Welcome to Gaia! ::

1.


Live your life.

That alone is hard enough - even if you don't have expectations or bother digging beneath the surface for greater truths.

I'm not saying that just living your life couldn't make you happy, or that it was a bad thing. But no matter where I've gone so far, I always saw so many empty people that had forgotten what it meant to stand still, or never even learned to. Stand still, if only for a second, and bethink where you come from, where you are standing, where you might go.

In this world, in this city especially, that feeling of emptiness was omnipresent, and it tugged at my heart the moment I opened my eyes for the first time - only that then I didn't know the growing void in those peoples' souls had another reason than only the everyday requirements a high-tech era gives birth to alone. A whole culture had begun rotting, the process beginning at its written roots.

If I learned something during this mission? Well, I was reminded of a very old lecture:

Take nothing for granted. Not a single day.

And it doesn't matter if you're human. Or not.






1.1


The leather was of a creamy ivory, and looked soft, so soft, that you wished for nothing more but to reach out and run your fingers over it. The way it formed gentle waves, with a round button here and there, holding it down, made you want to touch it, use your hand to test how firm the stuffing beneath was. All in all, it looked unbelievably inviting. Perfect for a sweet slumber - only that this leather was not made to offer some rest, as it ran along the four walls of a nearly empty room that was not larger than five steps of a grown man.

On a low bench to the right, a woman sat with her torso bent forwards, unmoving, clad in a straight jacket, basic pants and slippers. Strands of messy dark blue hair, reaching down a hand length below her shoulders, hid the good part of her face, yet a glimpse of skin revealed her paleness. That - and the oversized ears, batlike, that stuck out and refused to be veiled.
The voices of different persons made their osmotic way through the door only in form of muffled buzzing. But following the traces, you would eventually witness the conversation between a man and a woman, him holding an electronic notepad, her staring at him with narrowed eyes, as if she was anxious to miss a word.

"Yes, she is calm now. Even though the last dose must've worn off three hours ago. But like I said, her reaction to our standard treatment in cases of dissociation is quite...uncommon." He almost cringed when pressing out the last word, obviously in loss for any better explanation. She took his pad without further comment and used the touch screen to flip through several pages that included charts, which caused her to c**k a brow:

"Please tell me one of our rookies got his hands on this..." When he showed a forced grin, she snorted and went on: "This is impossible. The higher the dose, the more pissed she was...fighting three male nurses...broken nose, concussion, tons of heavy bruises until...what is this? A seizure?"

"Yeah. We first thought we might've overdone it...but after a complete check including a brain scan we found nothing unusual, therefore I think it was an episode where that other persona tried to gain control."

"So, a split for sure then?" He nodded. "Do we know anything about the other identity?"

Here, he blushed. "No but..."

"What?"

"Well, the other self is, as you can see from the report, extremely violent...and...scary."

"Scary?" She gave him an amused look.

"It...it's hard to explain, but her whole...being was like a threat...menacing...as if she was taking her strength from far away. - Ask the nurses," he added, scratching his head, but the woman simply turned towards the door, where she pressed keys of a control panel above which a small high-resolution screen read Ophelia Lecaley - 04285f. "Less online fantasy games, Turner, more medical books - and how's your publication for the Psycosom Monthly coming along? Also...I beg you to skip that explanation when Davidson stops by at four."

"Yes, ma'am." He followed her movements, then looked up when a panel at the door slid open to reveal thick glass through which they had a good view on the patient that still hadn't moved an inch. In addition, the screen was divided into four areas to show the woman up close. Turner stared at her half hidden profile, seemingly transfixed: It was hard to believe that this woman with her tousled, dark brown hair had raged like a fury some hours ago, occasionally clutching her head, her face contorted in pain. On the screen, he thought to see her eyeballs moving behind closed lids.


