Hours passed, dinner came, and Kenneth didn't hear back from the doctors. He picked through his food and left the full tray to one side, now swirling absent circles in the sheets of his bed. He watched the way the fabric dimpled and bounced back after each pass of his finger, fighting back the nausea of stress. After a moment his finger paused as he coughed, pain sparking inside his chest. He closed his eyes, panting and struggling to get his breath back. His hand dropped to one side as he recovered. I don't remember this much of a struggle, he thought, his nose scrunching a little as he coughed again. Dragging his hand up, he pressed it to his chest and wheezed in gently. The frigid oxygen stung his throat and nose as he gulped it down. Cracking his eyes, he turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Despite all his years here, he barely knew what the inside of this room looked like.

Why care? All he needed to escape was the game. His eyes fell to his side where the headset rested in the folds of the blanket. Reaching out, he fumbled it into his hand. I wonder if she's still logged on...he thought. Lifting it, he pulled the device over his head but hesitated at the last second. He set it back down. If the doctors came with news about his mother, he needed to be alert and ready. 

His finger traced the top of the headset still and he stared at the dormant screen inside. If only I had a tablet maybe I could check her GamerTag in the Forums and see if she's online. I could message her I suppose...about the details of the next quest.

A flush of embarrassment washed over his face in a warm tingle as he shifted back to his side. He tried to shake it from his face. I can't just randomly message her. I barely know her. Mentally chiding himself, he picked at the sheets again, rasping gently. He wanted to speak with her, though, just to tell someone what was happening. The urge was welling up to a knot in his chest. He needed someone other than a cold robot to understand his situation and tell him everything would work out, even if they knew it was a lie.

Gritting his teeth a moment, he then relaxed his jaw and sighed. His eyes dulled as he stared at the slowly falling peak he'd made in the sheets. It wasn't enough to distract from the knotted pit in his stomach, though. Whether it was hunger or loneliness, he couldn't determine, but he had a feeling it was a bit of both.

The door slid open, drawing his eyes up. He blinked and watched the nurse bot as it rolled over and collected his tray. Turning, the bot's blue orbs scanned over the readout display beside his bed. Kenneth avoided looking at it himself. Eventually, the bot turned around and rolled out without so much as a word. He let out a softer breath and coughed, his chest tight from holding it. With one hand, he massaged just under his collar bone and stared at the closing door. Bots never spoke unless they had some dire news. They came in, and they came out. Like silent shadows keeping an eye on him. There wasn't a touch of humanity to them other than their simulated humanoid forms and the occasional doctor bot that looked like a bloated nanny. Kenneth couldn't say much for their bedside manner. They probably didn't care enough to develop one. Cheap and efficient. That was the motto of just about everything now, even the medical industry. 

He raised his eyebrows briefly to the irony of it. His fingers twisted the edge of his blanket as he wondered just how they expected to remain cheap and efficient when all anyone ever cared about was money. It was no secret money ran the world, and anything could be bought out. No one really cares unless there's a green piece of paper attached to it, he thought. Maybe that explained why the bots never spoke to him. Maybe you had to pay extra for bedside manner. He let go of the blanket and watched it unfurl and lay almost flat again. Numbness crawled into his veins and he simply let his hand lay there, staring at it for no reason at all. If I had to come up with a motto for this world...something historians would say when they remember these years...Money over matter. Cliche I suppose, but it could work.

The oxygen line clicked and he inhaled quietly. A couple of spots danced on the edge of his vision but they disappeared as the oxygen slowly reached his brain and body. Curling up, Kenneth tugged the blanket to his chin, making sure not to knock off the headset as he shifted. 

Again, the door slid open. His eyes shot up hopefully and rested on the egg-like shape of the doctor bot as it trundled inside. Kenneth still wasn't sure where someone had come up with the design for a humanoid egg on tank treads, but it was probably the cheapest or easiest model in the bin. I wonder if those with money get to pick their model, he thought absently. Then he dragged his mind back into the present. 

"I have news," the bot stated plainly. "The hospital succeeded in contacting your mother. Vivian Dekker agrees to aid you financially, under the stipulation she remains here while you are under care. She has been assigned primary caregiver," the bot droned as it halted a couple of inches from the side of the bed. 

Kenneth's mouth went dry. He tried to muster up the ability to speak and found the air seemingly knocked from him. Gasping in, he gathered what breath he could back into his lungs. Coughing lightly, he pressed himself up onto one elbow as his brow furrowed deeply. "You. Assigned her. C-Caregiver? I-I can take. Care. Of myself," he choked out. A pale chill trickled over his skin like a pack of mice let loose in his veins. He shuddered and sank back down, hugging himself. His eyes turned from the bot, wildly seeking something a way out of the room, even knowing he'd never make it.

The bot stood there cooly and after a moment responded. "You sought her financial aid. We have secured it. The transplant date is set 4/9/2209."

Two weeks. Two weeks with her. The urge to vomit twisted his stomach into a maze of knots and he pressed his lips tight together. Still bile worked it's way into his mouth again as he shivered. Why did I do this? Why? Fresh tears started to well up in his eyes and he barely bit them back. He swallowed the bile, hard, and pressed his own arms tighter around himself.

"Do you require anything further?" the bot asked. 

Kenneth didn't bother to answer. Eventually, it rolled back out of the room, leaving him alone. He glanced around, needing a way out. She'd show up any minute, he knew it. How far had he run from home? He shook his head with a jerk. It didn't matter now; it wasn't far enough. His mother was coming back no matter what he did. He'd asked for her to come. He'd subjected himself to this hell and there was no way out of it. 

He tugged the blanket to his chin and felt something knock against his thigh. His eyes drifted down to the grey casing of the headset. For a moment he stared at it. There was no way he could tell Byrd all of this. They'd only just met. Still, his fingers were pulled towards the headset. He reached out and picked it up in a shaking hand. His breath rasped loudly in his ears, turning to panting after a couple of moments. He brought the headset to his chest and turned it over in his hands. Escape. The word returned to his mind along with the pang of fear that came with it. He couldn't walk out the door. Couldn't get up and move. 

He quickly pulled the headset over his head, trying for a couple of more even breaths to calm his racing heart. He couldn't escape the hospital traditionally, but he wasn't out of options yet. He turned his eyes to the grey screen with bated breath. 

Starting Up...

Exhaling, he watched the world generate but didn't waste the time waiting on the details. Once he could see what was in front of him he started forward, looking around. A small glowing blue outline stood there instead of Byrd, looking around absently. He walked up to it and frowned. She'd logged out. No surprise there, she probably got tired of waiting. He shoved his hands in his pockets, though, and bowed his head. The muscles across his body slowly relaxed and he felt bits of tension vanish into thin air. Looking up, he took in every detail this time. The cracks in the cobblestones. The perfect paint jobs on the trucks standing dormant to one side. Down to the detail of stubble on the chin of an NPC standing not too far away. 

The cold sterile hospital room was gone, and for a little while, his mind drifted away from affairs outside the game. His mother couldn't touch him here. He bowed his head and exhaled. After a moment, he glanced up at Byrd's inactive outline. She was probably out doing something with her family, like dinner. Something normal families got to have. His lips tugged into a frown and he turned away. If she logged out fully the outline would disappear, but either way, there was no point in standing here idle while she was gone. He fished out his map and dropped a pin where they were standing before stuffing it back into his inventory. His eyes rose to the sprawling settlement ahead of him and he lifted his chin a couple of inches. Now seemed as good a time as ever for a little quest hunting.