#ed edgar

There was blood on his face.

A delay was present between when the blood first appeared and when he’d recognized it on his person.

It was on the ceiling too, like a paintbrush flicked upwards, splatters dotted up the wall. On the desk as well where it had originally bloomed. Glass bled with the sample.

For the first time in years, a low drone of fear broke through the haze.

It started a few days ago.

Slotted between Simon running away and Dark returning was a tense 45 minute gap in which Dr. Iplier beat back every thought of the Host with a baseball bat. He told himself many excuses, each sounding less reasonable than the last. Dark had been lying about seeing him in the first place. The introduction of the new ego Simon had scared him off. He was a dream Doc had 5 years ago that everyone had been politely playing with but then silently heaved a relieved sigh when Doc slowly stopped talking about him.

None of it made any sense, except for the fact that if Host would’ve told anyone he had returned; He would have told Edward. He would have been outside the clinic.

The metabolic panel revealed Simon to be worse off than he looked, signs of repeat infections, low glucose, low enough vitamin c Dr. Iplier tacked scurvy onto his mental list of possibilities. It was no wonder he’d become so irritable during his brief stay in clinic, his body was running past empty.

Doc stashed the vials of blood in the cooler before he left. The tests he’d yet to preform exceeded the time left in his 12 hour shift. They would have to wait until tomorrow. Hopefully by then Dr. Iplier should have himself back under control.

Dark opened the clinic door to find Doc in the back room slumped in a chair. The Doctor told himself he’d sit to rest his eyes before he lumbered back to his room. That piercing ring that hung around Dark as a warning bell gave him a second to straighten up into a more presentable look.

“Doctor,” Dark greeted. The light above them flickering as his aura wrapped itself denser around him. Wilford’s episode must’ve been worse than he expected. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“You don’t pay me.” The Doctor wrestled the cluttered papers into a neater pile on his desk. His screens wallpaper painted the mess blue. Dark’s overhanging chill made him remember he’d left his coat in the waiting room. “Simon should be in your office.”

His boss was much calmer than when he’d left. A few years back, Doc might’ve mistaken it for repentance. At times, it was difficult to speak to the newer egos on their respective bosses. The truth wasn’t holy water, it couldn’t turn everything it touched into itself. Instead it diluted, becoming more and more lost as time marched on and old memories were overwritten with new ones. Dr. Iplier was old, and as doctor he had a very intimate view of those under his care. Dark couldn’t feel anything.

“And how he is?” Dark asked. An urge to laugh seized up in the Doctor’s gut as he stood. He pictured a hound asking a duck if it had a broken wing.

“He should be fine.” In the corner of his vision he saw his clipboard, the phrase ‘Radiation Poisoning?’ stared back at him. It was bad form to put ideas in patient’s head before tests came back. It was even worse to do it to a caretaker.

His skin itched at the thought. The familiarity of it briefly overwhelming him. This story had been written once before and look how it ended.

“Is that a personal opinion or a professional one?” Dark questioned.

“When have you cared about my personal opinion?” Dark caring was satire enough, let alone directed at him. Exhaustion pulled his nerves short as he snatched up the clipboard to kept Dark’s spying to a minimum. He ushered them both out of the back room and began to close up the clinic. He locked up what needed to be locked up and trashed the rest.

It wasn’t just his annoyance of his boss that set Simon free early. He could never let a personal grudge get in the way of treatment after all. The Doctor could not bend reality effortlessly like Wilford, or teleport like Dark. His power was much more subtle and restricted in its jurisdiction.

Dr. Iplier could hear death’s footsteps as it circled its victim like a vulture. While Simon had both smelled and looked like death warmed over, the only steps he heard in the clinic were his own. Thus, Simon was allowed to leave.

The hum of the busywork kept Dark from speaking whatever was on his mind, Dr. Iplier was content to ignore him. It was only after he’d peeled off the sheets from the last used bed that he quietly said, “What happened earlier should not have been directed at you. I apologize.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Dr. Iplier snapped. His boss’s mere presence was grating at the best of times, let alone after what had happened today. As Dark sighed and took his leave Edward could barely spark the necessary smugness to enjoy his retreat. He was just too tired.

He didn’t sleep until 3 am. If he’d dreamt, his brain didn’t write it down.