Those brain ripping stabs and the dizziness had threatened to burst her head to overthrow every theory they had created about how it would be, switching worlds to replace your alter ego - the moment of awakening. She still didn't fully understand the magic behind it, that wasn't her métier, therefore, she couldn't grasp the how, but the consequences, especially that for the soul, she had seen coming. Only that it had effectively hurt a lot more than expected.
Still tired from fighting the drug cocktail, she patiently waited until the slide show of blurred staccato images from her memory stopped: Dreamlike, she had watched herself writhing and screaming, trying hard to get some order into the tormenting chaos going on inside. In hindsight, she knew it was unnecessary to beat up those attendants, but in that moment they had offered themselves as the perfect objects to abreact some of her agony. Her temples were still throbbing, and she hoped that no damage was done to that other woman, who was her. Only not.

Suddenly, something made those two bat ears twitch ever so slightly. Two new voices had joined the mass outside her cell. Two voices she knew.


"What do you mean, she's transfered to another institute?" The woman from before asked a new man that stood next to one of her nurses. He wasn't much taller than she was, clad in gray dress pants and tie, green shirt. His dark skinned hands were loosely intertwined in front of his chest, and an apologetic smile lay on his lips. "I see that this comes unexpected", he began, and the patch of beard on his chin that actually was braided wobbled with each word, while his slightly slitted eyes were hefted on hers in a fairly non-chalant way. "But I'm sure you understand: It was Ms. Lecaley's aunt who decided to have her niece brought to our private facility. I am in no way saying the young woman would not be taken care of properly under your eyes." The doctor only stared at him, so he went on: "Yet, of course we follow the wishes of the patient's family, don't we?"

"A well paying family, I take it", the doctor mumbled, then added, "I want to talk to your supervisor", before she turned around to look at the ward's counter that lay at the end of the aisle, therefore she missed the man's surprised, somewhat offended expression: How the hell could she assume he was not the new attending physician?

"Is that him?"

"...hm." He nodded and watched her walking away.

"Oh and: The room stays close until further notice!"

He sighed and grimassed, but kept his mouth shut when he noticed an amused smile on the nurse's face who was still standing beside him. He saw that, when the female doctor arrived at the counter, a tall man surpassing her by almost a full foot turned towards her, smiling from ear to ear while listening to what obviously was a variety of complaints and questions. His bluish-black, spiky hair was combed out of his face, and mismatched eyes - one white, one black - twinkled happily, but she didn't even seem to notice that extraordinary feature, that strangely fit the ensemble of white dress shirt, dark vest and suit. The discussion didn't take longer than a minute, and after the doctor had seen some notes, she gave up: Her jaw worked in anger when she told the nurse in the distance to open the door, using a sloppy hand gesture to give her okay.

"Please, go ahead", the fancy bearded man said, stepping aside so the nurse could enter the right code.

Inside, the blue haired woman grinned.

A moment later, she was led down the aisle, her head still lowered until another patient approached them: He was all flesh and bones, with filthy blonde hair and a nervous twitching around his bulging eyes. He looked from left to right, biting his nails, although on most fingers there was nothing anymore to bite on. "Y-you can go, yes? That's good...good." He tried to smile but failed in that it looked like a spastic reflex. The nurse wanted to put a hand on his shoulder to guide him back but stopped when she heard a calm, raspy "It's okay" coming from the woman who was still wearing the straight jacket.

"You d-don't belong 'ere...so t'is good ye c-c-can go." The haggard man giggled, then leaned in, admiring her big ears that where in fact translucent at their tips. "I know what you are", he whispered. "You're an elf. An elf!"

"An elf? Thanks a lot."

She didn't sound angry, yet her answer made the male patient perform hectic gestures, eager to form an apology. All the while, the woman tilted her head upwards to look up at the her new doctor with the bi-colored eyes. There was an intensity in her expression that finally drew
his attention, and even though he showed no visible reaction, a not so innocent, rather dark smirk played around the corners of her mouth.

"Siren", she whispered.

"Huh, what?" The other patient stopped mumbling apologies for hurting her feelings, and he stopped talking altogether when the woman looked back at him from under her lashes: Eyes of golden amber made him freeze on the spot, when she answered:

"I'm a Siren."