final days on New Medina.

Between yawns and catnaps, of course.

Fatigue still tugged at him.

He may have skipped sleep again the night before.

It was for a good cause. He told himself, glancing down at the datapad in his hand. The 'sending' notification was emblazoned across the screen, notifying him that the results of his sleepless night had been sent to Osterman. He'd spent a few hours packing the last of his things as well, and had even managed to cram in a shower.

He cleared his throat and glanced up.

A handful of palm fronds dangled from their scraggly trunks, half blotting out the 'clinic' in 'urgent care clinic'. The small, modern building was firmly planted near the very head of campus, its halls the haunts of medical students shadowing doctors, nurses and PAs.

For Runt, it was the only place nearby that gave decent care to Springers, compliments of a veteran of the xenobiology department.

Runt tossed the cup into a recycling bin near him and marched ahead, his feet quietly crunching along a tiny sand dune hidden in the shadow of the recycling bin and palms.

Let's hope this doesn't take long. Runt thought, taking a second glance at his datapad as he walked through the doors.

He had things to do. A meeting with Quixxa very, very soon, for starters. After that, heading to Obsidian's headquarters to troubleshoot. And perhaps figure out who'd shut them down, and why.

"Runt?"

Runt tapped off the screen of his datapad and looked up. The all-too-familiar interior of the urgent care center greeted him, the receptionist waving him over to the counter.

"Coming." He replied.

The blunt, mildly chemical smell of a doctor's office waiting room invaded Runt's senses as he paced up to the counter, watching the receptionist while his tail twisted around behind him like a sidewinder.

"Morning." She said, recognizing him.

He smiled back. "Morning."

As he stopped at the counter, the reality of being ready to see a doctor again started to sink in. the symptoms he'd been living with started to come out of the background and make themselves a nuisance.

The ache in his stomach. The constant gnaw of anxiety. The fatigue from sleeplessness. Weakness from the same. It was starting to compile and compound.

"Doctor Bailey said to send you right in when you came. Just have to fill out some paperwork first." She said, and passed him a datapad. "Sign at the bottom there, and on the next page."

Runt nodded, and started to glance over the form. Consent, liability, etcetera. Boring. He flicked to the bottom of the page with a sense of distant urgency, and started to sign with his finger.

He didn't need to read all the terms. He needed treatment. As the receptionist waited, He was busily trying to pace his breathing to the distant beep of a heartbeat monitor. Every time the secretary shifted, however, he felt his heartbeat speed up. He'd taken his heartrate the day before, and sitting down, it was at one hundred and fifty beats per minute. Fast for even a Springer.