The testing continued in the morning. The blood portioned out into slides, dishes, and other vials. All results written up on paper before he’d put them in the system. The others, particularly Google, enjoyed teasing what they considered ‘old school practices’, or just ‘inefficiency’ if they happened to be an android. Dr. Iplier thought there was a pride in writing it down himself, seeing it in his own handwriting made him feel more connected to his work.

‘My work,’ he mentally sneered. How could he claim professionalism mattered to him when he’d gone off on a new patient like that? Simon had been so small when Dark hauled him into the clinic, shoulders tucked in and voice artificially placid. If it didn’t feel so demeaning Dr. Iplier would have called him delicate. That was before the end of the appointment, where some of that chipped veneer had started to peel back.

Underneath it had been something animalistic, territorially tracking blood in the clinic hallway. Dr. Iplier had forgone putting in a request and cleaned it up himself the next day. Google was under enough stress.

That all led to today.

Finishing up the last of the scheduled tests left 1 vial of blood left. Procedure dictated it to be thrown out like any other biohazard. It was mere luck that kept the Doctor busy enough to leave it until the broadcast.

He wasn’t there for Wilford’s show. He was occupied at the local town’s emergency room. A few years back he’d finally been able to strike up a deal with Dark that would allow him to operate outside the egos. In practice it doubled his workload and cost him whatever sleep he might’ve been able to scrape by but going back to his roots brought a strange comfort with it.

When he’d arrived back to Egos Inc. he’d only had a few minutes to change out of his work wear before his pager went off. The reason already clear.

Wilford’s show, and its many incarnations, were impossible to avoid. If you turned off the TV, it was still heard from floors down. If you were outside Egos Inc., it found you over the radio. Edward practiced his poker face when it had echoed over the walkie talkie of a security guard. Wilford’s interviews rarely ended without blood, and Simon wasn’t exactly squeamish.

This broadcast however wasn’t marred by the sound of gunshots or screaming, what Dr. Iplier heard instead was so much worse.

The back door rattled as he rammed it open. It’s more than just the daily stress of oiling a rusting machine. The conversation, read polite disagreement, with Dark after Simon left had boiled over into an outright argument. And with Wilford on his side, as he always fucking was, Dr. Iplier had resigned to shoving down any memory the night had happened. It was becoming routine.

The sun hid in the forest, its whispering light fading by the minute. An iron garden table with two matching chairs made up the back porch. It was tucked in an alcove under the second floor. Edward was drawn to the privacy of it. From here, he could even look into the woods and barely be seen.

He wasn’t alone. In the seat that was normally his sat a man spawned out without a care, cigarette almost falling from his lips. His hat laid next to his overflowing ashtray. He’d turned lazily at the screech of the door. Doc saw his reflection in the sunglasses.

“So Dark is just letting anyone in here now?” Edward asked, unable to stop the laugh bubbling out his throat. Ed Edgar grinned back, whooping as he stood.

“Doc! There’s a sight for sore eyes! I take it you’re the one that’s been keeping my spot warm?” Ed’s hugs were a bear trap. He was impatient too, grabbing ahold of Doc’s outstretched arm to yank him to his chest. Doc’s lungs ached as the trap snapped shut.

Ed always preferred to run his businesses himself. As he diversified and managed on his lonesome, he was pulled away from the manor for longer and longer stretches of time. Months had passed without them crossing paths.

Though many didn’t know it, Dr. Iplier always had a soft spot for Ed. In the early days when Ed’s trades went wrong it was Doc’s door he’d come bleeding on. Dark, Google, Bim, even Shepard all spent great effort to maintain their individual appearances and agendas. There was something refreshing in Edgar’s unabashed bullshit that made something in Doc unwind.

It was why he hadn’t turned around pretending he went through the wrong door. There was only one reason why Doc came out here.

When Ed finally let him go he fell back into the chair, the iron scraping the concrete underneath, and stuck his cigarette back between his teeth. Doc sat down in the opposite chair and fumbled in his pocket for his pack and his lighter.

He started smoking in the last year, passing the scent off as one of his patients. Shame used to stick to the back of his mind, only peeling off in strips overtime. If the others knew it would only be another reason they would use to not listen to him. Ed didn’t care.

The table tilted on unsteady legs as he leaned forward to light Doc’s lone cigarette himself. His lighter must be in his work jeans. “Thank you kindly.”

