"How are you doing today?" 

Kenneth stared down at his hands and scowled at the tone of the bot's overly cheery voice. It seemed the consultation bots and the meal delivery bots had the same vocabulator, or at least the same voice program. Happy, with no room for anything else. His fingers twisted together and he peeked up at the chair opposite him, now occupied by his mother.

Her thin lips were twisted into another one of those wicked smiles. She didn't care. I know that much. She's just putting up a front because we're probably being filmed right now, and she doesn't want them to know how horrible she really is.

He gripped his hands together and looked down again, his leg swinging mildly against the side of the bed. He didn't want to cough into the silent air, but he could feel the pain welling up into his chest.

"I'm doing alright," his mother said. He tried not to flinch at the sickly sweet tone.

The bots servo motors whirred and Kenneth watched it's shadow turn his way on the floor.

"How about you?"

He lifted his head an inch or so, just to peer up at it through his stringy curls. Parting chapped lips, Kenneth coughed lightly. "I'm okay," he lied. His eyes cut to his mother briefly and then snapped away when she caught his gaze.

Tightening his fisted up hands in his lap, he ducked his dead down more and faked a cough to cover it up. Deep down, his chest burned slightly and he ignored the pain. It wouldn't go away until this was all over. I hope, at least. Just push through. 

"Glad to hear it! I will now proceed with the require consultation material. Kenneth Dekker, your charts show that you will require a gain of at least ten pounds before undergoing the operation. Your dietary intake will be upped for this purpose. If this cannot be achieved by choice, are you willing to subject yourself to a feeding tube?"

Kenneth bowed his head and nodded. It might be easier, all things considered. He glanced down at the spot where the half-full tray had sat an hour or two earlier. They'd already taken it and he could still feel the disappointment the bots had reeked of as they removed all the wasted food. He couldn't eat it. 

His fingers dug into his own skin. I'm not that strong...I'm sorry.

"Thank you! Mrs. Dekker, do you have any questions about the operation?"

Glancing up at his mother, Kenneth watched her lift her head, scratching under her chin as she gazed around the room.

"I don't believe I do. I only want to make sure my son will be healthy. Will you be using synthetic lungs, or a living transplant? And what's the lifespan of a synthetic pair of lungs?"

Trying not to gag at her sickly sweet tone, Kenneth hunched his shoulders forward and coughed. He wheezed through the respirator. Those were good questions, but did they have to come from her? Plus, what did it matter? If he got ten years or fifty it would at least be time he could be up and out of the hospital away from her. Time he was free. He'd take any amount.

It doesn't matter, just get this over with already. Gritting his teeth mildly, Kenneth coughed to the side and his grip loosened a little as he pressed a hand to his chest. His fingers trembled in the fabric. He needed out of this room. His eyes skimmed the floor, but he didn't move, frozen where he was. Just a few more moments and it would be over, right? Ten minutes. He could wait ten minutes.

Just...count the seconds. Something. Anything.

"We will be providing synthetic lungs as they are our cheapest option and possess a longer life span than living lungs. There will also be low risk of rejection," the bot droned. The spinning of it's gears drowned out any other sound in the room and Kenneth swung his leg a little harder, trying to work up the energy to move. 

I can't actually leave the room on my own. What if I tell them I need the restroom? Or just...leave and slip inside. They'll see me. She'll stop me and ask where I'm going, might even touch me.

Chest tightening, Kenneth swallowed hard at the knot inside his throat. His fingers fell from his hospital gown to his arm and he gripped it tight, his fingernails digging into his thin flabby skin. 

"What other risks are associated with this kind of surgery and who will be performing it?" His mother shifted a little closer and Kenneth tried not to recoil at feeling her presences nearing him. He shifted back instead and tried to stop the swinging of his leg. It started back up unconsciously after a moment, though, and he just ducked his head lower.

Get it over with, please. All of you leave.

The AC was roar in the background. His heart was pounding in his ears. He inhaled and exhaled, feeling pain spike through his chest. It was like last time, except he didn't feel dizzy or lightheaded yet. Low chance of passing out. Maybe if I hold my breath? Kenneth shook his head mentally and kept still outwardly. No. If I pass out they'll get all worried, it might set things back. We have to get this over with. Five more minutes, right? How long has it been?

He scanned the room for a clock as best he could with his eyes shielded behind his bedraggled curls. None was in his sight so he peered over at the headset. He couldn't see the time stamp from where he was sitting, though. His fingers twitched. If only he could drag the headset over his head and let them talk. He could slide into blissful unawareness of their presence in his room and not have to listen.

She'd still be there, though. Free to watch him as he played. He shivered and tightened his grip on his arm. No, just get through it.

The pain in his chest came with every beat of his heart. It spiked up through his arm and towards the other side of his chest. He pressed his arm tighter over his chest. They were still talking. Something about risks, but he'd tuned them out already. Their voices were just whispers in the din of the ambient noise. Air rushing around his head, cold and violent against his thin skin. The whirring of motors clicking ominously. Kenneth's leg swung faster, brushing into the sheets hanging off the bottom of the bed. He felt his bare heel bump against the frigid metal underneath the bed and froze for a moment.

