Chapter 9: Consent in Red Ink
The silence in Radiology was thick, like gauze wrapped too tightly around a wound.
Ira stood over the folder with Ishita's name stamped on it, her mind spinning. These weren't just forgeries. They were meticulous. Printed on hospital letterhead, ink smudged exactly where a nervous hand would have signed.
Ishita's hand trembled as she flipped through the pages. "This... this is from two years ago. I wasn't even in the country that quarter."
"They're building timelines that never happened," Ira said. "To make sure no one asks questions when staff vanish."
She thought of Aanya. Her soft voice. The way she used to hum while scrubbing in.
Ira closed the folder.
"They're not just silencing patients. They're scrubbing out doctors."
A sound behind them—a soft thunk, then a hiss.
Gas.
Ira recognized the scent instantly. Halothane.
"Mask!" she yelled, grabbing the surgical drape and pressing it to her face. Ishita followed, wide-eyed.
They stumbled into the corridor, lungs burning.
Someone wanted them unconscious. And this time, they wouldn't wake up in a basement—they wouldn't wake up at all.
They ducked into the stairwell, racing up.
But on the fourth floor landing, they found a nurse standing there—frozen. Pale.
Not one of theirs.
She opened her mouth. "You shouldn't... be up here."
Her pupils were blown wide. Skin clammy.
Drugged?
Ira stepped forward. "Who brought you here?"
"I—don't know. They told me to check on Bed 12."
Ira and Ishita locked eyes.
Bed 12 again.
"Where is it now?" Ishita asked.
The nurse blinked. "It's not in the registry anymore. They moved it."
"To where?"
The nurse swayed. "They called it... Wing Theta."
Ira's blood turned to ice.
There was no Wing Theta.
At least, not officially.
She turned to Ishita. "Do you trust me?"
"I think I have to."
"Then we're breaking into a ward that doesn't exist."
Wing Theta was hidden behind a laundry corridor—one Ira had only ever seen once, years ago, cordoned off for "maintenance."
They pushed through the rusted door.
Inside was a long hallway, lights flickering in and out, and rows of locked doors. A mechanical beep pulsed slowly from somewhere deeper inside.
Like a heart monitor.
But slower.
Wrong.
Room 12 was unmarked. Sealed with a keycard scanner.
Ishita reached into her coat. "My surgical access is Level 3."
She tapped it.
The light flashed red—then green.
The door opened with a pneumatic hiss.
Inside—an ICU bed. Empty restraints. A monitor still tracking vitals.
But no patient.
Only a name on the wall chart.
A. Rao
Ira's breath caught.
"She was here."
Ishita looked around. "And she's not now."
Ira found a journal by the bedside. Leather-bound. Old. The first page had a single sentence, written in tight, controlled cursive.
"If I disappear, it wasn't a choice."
Ira sank into the nearby chair, clutching the journal.
"They kept her sedated. Hid her from the registry. She never left."
Ishita whispered, "So where is she now?"
Ira looked up.
And realized something.
The vitals on the monitor were live.
Not playback.
Not memory.
Which meant…
"Someone else is still hooked up to this system."
She checked the bedframe.
A faint trail of blood led underneath.
She knelt—and saw it.
A child's bracelet. Pink plastic. A tiny heart charm.
And beside it, a tag.
Patient: R.M.
Trial Group: C
Status: Pending extraction
"R.M.," she whispered. "That's... that's Rhea. The girl from the report. The one Aanya operated on."
The one whose guardian had refused consent.
But someone had taken it anyway.
"Ishita... they're still running trials. And they've moved the subjects off-grid."
Ishita straightened. "We need to leak this. Now."
"I have the USB," Ira said. "But we need a secure system. Somewhere not on the hospital network."
Suddenly—
A shadow crossed the threshold.
A man. Calm. Holding a clipboard.
Rajat Menon.
"Ah," he said, "so this is where the trail ends."
Ira stood. "Where is Aanya?"
He didn't answer.
Just smiled.
And shut the door behind him.