4 Awakening

When I woke up, I tried to sit up, but immediately fell back, hissing with pain all over my body.

— "Oh-oh-h… Why am I not dead?"

Everything hurts decidedly: starting with the legs, ending with the head.

Someone moved to the side. Turning my head, I saw a girl sitting next to me in an armchair, whom I now recognized as my sister, Jane. Judging by the prolonged yawn and the way she rubs her eyes with her fists, she was also asleep and woke up from my voice.

— "Connor?"

"Good morning." — I greet her. — "Where are we?"

"In the central hospital. You stayed here for two days and I came as soon as I could." — The girl replied, turning to me half—sideways so that I could not see her face. — "How are you feeling?"

"Disgusting." — I honestly admitted, looking at my ward in parallel. Nothing special: a clean, bright room with a large window. Next to the bed is a small bedside table, an IV drip and some other medical equipment unknown to me. Well, and a chair for my sister, obviously not provided for initially. — "Heh. It feels like I was passed through a shredder and then glued back together. But I'm alive and I'll be fine soon."

— "I was very worried. At first I even thought you were dead."

"And you haven't left my side since you've been here?" — the sister did not answer anything in response, only sighed, and, clasping her hands in a lock, began to sort out her fingers. — "Let me guess, you slept right in the chair and didn't eat properly, right?"

— "Connor, I…"

"Jane," — I interrupt my sister's attempt to justify herself in mid-sentence. — "thanks."

The girl shuddered. In the last six years, she had never heard a word of gratitude from her brother. And when my hand touched her knee, she stared at me at all, forgetting, it seems, that she can't do that in theory. I didn't look away and looked at my sister. Despite the hard work, at 27 she looks her best. If you think about it, it's very difficult to meet ugly women here, according to Connor's childhood memory, according to what I've already seen. Which is not surprising when men are fighting for the men here by hook or by crook. But the sister stood out even against their background with her perfect figure. Wide hips, narrow waist and chest size so 4th. Long brown hair is now gathered in a ponytail, revealing a beautiful face without a single wrinkle, especially large bright green eyes, framed by long eyelashes, stand out on which. However, the overall impression is spoiled by circles from lack of sleep under the eyes and, in general, a tired, slightly battered appearance of the girl.

"Really, thank you," — I keep saying. — "But now I'm not going anywhere from here, but it wouldn't hurt for you to rest. You don't look good."

"You... aren't you afraid?" — Jane asked incredulously.

"Not anymore," — I smile at my sister. — "But we'll talk about it when I get home. And you'd better go there now. Get some rest."

"You're right," — Jane agrees with a sigh. — "But I will visit you."

"Of course." — I agree.

We talked a little more. Jane initially behaved stiffly, probably not believing in such luck and expecting me to be hysterical or something like that at any moment. But seeing that I'm in no hurry to do anything like that, I calmed down a little. Already leaving, she stopped at the door and asked. — "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Don't doubt it," — I replied.

***

I stayed in the hospital for another 5 days. Most of the time there was absolutely nothing to do, so I began to think a lot. First of all, I came to the conclusion that my performance at the police station should not be repeated. It is not customary to send men to the front line here, there are too few of them here. It's amazing how they didn't take away my machine gun and kick me into hiding. I was also thinking how to explain the change of behavior to my sister. Bullshit like "danger to life made me heal!" was discarded immediately. She won't believe it. I couldn't find a more plausible option either. Except to say everything as it is.

But here the question of self-identification has already arisen. Who am I now? Still Andrey Belov? Or a seventeen-year-old mentally ill kid named Connor White? I was definitely neither one nor the other. The remnants of the soul of the old owner of the body passed to me and brought some changes. Nothing that would significantly change my character, but... well, I'm not really me anymore. Not after living a second life in an instant.

Jane looked in a couple of times. The first time she brought a tablet with access to the network, for which I thank her very much. We talked for a couple of hours, and it was clear how the girl, refreshed after the rest, was becoming more cheerful and talking more freely.

The same is true for me. I can say that we got acquainted anew, and I won't say that unsuccessfully. At that time, I realized that it was old Connor's last request that had the greatest impact on me: to protect her. With every minute we spent together, a sense of kinship grew stronger in me. We didn't touch on any serious topics. By tacit agreement, they decided to wait for my discharge.

I used the tablet to clarify several questions of interest to me, mainly concerning the male part of the population. So, for example, I found out that the exact ratio of men to women is 6 to 1. And that according to US law, from the age of 15, every citizen submits material to a sperm bank once a month to maintain demography, and by 21 he must have at least four wives. Due to circumstances, I am released from the second one, however, my ass feels it, not for long. I also looked at the information on possible earnings. The situation is depressing, to put it mildly. My path is closed to state structures (I didn't really want to), to the army too, to the police and similar services only for office positions. Among the men here, the modeling business and the service sector are popular. In general, purely humanitarian classes, which I don't want to get into anymore. Things are a little better with science, but even here, among more or less eminent scientists, only a certain Dr. Kurt Connors is listed. Most of them prefer not to work anywhere at all and sit on the maintenance of their spouses. After thinking about it, I decided to postpone this issue, since I still have 1 year left in school. I will give up home schooling in order to reduce costs. My sister is already plowing at two jobs, and I don't want to keep forcing her to pay for things that are no longer necessary.

I spent the rest of my time either doing procedures or watching various masterpieces of local cinema, which turned out to be pretty good, especially if you don't pay attention to any romantic-melodramatic nonsense, which, to put it mildly, didn't shine here, but here it generally took some terribly hypertrophied form. The staff, by the way, behaved with restraint. Only the eyes were shot, and during the dressings, the nurses allowed me to hold my hand on my torso a little longer than necessary. It's not surprising, considering what kind of emergency they should have after such a disaster.

But now, my time in the hospital has come to an end. On the morning of the sixth day, I was pleased that it no longer makes sense to be under surveillance.

It's time to go home.