High Society: The tales from Victory

"Phoebe Luisa [Part I] " (Ch.8)

"Her records are non-existent, she has no fingerprints, no dental samples, no DNA in any databases, other discernible features were wiped in the blast. It was a miracle she was pulled from the wreckage, but her allegiances are more than clear."

"That's fine by me." The golden-haired boy remarked, staring at a clipboard. With a few strokes of a pen, his signature streaked across the waiver.

The doctor, clad in a typical white coat, upsettingly takes the clipboard. "Does your father know you're doing this?" His foot tapping in a condescending manner.

"He is well aware... after he reads the notes I left in his folders."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" The lad shuffles awkwardly around the room as the doctor trudged out. He stares at the many posters lining the walls. Nothing that mattered, simply gibberish of the medical world.

After a long time, a few doctors return to escort the lad. He nervously looks around, extreme care.

Through the ward they entered a basement. The rooms were still held to the same structural standard, but still felt like some forbidden prison.

He looks around and follows the doctors until finally he stops at a room "Jane Doe".

"Jane Doe?"

"At first we didn't have her name, but intel claims she's one of the top mavericks."

"... I see." The lad takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out. "Her name then?"

"They've found loose connections to offshore bank accounts under the alias Phoebe Luisa. For now, until we know her real name, we will refer to her as Luisa."

"Loo-ese-ah?"

"Indeed."

"Thanks for the help, doc."

"Anytime sir... anytime." The doctor's voice becoming brittle and coarse at that point. Regret playing in the air.

The lad enters the room, an aroma of excessive sterilizer attacked his nostrils. The lights were blinding, and the reflections only added to the mesmerizing. The walls lack decoration, and a single tv above the counter for enjoyment if there were any visitors, not that anybody in this ward gets any.

Finally, the lad found himself alone facing a curtain. The light pink curtain stayed still, as if the world had frozen solid. The lack of life was apparent, with exception to the heart monitor and what he could, barely, call breathing.

The lad shuts his eyes, his memories poking at the front of his mind. He steadied himself, breath easing back to normality. The lad's fingers gently grazed the curtain, familiar with the sensation, and slowly parted it asunder.

There he saw a woman wrapped in bandages and patient ware. Her face was bandaged with only her single eye exposed. Blood soaked the gauze, and that was constant over her whole body. Tubes from different parts of her arms were hooked up to IVs.

"Hello there. The name's Pine, Ponder Pine! Pleasure to meet you." He extended a hand to shake, by instinct, then retracted it after realizing how inappropriate it was. "Ah yes, well. I've been wanting to meet you." He pauses briefly then nods, "Phoebe, right?"

She remained motionless.

"I did some research before coming. I know bits and pieces about you. But as for the whole assorted tale, well, you'll have to fill me in."

The woman's eyes hasn't even moved. He could tell, she'd be hard to crack.

"I know about your dual connections."