Ed sat back with a loud grumble. It must have at least 7 months since they’d last seen each other. “God damn, you look like shit. Some things never change, huh?”

Doc chuckled out smoke, the sky was startling to flake red on the horizon. “Nice to see you too, Ed. Where’s Silver?”

These days those two were a package deal. The past few times Ed had returned Silver was riding along in his truck. Even in this brief instance it was strange to see one without the other.

“Bastard got himself kidnapped.” Ed fixed his cowboy hat back onto his head as he leaned back. His hand made a loose first on the table.

Doc’s eyebrows rose. “No shit? Dark’s gonna love that.”

“Nah, he was doing his hero gig. I snuck in long enough to tell him there was a new ego and then skipped back the way I came.” His hand unfolded to mime running across the table, up Doc’s arm and then flicking him in the forehead.

Doc pulled the cigarette out of his mouth before he could choke on it. Barely repressed laughter puffing from his mouth. “That’s… that’s fucked up, Ed.”

Historically there was no reason to worry. Shepard was more than capable of handling himself, going so far as to resent the small amount of help Wilford offered. Dr. Iplier didn’t have a solid answer as to what he did these days, only that him and Ed were doing it together.

Everyone knew that when an ego was brought into the fold they threw a party. They called it a ‘birthday party’ though the date could vary depending on when they’d been created, when they’d been found, and if one of the bosses got to them fast enough. Hell, Yancy’s birthday had long past but when he finally did agree to parole it would still be called a birthday party.

Ed shuffled his hands back and forth like a desk of cards. “He’s gotten himself out of a 100 and 1 situations, he can handle it. I reckon he’ll be here in a couple days. What currently on the table is…” He dragged out the last word, reeling in his hand as if he could draw out an answer out of Doc’s throat.

As it became clear none was forthcoming, he finished. “The new meat.”

Dr. Iplier sighed. Every ego saw him at intake, even Wilford and Dark had been put under his stethoscope. Often he was the first one besides their respective bosses to know new egos names. Most people didn’t think about it like this, but Ed knew rumors and gossip like the back of his hand. And when you wanna learn a story, you start from the beginning.

“I don’t think you’re missing a lot. There’s really not much to say about him.” Doc dusted off ash into Ed’s tray. It was an old McDonald’s ashtray, one of the brown glass ones. Ed had pulled it from a nearby junk yard when the building was first put up. There was a small chip on the bottom from where he’d thrown it at Wilford. They were banned from smoking together that day.

“What’s his name?”

“Simon.”

“Simon..?” Doc startled as Ed slammed a hand on the table, the ashtray just barely not jumping off the edge. “Christ, do none of the kids got names anymore? Yancy, Illinois, now this freak. Does no one understand the power of a name? Wilford Warfstache, Bim Trimmer, Ed Edgar, Doctor Edward Iplier- Those are titles with power to them.”

Doc coughed, throat caught between a sigh and laugh. “I don’t fucking name them, Ed. I’m just the one who writes it down.” He pulled on the neckline of his white shirt, swallowing spit to try and suffocate the kindling.

“Yeah but you could advise them, like a proper elder, an old fart that is.” Ed took a lot of pride in his age, which was strange considering he didn’t do jack and or shit to bestow this great knowledge onto the younger generation. He wasn’t cruel to the newer egos. Back in the early days, Yandere had called his truck many times in the middle of the night to help transport a body she couldn’t carry.

He always provided when called. The problem was they were running out of ways to call him.

Doc sputtered, “You’re older than me!” There wasn’t many he could say that to. It felt freeing. Ed stopped relying on him for stitches the same time they all got together. He couldn’t even remember the last time Ed was a pager buzz. He could take care of himself without guilting Doc after.

Ed tutted, grin wide and wild, “Yeah, and that’s why I can tell you what to do. So straighten up.” Doc’s head snapped forward as Ed reached out and whacked the back of it. “And stop letting the kids walk around without their clothes on, it’s scaring the locals.”

“Fuck you,” Doc mumbled without any heat. The air turned chilly as the night arose. Alternating between the heat of the cigarette and the cold of the dark helped him feel a bit more real. He missed this. He missed having someone to talk to.

Not for the first or last time Doc wished he had Host’s powers. Or at least borrow some of that clear strength he’d held. He longed to do more than starch the bleeding, he wanted to fill in the cracks within Ego Inc. down to the foundations. Host had always been acted so closed off but Doc knew under that buttoned up coat was a world of warmth to him. He cared about the other egos. He’d loved Edward.