There was no sound, but the feeling of the cold spread over his whole body in a burst of goosebumps. He shivered and stayed still.

"Kenneth?"

Her voice cut through the rush of noise and Kenneth stiffened. He didn't look up.

"The bot would like to know if you have any questions, dear?"

Dear. She doesn't get to call me that. He winced and shook his head. "No. No questions."

"Thank you for your time! We will have a second consultation one week from today to reassess your progress and make necessary adjustments. Have a good day."

A click and a loud whirr. The bot turned and left the room, a draft of cold air following it out before billowing into a wave of frigid silence. Kenneth stared at the floor and shivered slightly. I can sit back on the bed. Just move. His limbs refused and he stayed there.

A rustle of fabric and he heard someone stand. His eyes flickered up and he watched through a haze of ginger hair as his mother rose from her chair.

"You should rest," she said. Her tone had lost the sickly sweetness, but that fake smile remained. Her hand reached out and Kenneth flinched back, finally pulling back onto the bed. He nodded and pressed his lips together tight, barely ducking her initial touch as he slid under the sheets and curled over.

Her fingers planted themselves on his back anyway and he froze, his breath catching in his throat. 

"I'll be back later," she stated plainly, giving him a soft pat. Her steps receeded from the room a moment later.

The sting of her touch lignered on his skin, though. Kenneth tugged the blanket tight around his shoulders and shivered, yet the feeling didn't fade. Like claws of ice digging into his skin. He ducked his head under the covers and let out a heavy breath, choking on a restrained sob as it slipped out and turned into a deep bout of coughing. Shoulders hunching up, he sank into the thin pillow and mattress. 

The urge to cry welled up inside of him, but he bit his lip and kept silent. They couldn't see him under the covers, yet they might still be watching. Maybe there was no one, maybe it was a figment of his imagination, or maybe they were watching. Who knew, but they wouldn't see him cry. He swallowed it back and then sat up quickly, grabbing the headset.

I can disappear in here. There might not be anything to do, but just for a few. He stared down at the grey headset, his fingers trembling. The knot made it hard to breathe but he sucked in each frigid dry breath the respirator provided for several seconds before pulling the headset over his head.

Pressing the power button, he watched the screen come on. It was late afternoon by the time stamp in the corner and he watched the seconds tick away on the counter as he waited for it to load up. Eventually, the screen brightened to the home screen. Kenneth glanced around it. Should I actually log in? There's nothing there... He paused, spotting the red notification dot above his DM box. Frowning, he navigated over to it with his finger, the home screen avatar tracking his moments.

He clicked the box and it opened, a virtual keyboard appearing before his avatar's hands. 

Byrd. 

It was her gamertag all right. There was no mistaking the name after all, and it looked like she'd sent him two unread messages in the past hour.

Kenneth clicked on her name and and stared down at the messages.

B: Hey

B: Just wanted to see how you were doing...tho I realize it hasn't been long, so this might be weird. Oops.

Kenneth set his hands to the keyboard and then drew them away again. He looked down a bit. She was supposed to be able to get back to her life, so why is she messaging me? His hands rested in his avatars lap and he twisted them together. I suppose. I dunno. If I don't answer, though, what will she think? His lips compressed and he swallowed, feeling the pain in his chest rise through the virtual world and well up inside is avatar. The need to cry came with it and he choked it back before glancing dully up at her words.

Why does she even care? He didn't know, but he set his hands to the keyboard anyway. She did care, that much was obvious. Likely wouldn't stop caring. It just didn't seem to be in her personality. She cared about David and Naomi. I did too, but she cared deeper. She treated them like they were real, not just some random NPC's we met on a quest, and now she wants to know how I'm doing.

He removed his hands again and shook his head. He couldn't message her back and rope her into his problems. As much as he wanted to jot it all down in the message box, he couldn't just ant about his mother, about his life, everything welling up to a head inside his chest. That wasn't her problem. It was his. 

He grit his teeth and exited the message box. She'd probably see that he'd read the messages and assume he didn't want to talk. It was a lie, but he couldn't talk to her now. Never. I can't talk to her ever again. She'll pry, it's just how she is. A product of her care, I suppose.

Closing out the DM's, Kenneth touched the power button and took off the headset. He dropped it onto his bed and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. A warm tear slid down his warm cheek and he hiccuped softly. His fingers worked into the blanket, drawing it back up to his chin. Don't cry. Not now.

His teeth hurt but he tightened his jaw even more and steeled himself against a tirade of more tears. Sniffling, he let the dry air of the respirator fill his lungs and he exhaled slowly until some of the pressure inside his chest released. The pain still remained, dull and throbbing, but the knot loosened enough for him to breathe.

The room was silent. He stared at the door, shaded under the harsh fluorescent lights. His eyelids drooped mildly. One person in the whole world cared about him. One person.

"Why?"