The patient lay in a hospital tent, secured in bed as monitors displayed vitals that were weak but stable. Medical specialists worked methodically to reduce his pain, inserting an IV line into his vein through which a special serum flowed—perhaps an anesthetic. A respirator supported his breathing, the mask still fastened to his face as air was delivered at a gentle, controlled pressure.
He had undergone surgery only moments earlier. A doctor remained at his side, maintaining close watch over every fluctuation on the monitors. When he was first discovered, small shards were found embedded throughout his body, and tests revealed traces of a toxic substance in his system. After extensive procedures to remove the fragments and counter the poison, close monitoring became the only viable course of action—to determine whether the patient would recover.
Positioned at the foot of the bed, Dr. Bhosch, the attending physician responsible for the operation and post-operative care, monitored the patient's condition via a handheld tablet. As the doctor glanced over at the bedridden patient, he thought aloud about how this kind of situation had happened far too many times over the past few years. Ben—only twenty-four years old—had so much left to live for, far more than what his life had been reduced to now. The doctor had known Ben for years while working at the organisation. He also knew the Director well; the two had been good friends for a long time.
"Hang in there, buddy…" he whispered roughly.
As he continued his observation, the cloth flaps at the tent's entrance swished open. It was the Director himself.
The doctor greeted him.
"How is he?" the Director asked.
"Stable," the doctor replied. "We've been running tests for a while now… it depends on him—whether he'll wake up or not."
The Director's gaze settled on Ben, lying motionless in the bed.
The doctor watched him closely. He could see the uncertainty in the Director's eyes, narrowed with worry and sadness. It was clear he was deeply unsettled by how things had turned out.
Usually, operations like this rarely led to incidents—certainly not ones this severe. But this time… this time felt different. The Director clenched his fists.
"I'll let you be," Dr. Bhosch said quietly. "Don't let your emotions get the better of you. He'll recover." The Doctor left the tent.
The tent was a dark green, half-cylinder shape. At its far end, lights illuminated the patient and the shadowed interior, leaving the entrance dim, almost deliberately so. Transparent and plastic windows on either side were temporarily covered for privacy reasons, and allowed few.
The Director approached the bed, neither too close nor too far, just far enough to observe with respect. His hands folded low at his abdomen. He said nothing. He stared.
What goes through a man's mind in such a moment? Sorrow? Grief? Heartbreak? Perhaps. Tears are rare. It takes a certain hardness, a will forged over years, to let them fall. Not because he lacks feeling, but because he confronts it head-on.
And yet… here, he wondered, has it become too much?
Browchain.
Ehffle.
Gonnaga.
Now—Crystalline.
Which one left the deepest wound?
He could not answer. Words failed him.
As he watched over the patient, his thoughts turned to his son. He feared that he had misled him, let him stumble. This was his fault. "Please… don't die on me," the Director whispered. "Son…"
~~~~~~
It had been an hour and quarter that the Director had gone into the tent. When he had returned out of the tent, it was night time. Exactly 20:22.
What had waited for him outside was as he intended.
Max—his nephew—and the two fine young adult girls that followed him. Max sat down on a chair. Luna leaned on a wall. And Alice idly walked back and forth at a slow pace.
Seeing the Director, Max was the first to react with an upright stance as his legs closed in on him; though not too close as he knew this moment was a hard one to handle.
"Uncle!" He said. His voice lengthens as if worried.
The Director lifted his hands. "Calm down," he said. He reassured.
Max looked at the state he was in. Although he couldn't tell from a face he was projectin properly hiding the real one behind a mask, he assumed it was as bad as any goes. "How is he?" He asked.
The Director glanced at Max. "His," his lips wanting to speak, "His okay...."
"You sure?" Max asked.
"Yeah."
This feeling.....sadness left hurt in people's heart. Max could feel it too. The heavy burden. The weight too much to lift. Too much to hold.
The first time had met with Ben, the specialist of the organisation he was called, was in a training field. There, in the middle plain grass, he watched with an awestruck, awe-inspiring, and teeth clenched face. The rolls he did, the slides, the jumps, and the evasive maneuvers he did spark a tingle in Max's behind. They were close of age though he was older. He was also told that he trained like this ever since he was a young lad. For him to be trained like that, for a fine soldier, Max knew who was responsible: the Director. The only 0erson of high authority and abilities to make an order.
Max watched continously as he wired across obstacles and ran up to a ramp and leaped into the air for sometime until he inevitably stick the landing in a big splash in the nearby waterpool. This however was not his final move as Max glanced at the water surface that he didn't surface yet, instead he moved under the water as skillful as sea snake, and with time he was already at the end (appearing to land again) and he ran, breathing greatly ever so.
At the end of the track finishing off at about two minutes and twelve seconds was a new record beating about 10 seconds earlier than his other records that stay up there on the leader board. The soldiers and staff who stood by and watched the whole event unfolded applauded. It had two months of training and he had succeeded.
At lunch, at a tent area serving refreshments, Ben had a go on the food. He was done for the day. The other band of teams tried in the event. He could eat, drink, and relax.
You were good out there, Max would say. Ben turned around his mouth stuffed with a sandwich. Max laughed. Ben didn't know what to say, yet Max found it funny. My name's Max, he said and extended his hand to Ben. Ben unwittingly and unknowingly took his hand, shook it, and soon found out who Max truly is with just small talk and light gestures, they had a bonding going on.
Just as Max remembered that day the Director.
"So," he smoothed out his throat, "I'm sure you have THINGS you want to talk about." The Director glanced at the bag, which was on the ground where Max left it (while he was seated and waited for the Director).
Max glanced back at it too, following the Director's eyes and back. "There..." he wanted to speak.
"Come," the Director said. "We'll talk somewhere there aren't eyes everywhere." The Director's eyes seemingly looking in the dark and into an area of buildings that wasn't part of the secured area.
"There'll do," he said once again.