He had to believe that Dark had lied and dragged Simon down with him. If not, that meant Host had to have seen the chain reaction his disappearance had caused and done nothing. He’d left Doc to clean up the mess himself.

Doc shook his head to clear out his thoughts, turning his mind back to Ed. “What’d you think of Simon?”

Ed snorted, “I think that was the shortest interview Warfstache ever did, and he’s shot most of his people. At least Bim got a kick of out it.”

‘Kick out of it’ was putting it lightly. Bim had been outright manic throughout the rest of the broadcast. The audience even made it out alive.

“Trimmer could have the entire show to himself and still not be completely happy. You’ve missed nothing with him.” Bim Trimmer was another strange bedfellow. He was an obnoxious, arrogant, self centered, and despite the common belief he wasn’t good at reading social cues, was in fact a master at them; He just didn’t care. He was however one of the only egos who checked up on Doc. Even going so far as to change the locks on the clinic door. Dark was not happy about that one.

It wasn’t completely true nothing had happened with him. There was his falling out with Oliver that even the Jims had stayed away from reporting on. Doc noticed the cracks before they deepened. He would call for Green and Blue would show up in his stead. The intercom stopped switching between four colors and stayed indigo at all times. No one knew exactly what went down, but by the end of it Google sectioned off the basement entirely. No one in, no one out.

Doc felt selfish worrying for Oliver most of all. The android had always sought connection with humans despite his preprogrammed disdain and Blue’s influence over him. Doc’s idea was Oliver might find humans fascinating, but he could never admit that out loud; Certainly not now, maybe not ever.

Host’s and Blue’s friendship had confused him at the best of times. Doc was no engineer, but he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of strain the cognitive dissonance of setting up a recharge station in Host’s library caused on his processors. In compliance with the new status quo, he had not seen Google in a long time either.

Ed tapping on the metal table brought Doc back to reality. “What about you? What’s your judgement?”

It took a moment for Doc to remember what they were talking about. He tapped off his cigarette again, as he sorted through his thoughts. “I think he hasn’t realized that he’s in a building full of psychos and he should stop trying so hard. Pulling the puppy dog look on the boss is one thing, but he’s acting like I didn’t notice him almost strangle me for trying to change his bandages. He’ll be in good company here.”

Ed grinned. “Ooo, we got a violent one then? It’s been a while. Is that what Wilford sniffed him out for?”

Doc scoffed as he gestured with the cigarette. This was the best part about talking with Ed, he could be a little mean somewhere it wouldn’t hurt anybody. “Ed, he bashed in my wall and painted the floor in his blood. And it’s fine, it is, I just wish I had a way to tell him whatever wire is crossed in his brain, no one cares. He doesn’t need to suck up to Dark just to get by.”

Doc was left panting by the end of the rant. He didn’t quite know where all that had come from. Ed tilted his head with a knowing glint to his smile. “What?” Doc demanded.

Ed whistled low as his cigarette snuffed out in the ashtray. “Physician, heal thyself.”

Doc took one last drag of cigarette before he smashed it alongside its brother, mumbling, “What does that even mean?”

He can’t stop thinking about Simon again. He’s already grown comfortable enough to start showing his teeth. The way he acted in the ballroom proved he’s not quite the demure damsel in distress he first presented himself as. It was hardly surprising. All egos had some fatal glitch in personality; That wasn’t what annoyed him. It was the way he’d clung to Dark after. It was the way that for some fucking reason it worked.

The irritation he felt towards Simon was chased closely by shame. By virtue of being his physician he’d been given a personal view into Simon’s past through the physical scars it left on him. If Dark took pity on Simon? Good for him. If he knew that Dark took pity on him and leveraged it? Even better. Perhaps that’s what it was, jealousy. The only person who had ever given him true respite was gone.

Except, not gone. Host had come back. Just not to him.

Hopefully, it would fade by the time Simon saw him for a followup. And this time, Dr. Iplier would use his name right.

The night begun to bloom in full. Overhead he spotted the three stars of Orion’s belt. Green used to know the constellations by heart, able to pick up even the most distant light with his robotic eyes. He’d stare out the window during nightshifts back when he worked in the clinic with Doc a lifetime ago.

