Hey guys! Been a while since I posted my first 2308 story installment. This one is focused quite a bit more on the characters, and centers around William Hensen, James Hensen's brother, going to visit his beau in the hospital, who's sick with T-cell prolymphocytic leukemia! Enjoy!
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While his brother was out and about, William Hensen had stayed at home and spoken on the phone to their new client, a man he knew only as Oleg. He had made plans to meet the man at night with his brother and further discuss the job, but had the rest of the day free until James got back. With a few hours to kill, William knew exactly what to do. He donned a pair of black trousers and a plaid grey and white over-shirt, then took the CZ-75 from his nightstand and checked the magazine. Satisfied that it was full, he strapped on his combat boots and HUD glasses and headed out into the complex.
William walked with his head low and his posture slouched, hands in his pockets, deep in thought. He hadn’t seen her in a while. William softly bit his lip as he approached his residential level’s elevators, stepping into a lift that was on its way down. Moments later, the doors opened, and the passengers shuffled out onto the hospital floor of the complex, with its many winding hallways all leading back to the reception area. A short walk later, and William found himself standing in line number 23 of 50. He was eventually given a ticket and then sat down on a long bench to wait for his number to be called.
William frowned and shook his head. The floating adverts for various cosmetic surgeries and cybernetic augmentations gave him a headache, and the thought that he had to wait behind people who wanted fatter lips before he could see her made him sick to his stomach. He always hated waiting there for those pompous M.D.s with their sterile white coats to come out and tell him he was too poor to help her, but today’s visit wasn’t about that. He just needed to touch her hand, to know she was still there, waiting for him. Alive.
“Ninety-four to line seventeen,” a computerized voice bellowed through the hospital speakers. Will’s ears perked up and he stood, quickly jogging over to line 17 of 50. A fat woman with three chins and a rainbow pixie cut sat behind the desk. She did not even look up when she spoke.
“William Hensen?” She asked, as if his name weren’t displayed in Tier 1, floating right in front of both of them.
“Yes,” William replied, forcing a smile. There was no need to aggravate the woman.
“What’s the purpose of your visit?”
“I came to see someone.”
“Do you know the room number?”
“54-107.”
“Okay. Down that hallway, take a left, door’s on your right.” The receptionist replied, leaning forward and pointing down one of the paths which branched off of the lobby.
William nodded and stepped away from the desk, frowning as he turned towards his destination. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know where she was. He had been here at least a hundred times since she was hospitalized, and they still made him go through that bureaucratic non-sense before he could see her. It was just another spit in the face. William made his way down the hallway at a brisk pace, eventually arriving at Room 54. It was not actually a bedroom, but another hallway with another, smaller, reception desk. This one had a line of only a few people. Within a minute of entering, Will had reached the front.
“Hey there, Hensen.” The man behind the desk said, brow furrowed. He was tall and lanky with a clean-shaven face and short, messy black hair, wearing a set of light green scrubs which sported a hovering, virtual name-badge on the chest. It read Harry Douglas.
“Morning, Harry. You wanna let me through?” William queried, his fingers crossed behind his back. Sometimes, Harry would tell him she could not have any visitors for one reason or another, but god willing, he would say yes today.
“Yep. Sorry I couldn’t let you through last Thursday, man, but you know how it is. No visitors within 6 hours of a treatment.”
“It’s fine, just stamp me, Harry.” William replied impatiently. Harry rolled his eyes and pressed a button, and a holographic stamp within Tier 1 sprung into existence, right above William’s left hand. William nodded and walked around the desk and down the hallway. About three quarters of the way through, a holographic sign floated in William’s path. “Intensive Care.” He had walked by it many times, but his reaction never changed. His heart shot up into his throat for a moment, and William stopped walking to swallow his anxiety.
Even though he was working, Harry knew Will needed a friend then. He told the other visitors to wait for a few minutes, then approached William from behind.
“Hey, Will. Want me to go in with you?”
“No thanks, Harry,” William started, but after a moment, he continued. “Actually, if you could take me to her room…”
“Of course,” Harry responded, giving William a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and then pushing him along. The two eventually reached a door all the way at the end of the ICU. “54-107. Here it is. I’ve gotta get back to work, so I’ll see you later. Tell Jamie I said hi.” William nodded in response and pushed open the door as Harry left him.
The room was small and optimized for utilization of space. A narrow entryway led into a square area with a bed in the center, a pair of chairs on the opposite end of the room and a closet beside them. The bathroom was off the side of the entryway.
On the small bed in the center lied a young girl with alabaster skin and long black hair, hooked up via tubes and electrodes to a massive machine which displayed a host of information about her vital status. The letters “T-PLL” hovered by her bedside, along with a graph showing the progress of the disease and the interference of her conventional treatments. William approached her bedside and pulled up a chair, taking a seat next to her. His hands clasped hers, and she slowly moved her head to the side. She opened her eyes, beautiful light blues with cross-shaped pupils. They had been prosthetic since she was young. William struggled to keep his eyes from tearing up.
