I’ve long since lost track of where we are, though I can feel Minerva logging every turn we take. I knew hospitals were big, but not this big. We pretty much walked straight through the triad, then past hallways upon hallways of patient rooms, research labs, and staff areas. Whoever the InDoctor is, they’re either some sort of highly specialized doctor, or they really do not want patients. Ms. Plasata turns right again.

  Maybe both are true.

  “I’m truly sorry for the long walk, Mir Losha,” the secretary says for the hundredth (sixth, Minerva corrects) time.

  “It’s fine.”

  Frankly, the more off-putting thing is that she keeps referring to me so formally. “Mir” is the neutral title to refer to someone formally, a combination of “Mister” and “Miss.” Like the latter titles, it’s usually reserved for adults. I’m actually kind of impressed that she even knew to use the correct title for me; in the grand scheme of things, “Mir” was only adopted as a formal title relatively recently, back in 2092. Not to mention its lack of use in everyday vernacular, thanks to all the “traditional” folks still kicking and screaming and hearty as ever.

  Or she prompted the hive about it, Minerva comments.

  Fair enough. Ms. Plasata takes a left, and another left.

  ?????

  I’m just about to ask if we’re still even in the hospital complex when the secretary finally, and rather abruptly, halts in front of a door. Absent context, it looks like a normal patient room; it’s just another door in this hallway, not even at the end of the corridor. There’s nothing to mark its appearance, besides the name plate above the fog-tinted glass window at eye level: “Dr. Ocavey” is all it reads. No title or qualifications.

  My guide turns to face the door, hand raised as if to knock. Then, thinking better of it, she lowers her hand and simply waits. She backs up to the wall across from it, giving me line of sight to the wall adjacent to the door. There’s a small hole punched somewhat violently into the wall about a yard from the right side of the frame at waist-level. I decide not to ask Ms. Plasata about it. I join her against the wall, with one door between us. If she notices, she doesn’t let on.

  Minutes tick by painfully slowly. She glances at me apologetically again, letting me briefly see the sweat beading on her forehead. There’s a rustle; she’s adjusting her hair, possibly in hopes of hiding the sweat. Now she’s facing with her side to me, I notice the band of faint blue glowing beneath her blouse, wrapping around her waistline upwards to her chest and down her lower back. It’s nothing ornate; seems to be primarily functional. Medical? Maybe it’s a prosthetic. I can’t see any details, of course, but with how simple the Augment seems, it’s reminiscent of Maya’s arm. There’s a flicker in the corner of my vision.

  Do you overanalyze every person you see?

  What? No, I was just bored.

  Sure. Your cheeks are hot.

  Whatever. I glance around the hallway, trying not to stare at Ms. Plasata. She’s uncomfortable enough as-is. It occurs to me that I haven’t checked at all to make sure I look presentable. Given that the secretary hasn’t even dared to knock on the doctor’s door, they’re probably someone important.

  Mirror the avatar, I’ll help fix your hair.

  Minerva poses for effect to get my attention, then combs her — my — avatar’s hair. I follow, trying to sort out the knots and smooth the frizz that no doubt looks like a bird’s nest. After a minute of wrangling with the last few unruly locks, with partial success, I move on to my shirt. I’m still wearing the running shorts and tank top from yesterday, but there’s not much I can do about that. I smooth out the wrinkles in my top as best I can, trying to brush off the last of the dirt on my side where I hit the ground.

  My efforts are interrupted by a sudden thud, loud enough to echo down the otherwise silent hallway. I jolt, looking up at the source of the noise, which happens to be the door Ms. Plasata was standing beside. From the look on her face, I wasn’t the only one startled. The door has been flung all the way open, embedded into the wall.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  At least that explains the hole.

  “Ms. Plasata!” A scratchy, slightly high-pitched voice calls from inside the room. “My goodness, how long were you waiting out here? Haven’t I told you already that you can just knock?”

  A small, balding man in a white lab coat and comically sized safety goggles pokes his head out of the doorway, looking first to her before finally noticing me. His grey-speckled eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

  “Ah, Mir Losha. I do apologize for keeping you waiting so long,” he says, stepping fully out of his office to face me. “How can I help you today?”

