The truck rumbled to life as Zoey shoved the key into the ignition, the engine growling like an irritated beast. The cab smelled of sweat, oil, and stale fast food wrappers that crinkled under her boots as she shifted into gear. Her leg pulsed with every movement, the pain a sharp reminder of the bullet that had lodged itself deep into her thigh. Each press of the pedal felt like a knife twisting into the wound, but she gritted her teeth and kept driving. The blistering sun overhead turned the truck’s interior into a furnace, sweat beading on her scales and rolling down her temples.
She adjusted the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her reflection. Her amber eyes stared back, bloodshot and tired, with a scowl etched so deeply it felt like it had become a permanent feature. The thought of going to the clinic gnawed at her pride. She didn’t need anyone’s help, not now, not ever. But the fever had made her vision blurry earlier, and the infection was spreading faster than her stubbornness could keep up.
As the truck rumbled over the uneven terrain, Zoey’s tail thumped against the passenger door with restless energy. The rhythmic throb of pain in her leg matched the cadence of her thoughts: Fucking Etrius. Fucking clinics. Fucking bullets.
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather creaking under her cybernetic fingers. She hated how her hands sometimes crushed things without her meaning to, a reminder that her body was less her own with every passing year. Zoey glanced at her left arm, the faint scratches and dents on the carbon fiber plating catching the sunlight. The absence of feeling in her fingertips made her wish she could feel the coolness of the wheel or even the sting of heat. Anything real. Anything that wasn’t...this.
The city came into view slowly, like a mirage rising out of the desert haze. Zoey ignored the beggars and street vendors shouting from the sidewalks as she rolled past. She wasn’t in the mood to stop, not even to pick up something stronger to dull the pain.
The hospital loomed ahead, an ugly, rectangular monolith of glass and metal with its name scrawled across the front in obnoxiously bright LEDs. Zoey sighed, her chest tight as she pulled into the parking lot. The spaces were mostly empty, save for a few battered vehicles and an ambulance with faded paint.
She killed the engine and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale scraping against the tension coiled in her chest. She could feel the scars under her furred skin and scaled patches, the phantom memories of where the needles had gone in, where scalpels had cut her open.
Zoey rubbed her face, forcing the memories back down where they belonged. In. Out. Get the leg handled. Fuck off home. She stepped out of the truck, and the heat hit her like a wall, but the throbbing pain in her thigh was worse.
Her limp was more pronounced than usual as she made her way toward the glass doors of Sigma City General. With every step, she cursed Etrius under her breath, not for caring, but for forcing her to confront the one place she hated more than any battlefield: a goddamn clinic.
Zoey braced herself as the automatic doors hissed open, unleashing a blast of chilled air that sent a shiver through her sweat-dampened fur. Her tail flicked irritably as she stepped inside, her boots scuffing against the sterile white tiles of the lobby. The sharp contrast between the oppressive heat outside and the artificial cold inside only deepened her discomfort.
Zoey approached the reception desk, her imposing frame casting a shadow over the tired-looking clerk. The woman barely glanced up, her fingers tapping at a holographic keyboard. “Name?”
“Zoey,” she growled. She hated using her full name, but paperwork didn’t care for pseudonyms.
“Reason for visit?”
“Bullet,” she said flatly, leaning her cybernetic arms on the desk with a metallic clink.
The receptionist glanced at her arms and the crimson-stained makeshift bandage wrapped around her thigh. “Right. Take a seat. We’ll call you.”
Zoey snatched the wristband the woman handed her, glaring at the barcode like it was a chain linking her to something she wanted no part of. She slapped it on her wrist without looking and limped to the nearest chair, her tail dragging behind her.
The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and misery, and the longer she sat there, the harder it became to block out the memories creeping up on her. Her ears twitched, catching snippets of conversations. Each voice felt like a needle poking at her nerves.
She closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing, but the sensation of the waiting room felt suffocating. It’s temporary. Just a damn clinic. It’s not...
“Zoey?”
Her eyes snapped open, pupils narrowing. A tall nurse stood by the doorway, holding a clipboard and looking hesitant. Zoey rose slowly, her height drawing a few startled glances from others in the room. She ignored them, following the nurse through the maze of hallways.
The examination room was a sterile cube filled with gleaming instruments and medical devices and tools. The nurse gestured toward the padded bench.
“Have a seat,” he said.
Zoey hesitated, her tail curling protectively around her leg. She hated feeling like this, cornered and exposed. She sat, her movements stiff, the metal bench cold even through the fur on the backs of her thighs.
The nurse’s hands fumbled slightly as he unwrapped the bandage. “This, uh, looks bad,” he said, his voice betraying a nervous edge.
