The choice for Semmelweis each morning is, in itself, rather simple: to awaken or not.
And if she does choose to get up, the first thought in her mind would prescribe just what kind of "awakening" today will bring.
There are three such awakenings for her. The first and best is one that launches her rapidly into action.
A thought, sometimes brought up from her dreams, that reveals an unconsidered path or a fresh view of an older task.
If she is lucky, she might uncover a new clue, like finding the missing piece to a long forgotten puzzle.
The second is decidedly less pleasant. It comes as a gripping anxiety that clutches hard in her chest, reminding her in dramatic fashion that she is still alive, whether she likes it or not.
As for the third ...
Emil: Captain, you're finally awake! Apparently, you've been sleeping for nearly 14 hours.
Semmelweis sits up from the bed. Her nightmares fading like distant echoes absorbed into the sterile walls around her.
Emil stands, cradling a brown paper bag in his left arm. Its contents—nearly spilling out—show themselves to be otherwise unremarkable groceries.
Each step he takes is accompanied by the clinking of bottles.
Semmelweis: Are you about to throw a party here?
Emil: Pretty much.
Semmelweis: I advise you to reconsider.
Emil: Go ahead, ask me to leave, but you ought to know I'm not that easy to get rid of.
Emil: Laplace isn't exactly just around the block. I thought I'd bring as many supplies as I could.
Emil: You're recovering quite well, Captain! Seems like you've managed to pass the first test. They haven't labelled you a "Dangerous Patient." You should be in the clear now that you've passed the rejection phase after your transformation.
Semmelweis: It's only just begun. I've been battling headaches and drifting in and out of consciousness. When I wake, "Fishbowl Face" permits me only to stare up at the ceiling.
Emil: "Fishbowl Face"?
Semmelweis: The individual responsible for my health. I have, as yet, resisted the urge to ask if that helmet makes her neck crooked.
Emil: If you want to survive, you're going to have to listen to the doctor's orders, Captain. No two-ways about it. The Foundation needs you.
Semmelweis: I know that. Besides, these present restrictions have made me appreciate the little joys of life all the more.
Semmelweis grabs a bottled water from Emil's bag and takes a long, gulping drink from it, catching Emil looking over at her with a raised eyebrow.
Semmelweis: You have some thoughts on my appearance?
Emil: Oh, no, not at all. But ... how can I put it? It's like seeing glimpses of the old you beneath a more savage exterior.
Emil: I mean, I can't remember the last time I saw you smile.
Semmelweis: It has never been my habit to smile without reason.
Emil: No, but this is different. You're still you, but there is a completely different persona too. It's a little strange, is all.
Semmelweis: I think perhaps you're just misremembering this "old me."
Emil shakes his head, hiding the curve of an expectant grin.
Emil: You know, they reassigned me after the "Storm." I'm a logistics driver now.
Semmelweis: A driver?
Emil: Yeah, I get the feeling they didn't think too highly of my work at the Foundation.
Emil: So I made a few mistakes, forgot to adjust my comms on a mission or two. Maybe announced our position on a public channel, nothing major!
Emil: But hey, I should just stick to what I know best—working on cases with you, Captain.
Semmelweis: I thought you didn't care for work that made you perspire.
Emil: Doesn't matter. It's what I'm good at! That and driving ... Oh, by the way, my driving assessment is next week. I've been cramming all the names and routes every chance I get.
Emil: Agh, maybe all that recklessness is why the Foundation called me back after the "Storm," so I could return to doing what I'm good at—playing the game.
Semmelweis: You mean, like sneaking in past visiting hours to visit a high-profile patient?
Emil: It's not sneaking! I gave a heads-up to the Laplace staff who usually ride with me.
Emil: Besides, why would the Foundation even care about the movements of a logistics driver? All I do is chauffeur our staff around, besides a few odd occasions where I'm called to "cooperate."
Emil: Sure, I don't always play by the rules, but haven't I delivered results? Especially with driving.
Semmelweis: If you keep being as clueless as you are now, whatever happens next will be on you, Emil.
Emil: Thanks, Captain, duly noted.
Emil: Anyway, I learned a lot under your command in the past, and I'm still committed to doing my job well, especially when it comes to your health, Captain.
Emil: Anyway, I see it's time for your check-up—remember to follow the doctor's advice and eat healthy!
Semmelweis: I make no promises. I cannot stand the very idea of health foods; they go against my dietary beliefs.
