Fusion and Iron

2. The Decision

A lone figure walked through the uncontaminated white corridor, her movements deliberate yet reserved. Her ruby eyes were fixed ahead, determined but clouded with both a mixture of emotional pain and anticipation, carefully grasping onto said emotions to keep them in check. Each step made her ginger hair sway, almost hypnotic from left to right just above her hips. Her signature red bow sat perfectly in place atop her head, a reminder of the girl she once was.
She wore a sleek black jumpsuit with a red sash wrapped tightly around her waist, looking more soldier than savior. In one hand, she carried a small tablet, her other rhythmically clicking on a pen anxiously–a rare notion for a composed woman like her.

The sterile, metallic atmosphere of the medical wing was bathed in artificial light, highlighting rows of injured who had survived ruthless fusion attacks. Some lay silent and pale, their bodies entangled in tubes and wires, while others groaned in pain, barely clinging to life. Dexbots—Dexter's latest creations, painted in the familiar blue of his lab—worked tirelessly by each bedside. Their clinical precision and emotionless movements starkly in comparison to the suffering around them. Though they were handy, their presence was cold, and impersonal. They were simply made for efficiency, and nothing more.

As she continued down the corridor, she slowed down. The familiar sound of the tread tracks of the robots filled the air, but her focus was narrowing as she approached one particular room. Her gaze caught on a figure through the glass: a man lying still in his bed, his body wrapped in bandages as if trying to piece together what little remained of him. His dark hair was a tangled mess, sticking out in odd angles as if untouched for days. His skin, usually tanned, had paled considerably, and his eyes remained closed away from this horrible world. From the looks of the wires and monitors all around him, at least he was being taken care of. His heartbeat beeping was steady, but faint.

Niles was alive. Not well, but alive.

Her chest swelled at the sight of him–her last tie to many heartfelt connections she had lost. Even in his weakened state, she could feel that strength in him that pulled at her heartstrings. She stood still for a moment, hand hovering over the door keypad as she built up the courage to open it.

The door slid sideways as it hissed softly. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the equipment. The Dexbot stationed beside Niles turned its head at the sound of the door opening, acknowledging her arrival without saying a word.

As she stepped inside, she closed the door behind her and whispered, "Good evening, Dexbot. How's he doing?"

"Hello, Miss Utonium," the Dexbot slid up straight, arms and torso turning stiffly to meet her. "His vitals remain stable. His injuries, although extensive, are not life-threatening. The majority of his blood loss has been recovered with transfusions, and he is currently in a state of recovery. Medical purified fusion treatments have accelerated the healing process."

Blossom nodded silently, softly grinning. "You've done well. Thank you."

The robot responded with a slight nod, its blank face making no gesture of emotion, though Blossom still offered her kindness. It was an instinct of hers, one she couldn't change even around machines.

From the bed, there was a soft groan. Niles stirred, his brow furrowing as he shifted slightly under the covers. His hand moved to rest on his stomach, fingers flexing as he attempted to wake from his foggy state. His eyes fluttered open, tired and unfocused while looking at the dim room around him. He frowned as he tried to sit up, pain burning through his chest.

Blossom's attention snapped instantly. She stepped forward, speaking in a hushed and gentle tone. "Oh, you're awake."

He looked into her eyes, recognizing immediately who it was. He squinted as he tried his best to focus, forming a weak smile as he turned to meet her on his side. "Blossom... is it really you?"