Chapter 83 — Our Day
That morning, Ethan turned into the familiar street corner.
After getting out of the car, he looked toward Rayne Clinic, and his steps unconsciously slowed.
At first glance, the clinic's exterior hadn't changed much.
But near the street-facing entrance, a transparent glass vestibule had appeared out of nowhere.
Originally, you could push the door and walk straight into the clinic.
Now, you first had to enter the vestibule before reaching the original door.
Standing quietly outside the outer door was a man.
He wore casual clothes, hands resting naturally in front of him. He glanced around occasionally, as if he had been waiting there for some time.
When he saw Ethan, he stepped forward.
"Doctor Rayne. The security upgrade for your clinic has been completed. I'm here to briefly explain how everything works."
He turned and gestured toward the outermost door.
"This is the external security door. It opens with a key and a six-digit passcode. During normal business hours it remains unlocked—it mainly serves as a buffer."
"From either inside or outside, the door can also be manually locked."
The man demonstrated as he spoke.
"In emergency situations, it can also be locked from the clinic's control panel. Once locked, the security level immediately changes."
Ethan pushed the door.
The hinges moved slowly, carrying a heavy resistance.
It wasn't just the weight of a normal door—it felt like an entire steel structure sealed inside.
"…Am I entering a clinic," Ethan muttered, "or a bank vault?"
The man smiled faintly and continued guiding him inside.
---
The Security System:
In the center of the vestibule, along the walls and ceiling, ran a raised circular structure.
A low, steady hum filled the glass space, barely audible.
"This is a 24-hour automatic metal detector. If anything unusual is detected, it immediately triggers an alarm. Both the reception desk and your office will receive alerts."
Ethan nodded and walked through.
A small indicator light flickered beside him, then quickly dimmed—like a brief confirmation that he had passed inspection.
At the inner end of the vestibule stood the original clinic door.
The technician swiped a card, then helped Ethan register his fingerprint.
"This door now requires card access and fingerprint verification."
"You can choose dual verification or single verification."
"If neither card nor fingerprint is used, it can only be opened remotely by the front desk or your office. Otherwise visitors must ring the doorbell."
"A camera has been installed outside the entrance. The surveillance feed now runs simultaneously to the reception desk and your office."
Ethan followed his gaze.
Sure enough, a small, nearly invisible camera sat above the doorway.
Once inside, the man pointed to a discreet panel hidden beneath the reception desk.
A row of extremely subtle physical switches was embedded there.
"This is the emergency control area. Your office has an identical set."
"If necessary, you can lock down every door with one button—including the outer security door and this main door."
Ethan stopped and slowly looked around the clinic interior.
The original transparent glass partitions had all been replaced.
Now they were one-way bulletproof glass.
From his side, everything looked normal.
But looking inward, he saw only a faint reflection of himself and the lights.
The treatment area beyond was completely concealed.
The structure still looked like the same clinic—
But its skeleton had been entirely replaced.
The man quietly finished his explanation.
Then he placed the keys and access card on the reception desk and silently left.
Ethan walked alone to the center of the clinic and slowly turned in a circle.
How effective this setup would be against people… he wasn't sure yet.
But if the apocalypse ever happened, this place would probably be excellent for defending against zombies.
So this was how wealthy people created a sense of security—
They simply turned wherever they stayed into a pre-built apocalypse fortress.
---
Meanwhile…
🎵 You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
🎵 You make me happy when skies are gray
🎵 You'll never know, dear, how much I love you
🎵 Please don't take my sunshine away…
In a general hospital somewhere, William Hill lay in his bed, drifting in and out of consciousness.
In his mind, the song his mother used to sing when he was little echoed again and again.
The melody was fragmented—
But strangely clear.
---
Outside the Hospital Room
In the corridor, Randall spoke quietly with the doctor.
The doctor's voice was calm.
"…Multiple organ failure is like a dam beginning to crack. At first it's just a few small fractures. But they multiply… until the entire structure collapses."
Randall instinctively shook his head.
"I don't understand. Last night we were laughing. He even played the piano."
The doctor sighed softly.
"I know. I'm very sorry."
Randall's voice tightened.
"He looked… fine."
"I'm sorry," the doctor repeated quietly. "At this stage, we truly can't find a reasonable medical explanation."