Semmelweis arrives punctually, as usual.
"Fishbowl Face" fidgets with her headgear as she speaks, a tinge of worry, perhaps.
She speaks haltingly, bouncing over each word.
"Fishbowl Face": Did you sleep well last night?
Semmelweis: No. The screams returned, and in my nightmares, I was killing people.
Semmelweis: But for now, the monster is still hiding under the bed. It could be much worse.
"Fishbowl Face": The days ahead will be tougher. Each new episode will begin soon after the last one ends.
"Fishbowl Face": Firstly, you should take your blood supplements on time. While they aren't a replacement for real blood—
Semmelweis: —They are nothing like blood! If you will pardon me, Doctor. I would prefer to spare my stomach.
"Fishbowl Face": You've been abstaining from blood for forty-eight days now.
Semmelweis: Yes, life is ever a mix of hardships and misfortunes, isn't it? Will I be permitted to leave soon?
"Fishbowl Face": The Timekeeper has already signed your discharge papers. Someone will be in touch with you soon.
"Fishbowl Face": However, your photo-sensitivity has gotten markedly worse. You should be careful to avoid any exposure to sunlight at all.
"Fishbowl Face": And about the burns, we can't let that happen again. Do you remember my instructions?
Semmelweis raises her hand to brush her thick, long hair aside, covering the scars on her neck.
Semmelweis: Yes, of course.
"Fishbowl Face": Also, remember to take the injections I gave you. If you continue to abstain, it will make your days easier.
"Fishbowl Face": Best-case scenario is that it will satisfy your thirst for a while; however, in the worst case, it might make the beast more eager for power and control.
Semmelweis: And is there any way to be rid entirely of this vampirism?
"Fishbowl Face": Oh! Here we go again! It's the same old thing from every patient.
"Fishbowl Face": You can't stand the smallest amount of uncertainty; the diagnosis must be definitive; the condition has to be curable—
"Fishbowl Face": Sometimes there is no easy answer, and it has nothing to do with the complexity of the cause or the limitations of our profession.
"Fishbowl Face": We may never be able to determine a permanent solution to your condition. There simply might not be one.
"Fishbowl Face": But we're still trying. We've made efforts to find solutions with all the technology available to us.
"Fishbowl Face": If there were to be a way to make your blood repair itself, theoretically, you could function without needing to siphon new human blood.
"Fishbowl Face": The greatest discoveries in human history have often come as accidents. It could be that your solution is just under our noses, so to speak.
Semmelweis: I hope that you are right.
Her room is strange now, absent both visitors and voices, and bathed in sterile, cold light. She returns to the memory of her first arrival, how she felt she had stepped into a maze of mirrors by mistake.
Only now, when she looks into those "mirrors," there is no reflection there to meet her. Only cascading emptiness, like she isn't there at all.
In some way, it makes her more self-conscious than ever before, as though she were projected onto every space without a mirror instead. It makes her feel unclean.
The underlying principle behind it is unclear, but it feels as though it was something gnawing at her from the outside, covering her from head-to-toe. A second skin she longs to rub off.
It hasn't been very long since the first symptoms appeared. That instinctive thirst, followed by a surge of impulses.
They have grown. Now she can scarcely walk past a new face without suppressing the urges inside her.
She felt them even when she awoke this very morning, looking out at Emil. His earnestness only adding to her exhaustion.
She will not be able to keep another drop of that bottled water down. She thirsts for blood, fresh and flowing.
Semmelweis: Did I escape transformation only to face a lifetime hidden in the shadows? Or will I die of thirst before all else?
Her insistence on abstaining from blood begins to feel all the more nonsensical. Perhaps, she reasons, it is only that she does not want the scrutiny—the suspicion that would come with it.
Her reasons are never a matter of principle. She is a woman of practicality.
If she has any principle at all, it is this: when she says something, she means it—no wavering, no alterations, no compromise.
Semmelweis: Tsk, it's always something, isn't it?
She folds the health report into her pocket, where her communicator has begun to vibrate.
Semmelweis: This is Semmelweis.
Female Foundation Staff: Hello, Miss Semmelweis. We understand you've received your discharge notice, is that correct?
Semmelweis: Correct. May I ask when will I be able to officially begin my work?
Female Foundation Staff: Actually, that's why I'm calling. Before we get into details, I need to confirm with you about your rest days.