In a faraway memory, Green told him that if the sun disappeared it would take 8 minutes for the last of its light to reach Earth. Presently, he wondered how many seconds they had to midnight.

Ed sighed as he tapped his fingers on the table, “Now, about your lover…”

Doc snapped, “You know, I’m starting to prefer when everyone was afraid to say his name in front of me. It made me feel much more powerful than I do now.” At least back then it was easier to shove everything down. Other egos were content to leave his grief to himself without going on Wilford’s show and digging it all up. Host ‘abandoning’ them. Abandoning. What the fuck did Simon know about Isaac? Dark probably told him to say that just to fuck with him.

Ed held his hands up in surrender. “All right, All right, no need for all that. I’m just saying because I got your best interest at heart and I got the privilege of aged wisdom. Something you’ve ain’t ever heard of-”

“By a few months!”

“Yeah, and I still gotcha.” Ed snapped his fingers as if commanding an unseen dog. “Now, I’ve know the Host since before he was the Host and brother? Nobody knows how to get lost like he does. If you see him, tranq his ass. It’s time for him to stop wandering and come home. This place is only done when Wilford and Dark say it is.”

The correct question here would be to ask ‘Then why did you leave?’ It would be what Edward would ask if he wanted to win the argument. Problem was, this wasn’t an argument and he didn’t want to win it. He wanted to believe it. “I have handcuffs in the clinic, I’ll manage.”

Ed grinned. “Good man.”

Since he’d spent most of the day outside there wasn’t much to clean up in the clinic that night. Doc still waited around a few hours for any late night disasters. He was in his small office area in the back room playing on the switch Green got him forever ago, spinning side to side in his rolling chair.

Solitude allowed his brain to begin chewing over the days events. It started with the sharp metal smell of the morning and slowly worked its way through the night. The more time that elapsed between the interview and the present the more something itched at him.

The Doctor had assumed when Simon first stumbled in scared and doe eyed that it’d been shock that kept him so close to Dark. It was a honeymoon period manufactured to endear Simon to him. Simon would feel like Dark saved him, regardless of what actually happened.

But then why? Why did he keep him so close? What was Dark hiding? What was Simon hiding?

Without thinking his eyes drifted back over to the cooler, its glass door showing off the single vial in the top rack. The blood glistened as he raised the remaining vial to the light. Staring into it, it almost felt like there was someone else in the room with him.

There was one more test he could do.

On a very general level (most of) the egos were human. However his early days of experimentation found a very interest quirk in their biology. Specifically, their blood. DNA can be broken down from pieces to sequences, these are what are compared to find common ancestry. Human’s share about 99% of DNA together on account of all being humans. It’s the 1% of sequences that reveal much more.

There are small differences between egos from their eyes color, hair texture, etc. They aren’t twins, their DNA is not similar enough to be even distant relatives. There is however a standard across all egos. They all have the same blood type of AB+.

It should have been routine. The blood was to piped in four small dots on a small glass sheet. Anti-A was added to dot 1, Anti-B was added to dot 2, and Anti-D was added to dot 3, and dot 4 got saline. Taking care to not mix the samples together, each individual dot would be homogenized with a small tool. For blood type AB+ the first three blood splotches would clump to the agent upon mixing.

This is not what happened.

What happens instead is, the blood mixed smoothly at first before it begins to fizz. It was small enough to not be noticeable until all three agents were applied but then it was hot oil on the glass as it begun to pop. The blood sparked high and higher, heat blasted on his face with a bang! and-

Blood. The shattering glass caused the blood to fling upward to the ceiling, severing Edward like a slash. It starts just below his ribcage and splatters over his left eye.

Dr. Iplier carefully breathed in, attempting to not let any blood drip into his mouth. He resolved to clean this up himself, no matter how much his hands shook. He couldn’t fully understand why this had him so rattled. A clinic doesn’t allow for squeamishness. He was being unprofessional again. At least now, there was no one here to witness it.

The blood sizzled on broken shards on the table. He tilted his head as he watched it dance.

Later, after the blood in the backroom had been mostly cleaned, he’d just started to lock up for the night before he spotted it. There, in the corner of his desk, is an old radio. Nowadays, it was normally covered in papers but his earlier cleaning has unearthed it from the past. It stared at him patiently, waiting.