  Behind him, Ms. Plasata stands ramrod straight, looking like she’s about to choke.

  “Er… I was just here to get checked for a concussion,” I reply lamely.

  “Hmm, well, yes yes. Follow me, please!”

  And with that he spins around, marching right back through the doorway. What is it with hospital staff and not waiting for their patients? I offer the secretary what I hope is a reassuring smile as I rush after him; she still looks like she’s seen a ghost. A moment later, I feel a sense of electricity over my skin — probably a security field — and then I’m through and into the hallway beyond.

  The door doesn’t close behind us. After a few seconds of walking down yet another corridor, I remember that the door is still embedded in the wall. Oh well, it’s not my problem, I guess. Despite his short stature, Dr. Ocavey (presumably) walks at a surprisingly fast pace. I almost have to jog to catch up to him.

  Unlike the rest of the hospital, this corridor is entirely plain, a plane of unbroken off-white wallpaper and flourescent lights that feel neither warm nor cold, a perfectly neutral atmosphere that ends up being more confusing than anything else. At some point, I’m fairly certain we begin walking downhill, though the slope is slight.

  Without warning, the doctor freezes in place. It takes me a split-second to realize he’s stopped moving, and I nearly crash into him. He says nothing, not even turning around, standing stock still. I take the hint and do the same, holding my breath and listening for whatever it is he hears.

  Then, as if nothing had happened, he resumes his walking. Eccentric as Dr. Ocavey seems, I half expect him to begin muttering to himself or throwing obscure biotech terms at me. He continues in silence, the only sound the pat-pat of our footsteps on carpet. We definitely cannot be in the hospital anymore; we’ve been walking in a straight line for at least five minutes. Still, I don’t want to break the silence to ask him. Something about this place, a certain formality in the very air. Like I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be, and if I slip up and make one error, I’m done for. This creeping feeling in my spine that whatever I’m about to see, I should never have borne witness to, and once I do there really will be no turning back.

  ?????

  Only Minerva’s superhuman reflexes save me from all but stepping on the doctor this time. Despite the visibly close call, he seems utterly unperturbed. Like the half a dozen times before, he says absolutely nothing, giving no indication of what he might be listening for. Unlike the previous iterations, he actually turns around to face me. He opens his mouth as if to say something, before closing it and simply turning to face the wall to my right.

  I look to where he’s studying the wall intensely. It’s just… a wall. Maybe a secret entrance? I’m not sure why a hospital or a lab would have invisible doorways. Though, if it’s a government secret that would make more sense. Then again, the hallway has been, for the most part, empty and distinctly lacking any and all visible security features.

  Something just entered my radar.

  You have a radar?

  Yes. It’s gone now. Something just barely brushed the edge of my senses. Do not look behind you.

  Wait, why shouldn’t I look behind me? This is getting nerve wracking.

  If I’ve noticed it, I’m sure the doctor has too. Probably has been aware of it for even longer than us, that might be why he kept stopping. If he didn’t turn around, we shouldn’t either.

  Okay. That’s not creepy at all. Y’know what? I’m going to just trust the doctor.

  Is he even a doctor?

  Suddenly he spins around again, walks a few paces further down the hall, before stopping and turning to face the wall again. This time, he actually puts his hand on the wall, pressing lightly. I see a faint ripple spread from his hand, barely perceptible. Then, he motions for me to follow him, and walks straight through the wall.

  Trying to shove away my trepidation, I walk forward to where he stood. The ripples are gone, and it looks just like a normal wall. I refuse to be caught walking straight into a solid wall on the cameras undoubtedly monitoring this place, so instead I opt to poke one finger at it.

  It’s kind of weird; the surface feels almost solid, but there’s a sense that I have authorization, that if I push my finger through, the wall will part around me like the sea to Moses. I press harder, to see if the wall holds. It solidifies momentarily, then my finger passes through the surface without resistance. It’s like passing through a membrane, with the same electrical hum around my hand as the last door I passed through, the one leading into this hallway.

  Well, nothing for it. I step through, plunging into the illusory wall and into a dimly lit room. In front of me, the doctor is waiting impatiently, a foot tapping on the hardwood floor.