Zoey’s gaze bore into him. “You think?”
He didn’t answer, instead focusing on the wound. The bullet was still embedded, the surrounding flesh swollen and discolored. He jotted something on his clipboard before setting it aside and reaching for a tray of tools.
“This will need local anesthetic. I’ll have to-”
“No needles,” Zoey interrupted, her tone sharp as a blade.
The nurse glanced at her, confused. “It’s just to numb the area. You won’t feel a thing.”
Zoey’s jaw tightened, her fingers digging into the edge of the bench. “I said no.”
The nurse hesitated, his gaze flickering between Zoey’s unyielding stare and the tools on the tray. He swallowed hard, his hands hovering in indecision. “Look, I know you don’t want it, but this is going to be hell without anesthetic. I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” Zoey growled, her tail flicking hard against the bench. “Just pull the damn bullet out.”
The nurse’s lips tightened, the lines around his mouth deepening. “You’ll thank me later,” he muttered, reaching for the syringe.
Zoey’s ears pinned back, her muscles coiling as she watched the needle fill with a clear liquid. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling like a drumbeat speeding up. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.”
He didn’t listen.
The prick of the needle against her thigh was like a spark igniting a firestorm. The stinging pain of the injection spread through her leg, but it wasn’t the physical sensation that hit her hardest. It was the flood of memories that surged like a dam breaking, drowning her in the past.
The sterile walls of the clinic melted away, replaced by cold, metallic surfaces and harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed like angry wasps. Lab coats swarmed around her, faceless figures wielding needles and scalpels. Her limbs were pinned, her struggles useless against the restraints biting into her wrists and ankles.
Zoey gasped, her throat tightening as her claws dug into the bench beneath her. Her cybernetic fingers scraped against the metal, leaving deep gouges. “Stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Stop it.”
The nurse’s voice was distant, like it was coming from underwater. “You’re safe. It’s okay. Just breathe.”
But she wasn’t safe. She was back there, back in that cold, unfeeling hell where she was nothing more than a number. Her body wasn’t hers; it belonged to them, to their experiments, their needles, their cruelty.
Her breaths came in sharp, shallow bursts, each one harder to draw than the last. Tears spilled down her muzzle, unbidden and uncontrollable, tracing wet lines through her fur. Her claws clenched so tightly her knuckles ached, the joints in her cybernetic arms groaning under the strain.
“Stop!” she screamed, her voice cracking like shattered glass. She tried to pull away, but her body was frozen, paralyzed by the weight of her own terror. The room spun around her, the nurse’s concerned face warping and twisting into the specters of her past.
The bullet was out now, the procedure over, but Zoey couldn’t feel it. All she felt was the crushing weight of the memories suffocating her, choking her, dragging her under.
The nurse stepped back, his hands raised in placation. “It’s over. You’re okay now.”
Zoey snapped her head toward him, her amber eyes wild and brimming with rage and fear. “No, I’m not!” she roared, her voice reverberating through the small room. Her tail lashed out, knocking the tray of tools to the floor with a deafening crash.
She stood, towering over him, her body trembling with adrenaline and fury. The nurse shrank back, his face pale, but Zoey didn’t care. She limped out of the room, her steps uneven but forceful, leaving a trail of her own blood in her wake.
Zoey shoved open the clinic doors, the cool night air slamming into her like a wall. Her breaths were uneven and sharp, her vision blurred by tears she couldn’t stop. She didn’t care who saw her like this. She just needed to get out, to get away. Flee.
She climbed into her truck, her hands shaking so badly it took her multiple tries to get the key into the ignition. When the engine roared to life, it was like a distant sound, something she barely registered. Her leg throbbed, a dull, distant ache compared to the storm raging inside her.
The drive home was a blur. The road stretched out before her like a tunnel, the edges of her vision darkened by exhaustion and lingering panic. Her mind churned with anger, shame, and helplessness.
She’d gone to the clinic to fix her body, but instead, they’d ripped open wounds she’d spent decades trying to seal shut. The past was always there, lurking in the corners of her mind, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Back at her little plot of land outside the city walls, Zoey killed the engine and slumped forward, her forehead resting against the steering wheel. The silence was deafening, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her like an avalanche. She stayed like that for a long time, her tail curling tightly around her leg as she tried to steady her breathing.
Eventually, she dragged herself onto the roof of her APC, her safe haven. The stars were dim, struggling to shine through the haze of Sigma City’s pollution. Zoey stared at them, the empty vodka bottle beside her reflecting the faint light.
She sat there for hours, her amber eyes fixed on the horizon, her thoughts an endless swirl of pain and regret. The world felt too big, too cold, too cruel. And Zoey, despite her strength, felt impossibly small.
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