"To be honest, the fact that you managed to finish this trip together… was already something of a miracle."
"But our trip just started," Randall said helplessly.
"We haven't even seen the ducks yet."
"The ones he talked about. The ducks that cross the road by themselves."
The doctor opened his mouth—
But in the end he only forced a faint smile and said nothing.
Randall seemed to come back to himself.
He spoke quietly now, as if comforting the doctor—or perhaps forcing himself to accept reality.
"Alright… I can handle it."
"I said I could. I'll be fine. I can do this."
He lifted his head.
"I want to take him home. He'll be more comfortable there."
Then he asked softly,
"Doctor… can he still fly?"
The doctor slowly shook his head.
"Mr. Pearson… I'm sorry. In his current condition, he likely has only a few hours left—at most a day."
Randall immediately protested.
"No. That's not possible."
"He still has months. We're waiting for the regulatory agency to approve an experimental drug."
"His organs are failing rapidly—especially his heart," the doctor replied gently, though his tone left no room for argument.
"I've already spoken with his attending physician. Mr. Pearson, I must be honest with you—at this point, palliative care is the most appropriate option."
Randall froze, unable to process the words.
A nurse handed over several documents.
The doctor asked quietly,
"I need to confirm—are you his medical decision proxy?"
Randall nodded mechanically.
"The standard hospice protocol is comfort care," the doctor continued.
"Maximum pain management. No intubation. No cardiopulmonary resuscitation."
The doctor's voice seemed to drift further and further away.
Randall stood there, nodding and signing the forms.
His hand was steady—
Steady in a way that didn't resemble someone who had just been officially told that his father was about to die.
---
After signing, Randall walked down the corridor.
The hospice ward was at the end of the hallway.
It was quieter there.
Not quiet like a hospital—
But like a place reserved in advance for farewell.
As he reached a corner, he heard a familiar voice.
"…The dosage on this pain pump needs to be reassessed."
Randall instinctively looked up.
The other person saw him at the same moment.
Both of them froze.
"…Mr. Pearson?"
"…Dr. Mason?"
---
Inside the Room
William lay half-turned on the hospital bed.
A white pillow supported his increasingly thin face.
The oxygen tube rested against his nostrils.
His breathing was weak—but stubbornly rhythmic.
Randall sat beside the bed.
His hands trembled slightly on his knees.
He was still trying to process everything he had just heard, but no matter how many times he replayed the words in his mind, he couldn't truly accept them.
William slowly opened his eyes.
Randall immediately forced himself to sound calm.
"You should rest. I already spoke with the doctor."
He hesitated, still struggling with the decision forming in his mind.
"I was thinking… maybe I should call Beth and have them come here."
"Or maybe we could just drive home."
"Either way… in a few hours you'll be holding your granddaughters again."
William gently shook his head.
"Don't call them."
"Last night before bed, I already said goodbye to them."
"I don't want them to remember me lying in a hospital bed."
"I want them to remember me healthy."
He smiled softly, changing the subject.
"You showing up and knocking on my door that day… that was something."
Randall chuckled despite himself.
"Please don't remind me about that."
William looked at him, his voice low and steady.
"My son… you deserve all of this."
"The beautiful life you have now—you fought for it. You earned it."
He paused for a moment before continuing quietly.
"My whole life… I've been caught between almost and could have been."
"A lot of people would say that's tragic."
"But I don't see it that way."
"Because the two best things in my life…"
"One appeared at the very beginning of it."
"And the other is sitting beside me at the very end."
"If I can say that honestly… then my life has already been enough."
Randall sat perfectly straight.
But he looked as stiff as a statue.
Behind the black-framed glasses, his eyes were red, the moisture still clinging there.
Suddenly—
He couldn't sit still any longer.
Randall stood up abruptly and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry."
"I just made a decision."
He looked down at his father.
"We still have one last place to go."
---
Late Night
A car sped down the highway.
Headlights tore open the darkness while the dashboard light illuminated Randall's tense expression.
When they first left, William had sat in the passenger seat.
Now he was lying across the back seat.
His head rested against a pillow.
His breathing was faint—but he was still conscious.
"Where are you taking me?" William asked softly.
Randall gripped the steering wheel without turning around.
"To a place…"
"A place where a miracle might happen."
---