“William?” She asked, her voice soft and gentle from weakness.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here, Charlotte.”
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While his brother was out and about, William Hensen had stayed at home and spoken on the phone to their new client, a man he knew only as Oleg. He had made plans to meet the man at night with his brother and further discuss the job, but had the rest of the day free until James got back. With a few hours to kill, William knew exactly what to do. He donned a pair of black trousers and a plaid grey and white over-shirt, then took the CZ-75 from his nightstand and checked the magazine. Satisfied that it was full, he strapped on his combat boots and HUD glasses and headed out into the complex.
William walked with his head low and his posture slouched, hands in his pockets, deep in thought. He hadn’t seen her in a while. William softly bit his lip as he approached his residential level’s elevators, stepping into a lift that was on its way down. Moments later, the doors opened, and the passengers shuffled out onto the hospital floor of the complex, with its many winding hallways all leading back to the reception area. A short walk later, and William found himself standing in line number 23 of 50. He was eventually given a ticket and then sat down on a long bench to wait for his number to be called.
William frowned and shook his head. The floating adverts for various cosmetic surgeries and cybernetic augmentations gave him a headache, and the thought that he had to wait behind people who wanted fatter lips before he could see her made him sick to his stomach. He always hated waiting there for those pompous M.D.s with their sterile white coats to come out and tell him he was too poor to help her, but today’s visit wasn’t about that. He just needed to touch her hand, to know she was still there, waiting for him. Alive.
“Ninety-four to line seventeen,” a computerized voice bellowed through the hospital speakers. Will’s ears perked up and he stood, quickly jogging over to line 17 of 50. A fat woman with three chins and a rainbow pixie cut sat behind the desk. She did not even look up when she spoke.
“William Hensen?” She asked, as if his name weren’t displayed in Tier 1, floating right in front of both of them.
“Yes,” William replied, forcing a smile. There was no need to aggravate the woman.
“What’s the purpose of your visit?”
“I came to see someone.”
“Do you know the room number?”
“54-107.”
“Okay. Down that hallway, take a left, door’s on your right.” The receptionist replied, leaning forward and pointing down one of the paths which branched off of the lobby.
William nodded and stepped away from the desk, frowning as he turned towards his destination. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know where she was. He had been here at least a hundred times since she was hospitalized, and they still made him go through that bureaucratic non-sense before he could see her. It was just another spit in the face. William made his way down the hallway at a brisk pace, eventually arriving at Room 54. It was not actually a bedroom, but another hallway with another, smaller, reception desk. This one had a line of only a few people. Within a minute of entering, Will had reached the front.
“Hey there, Hensen.” The man behind the desk said, brow furrowed. He was tall and lanky with a clean-shaven face and short, messy black hair, wearing a set of light green scrubs which sported a hovering, virtual name-badge on the chest. It read Harry Douglas.
“Morning, Harry. You wanna let me through?” William queried, his fingers crossed behind his back. Sometimes, Harry would tell him she could not have any visitors for one reason or another, but god willing, he would say yes today.
“Yep. Sorry I couldn’t let you through last Thursday, man, but you know how it is. No visitors within 6 hours of a treatment.”
“It’s fine, just stamp me, Harry.” William replied impatiently. Harry rolled his eyes and pressed a button, and a holographic stamp within Tier 1 sprung into existence, right above William’s left hand. William nodded and walked around the desk and down the hallway. About three quarters of the way through, a holographic sign floated in William’s path. “Intensive Care.” He had walked by it many times, but his reaction never changed. His heart shot up into his throat for a moment, and William stopped walking to swallow his anxiety.
Even though he was working, Harry knew Will needed a friend then. He told the other visitors to wait for a few minutes, then approached William from behind.
“Hey, Will. Want me to go in with you?”
“No thanks, Harry,” William started, but after a moment, he continued. “Actually, if you could take me to her room…”
“Of course,” Harry responded, giving William a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and then pushing him along. The two eventually reached a door all the way at the end of the ICU. “54-107. Here it is. I’ve gotta get back to work, so I’ll see you later. Tell Jamie I said hi.” William nodded in response and pushed open the door as Harry left him.
The room was small and optimized for utilization of space. A narrow entryway led into a square area with a bed in the center, a pair of chairs on the opposite end of the room and a closet beside them. The bathroom was off the side of the entryway.
On the small bed in the center lied a young girl with alabaster skin and long black hair, hooked up via tubes and electrodes to a massive machine which displayed a host of information about her vital status. The letters “T-PLL” hovered by her bedside, along with a graph showing the progress of the disease and the interference of her conventional treatments. William approached her bedside and pulled up a chair, taking a seat next to her. His hands clasped hers, and she slowly moved her head to the side. She opened her eyes, beautiful light blues with cross-shaped pupils. They had been prosthetic since she was young. William struggled to keep his eyes from tearing up.
“William?” She asked, her voice soft and gentle from weakness.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here, Charlotte.”