From somewhere very, very far away, Dr. Iplier begun to hear footsteps.

The radio flips on with a heavy thunk! His hands, still wet from the cleaning solution, slipped on the dial as he found the correct frequency.

There’s a few moments delay between the input and output of the radio broadcast, and it’s in that dreamlike space that he hears a few blessed syllables of the Host’s voice right before he falls silent again.

Edward pictures Host sitting just on the other side of his desk as they stared at each other. A million things bundled up in his throat as he waited, waited, waited, for the Host to speak first.

“Simon isn’t an ego, is he,” Dr. Iplier blurted out, tension snapping like a rubber band in his chest. “He looks like us, sounds like us, but he’s not us. That’s why he had no idea what Wilford meant by budget, it’s why you knew first about him, and it’s why he doesn’t have his own room. The blood tested O-.”

The thing about creatives is that they are all teases by nature. You can have all the clever plots and undefeatable villains you want in your head. But if you want your audience to know that, you have to be willing to give up a little more than you think you want. You have to learn to laugh demurely when someone figures out the ending.

Back before the world ended Edward spent many hours coaxing such answers from him. Host didn’t like to spoil stories he wrote, so Edward dedicated a large portion of his brain to theory crafting, often with Green’s help. Isaac was never angry if Edward was right, instead he would get this small smile, and Edward would kiss him until it turned into a full grin.

There was no warm fireplace here, or thick manuscripts, or shy head tilts to hide his face. Here there is the low drone of the cooler and an empty wall in front of him. The Host completely silent, The Host with nothing to say. Edward whispered, “Isaac, what is he?”

“You’re beautiful,” the mutter drifted from over the radio. Edward’s heart fluttered like a piece of paper as it dropped to his stomach. The momentary rush of warmth at war with how wrong the Host’s voice sounded, like something had shut off in his brain and died. “How could the Host forgot? Of course the brilliant Doctor would be the first…”

Edward shuttered as he reigned in his racing thoughts. ‘You’re beautiful’ unceasingly looping in his head. A part of his brain raged in the unfairness of it all, that after everything he was still on the clock. One more damn patient to look after. But he had to, if only because it was something to hang on to. “If we’re in danger you need to tell me. You owe me that, Host.”

A crackle of static sparked through the old speakers. When it cleared Host sounded further away. “Do you remember when you first started being yourself? Was it during the rough draft? It is when the camera stops recording? Or is when we are seen by them? The fabric of his existence is a different weave than ours. When the last page of the script is read; The screen goes dark. That universe gets swallowed up in the credits.”

Fear leaked in through the cracks of Edward’s failing composure. Metal filled his nose as he leaned closer to the radio to whisper, “but what does that mean? What’s going to happen next?”

A creak sounded on the other end, Host’s voice closer but quieter. “Have you ever gotten spoiled for a book you were reading, and instead of confirming it yourself- You never turned the last page? It feels more hopeful than I thought.”

“What are you talking about?” pleaded Edward.

Host’s voice was so calm, so empty, so dead. Edward imagined reaching out to touch his face and saw his hand go right through the skin like smoke. “It’s because this matters. Simon got to see Earth, I got to see you. What more can anyone ask for?”

‘He’s lost his mind,’ Edward realizes, ‘He’s lost.’ He took a deep breath to stabilize his voice, “Come back, we can fix this together. We can go to Wilford instead, just- come back. I need you.”

There’s nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He wanted him to say that he loves him. He wanted him to say that he’s sorry. He wanted the low simmering rage in his chest to reignite so he can yell at him, reach through the radio and wrap his hands around his throat. Don’t just stand there, fucking say something!

When he speaks it’s not soft anymore, it’s cold as a gravestone. “The Host switches off his broadcast.”

Edward barely has time to react before the channel flooded with static, loud enough to puncture his eardrums even as he reeled back and covered his ears. It was nothing compared to the utter dread that gripped his chest.

“Isaac!” He yells, because that’s what it was, a command. He could feel the air around the radio grow dense as the narration set in. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even know it was possible. How could Host’s own power be used against himself? And by himself? Why?

He lowered the volume on the radio as he fought to slow his breathing. In front of him was his clipboard. The top page still displayed Simon’s intake form. There was a box for blood type filled in AB+ because why would it be anything else?

What happened to them?

In the dark of the clinic he whispered, “Come back.” The static blared for hours after.