With a flash of understanding, Vance took a deeper look at the room.
White walls, sterile and undecorated. A pale, matte floor, somewhere between beige and bone. The gentle hum of strange machines echoed softly through the chamber. A single locker leaned against the far wall.
And at the very end—someone was there.
He squinted.
Yes. Lying awkwardly across an office desk, unmoving, was a man. His chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythm. Faint wheezing noises slipped from his slightly parted lips.
Asleep.
Vance chuckled, shaking his head.
No matter the world, ir seemed naps always hit the best in workplaces and learning facilities.
Ares caught his reaction and shot him a curious look. "Mind sharing the joke?"
"Nah," Vance murmured, still smiling.
Ares let it slide with a shrug as they moved forward in measured steps. Balgur, silent and focused, didn't slow. His heavy boots made soft thuds as he crossed the room toward the slumbering figure.
"This is?" Vance asked, eyeing the large coat draped over the man like a blanket.
"Doctor Shrill," Ares muttered. "Quite the moody bastard. Man's obsessed with sleep. I remember once—bad injury, weird symptoms, definitely needed urgent help. We woke him, and I swear, his face looked like he'd murder us just to go back to bed."
Vance raised an eyebrow. Sleep-obsessed doctor? He reassessed the frail-looking man. Not just tired—maybe genuinely addicted to sleep. If that was even a thing.
It reminded him of someone.
Blake.
A mean-looking Texan. Typical white dude. 6'2", built like a brick. They'd met in the army. The guy could sleep anywhere—tanks, ditches, even under live fire. Didn't matter. And still, Blake was one of the most impressive snipers Vance had ever seen. Crawling was hell for someone his size, but he always got into position just to line up the perfect shot… to get back to napping.
If only—
"Vance? You tired too?" Ares interrupted, grinning as he eyed Vance's slouched shoulders.
"Mhm," Vance mumbled, refocusing.
They had reached the desk. Balgur stood at its edge, one hand gripping the doctor's shoulder and giving it a firm shake.
No response.
The man remained limp, his breathing steady. Comatose, almost.
Vance frowned. The doctor looked like he could blow away in a breeze. His skin was pale to the point of translucence. His hair, thin and patchy, clung to his scalp like dry grass. The oversized lab coat draped over him made him seem ghostly.
Balgur, clearly annoyed, exhaled through his nose, veins pulsing along his temple. He paused—then shifted his stance.
Vance instinctively stepped back. Ares, already a step ahead, motioned for him to follow.
"Step to the side," Balgur ordered, pointing toward the far end of the room.
Without question, Vance and Ares moved, brushing past a strange piece of equipment that resembled an old-fashioned washing machine.
Vance blinked at it.
What the hell kind of hospital is this?
Ares leaned in, smirking. "Watch this."
Balgur inhaled deeply, then grabbed the doctor by the collar, lifted him clean off the desk, spun smoothly on his heel—and launched him.
Vance's eyes widened. The man became a blur of white, arcing across the room with terrifying speed.
He's gonna crash into the wall.
But just before impact, the doctor twisted midair. His limbs bent with freakish flexibility, his back arched—and he landed against the wall with a loud thud.
Then he stuck.
Vance blinked. Once. Twice.
The man was clinging there—arms limp, head tilted—like a puppet on standby.
Ares chuckled. "And that, my friend, is Doctor Shrill."
Vance could only stare.
A booming voice cracked through the air. "Who has the balls—!?"
Shrill leapt from the wall and landed with eerie grace. His gaze swept the room until it landed on Balgur.
"Bal?" he said with a groggy scowl. "You again?"
His tone softened slightly, but his face stayed twisted in annoyance.
"You here for an assessment?" Shrill asked, dusting himself off as he shuffled back toward his desk. He paused briefly to squint at Vance, then shot Ares a dismissive glance, as if deciding he wasn't worth remembering.
"Yeah," Balgur replied. "It's… a complicated case."
"Of course it is." Shrill slumped into his seat, propped his bare feet on the desk, and sighed heavily. "Talk fast. I've got sleep scheduled in fifteen minutes."
Balgur gestured to Ares, but Shrill immediately raised a finger, silencing the blond.
"Fine," Balgur muttered, stepping forward. "Here's the short of it: The kid's the only unascended survivor from his planet."
Shrill's brow lifted. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Cecilia found him fighting an orc. Bare-handed."
The doctor's posture straightened just a little. Something had changed—fatigue gave way to curiosity.
Balgur nodded, catching the shift. "After we returned to the site for protocol cleanup, we found something… strange."
He glanced briefly at Vance, then continued.
"A few meters from the dead orc, we found an impact site—dented wall in the vague shape of a person. Torn clothes, blood, and a visible trail of cerebrospinal fluid. Nearby? A second blood pool that matched his DNA."
Shrill raised both brows this time.
"No signs of other life, no evidence of another attacker," Balgur added. "Just Vance, the orc, and a whole lot of questions."