Rude Awakening

In the sterile, white corridors of Wellstone General Hospital, a figure paced restlessly. Dr. Ethan Jones, a seasoned physician, was usually the embodiment of composure. Today, however, his furrowed brow and muttering lips painted a different picture.

He whispered to himself, "How could this be possible?" His voice was a soft echo amidst the rhythmic beeping of nearby medical equipment. Nurses and patients glanced his way, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. They gave him a wide berth, sensing the storm of thoughts swirling within him.

"Doctor Jones?" The voice of Nurse Adams broke through his reverie. She approached with a hesitant step, her eyes reflecting worry. "Are you alright?"

Dr. Jones stopped, his gaze distant. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. He's fine…" His words trailed off into a mumble, a hand running through his hair in exasperation.

"Who's fine, Doctor?"

"Nurse," he began, a sudden intensity in his eyes. "Answer me this, and be precise – what happens when someone is struck by a truck at 60 kilometers per hour?"

Nurse Adams blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. "Well, severe trauma, likely fatal. Internal bleeding, multiple fractures, it's not usually survivable."

"Exactly!" Dr. Jones exclaimed, a mix of relief and disbelief in his voice. He rifled through the file in his hands, his movements brisk. "And yet, here we are," he muttered, flipping through the pages, his hope of finding an overlooked injury diminishing with each turn.

He strode purposefully towards David's room, his mind a whirlwind of medical anomalies. The door, however, was locked. "Nurse, open this door," he commanded, his voice betraying a hint of urgency.

A nurse, her hands steady despite the unusual request, unlocked the door. Dr. Jones stepped in, expecting to find David in critical condition. Instead, he was met with a different patient, cocooned in bandages and casts.

"Um… hello, doctor?" The patient's voice was timid, unsure.

Dr. Jones's heart sank. "I knew it," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "Where's David?"

"David's been moved," another nurse chimed in, her voice steady. "A special case, it seems. Transferred to another ward on an urgent order."

Dr. Jones's mind raced. The pieces weren't fitting together. "But the accident... the truck... he should be here!"

The nurse hesitated, then offered a small, knowing smile. "There was no truck accident, Doctor. David fainted, that's all."

Dr. Jones stood frozen, the world around him blurring. His laughter, soft at first, grew louder, echoing down the hallway. "Of course, no accident," he mumbled, a shadow of doubt lingering in his eyes.

As he walked away, the laughter continued, a manic melody amidst the symphony of hospital sounds.

The hospital's fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow on the white walls as Dr. Jones retreated, his laughter fading into a distant echo. In the wake of his departure, the usual rhythm of the hospital resumed, but with an undercurrent of whispered curiosity among the staff.

In a different wing of the hospital, oblivious to the stir he had caused, David lay in a bed, his body a landscape of pain and confusion.

"Urrrrgh," David groaned, his eyes fluttering open to the stark white of the hospital room. Pain radiated through his body—aching ribs, a sore throat, burning lungs. His legs felt as though they had been both pummelled by Eric and sawed off with a blunt chainsaw.

'What's happening?' David's mind was a haze of confusion, his skull pounding, sinuses stinging. His limbs were icy, fingers barely moving, while his ribs burned, and his stomach gnawed on itself.

He curled up, shivering, as waves of cold washed over him. Slowly, memories trickled back, thawing his frozen senses. 'Truck-kun? And... something about a contract?'

As the fog in his brain cleared and his muscles relaxed, he still felt like a reanimated corpse, albeit a slightly warmer one. 'Better than being an actual dead corpse,' he mused.

His thoughts were a whirlwind. 'A dungeon mob? What in the world is going on?'

But amidst the confusion, a realization dawned on him, and a burst of laughter erupted from his lips. "HA! Take that, Truck-kun! No isekai adventures for me. I'm staying right here on good old planet Earth!" His laughter filled the room, a brief respite from the pain.

However, his amusement was cut short by a digital-sounding, unnervingly familiar voice:

[Warning: If you do not drink water within the next 15 minutes, the user will enter a berserk mode.]

[Please drink water to extend the time by which you can maintain your sapience. Goal: 2/100.]

"Berserk mode? What kind of sick joke is this?" David muttered, coughing softly. The pain flared again, and he winced, deciding it was best to stay quiet.

'But I am really thirsty,' he thought, his parched throat yearning for relief.

As he considered his thirst and started to sit up, the door swung open. A nurse, young and slightly wide-eyed, stepped in.

"Oh my, you're awake already! According to the doctor's report, you're completely fine, so if you could just sign—" She began rattling off instructions like a rapid-fire machine gun. David raised a trembling hand, signaling her to pause, and pointed weakly at the empty glass on his bedside table.

"Water," he croaked, his voice rough and shaky.

"Oh! My apologies, it's my first day, and I'm still getting the hang of things. Sorry!" she blurted out, her face flushing with embarrassment. She quickly stepped out, returning moments later with a cup of clear, cool water. David snatched the glass eagerly, gulping down the water.

"Haaaa! More, please!" he gasped, the cold water soothing his raw throat yet leaving him craving more.

"Of course!" the nurse replied, her initial professional facade giving way to a more empathetic demeanor.

After David had drained three cups, the nurse returned, this time with a two-liter bottle of water and a fresh glass. She poured him another drink, and David, still feeling parched, gratefully accepted it. He drank glass after glass, the cool liquid somewhat easing his discomfort. When the last drop of water from the bottle was gone, he sighed, feeling marginally better.

His gaze drifted to a text box that seemed to float just at the edge of his vision. No matter where he looked, it followed, prompting him to focus on it.

[Please drink to extend the time by which you can maintain your sapience. Goal: 28/100]

"Can I have a little bit more? Heh" David awkwardly said to the nurse, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"My, you're really thirsty," the nurse observed with a frown of concern, bringing in yet another bottle. "Are you okay? Drinking too much water can be harmful, you know."

By this time, the chilling numbness in David's limbs had begun to recede, leaving only his fingers and toes with a lingering frostiness. The painful dryness in his chest had eased, replaced by a more manageable discomfort. He poured another glass, the water offering temporary relief.

gulp gulp

"Much better," he lied, setting down the empty glass. His throat was still as dry as a desert.

The nurse hesitated. "I don't mean to alarm you, but you should really pace yourself with the water. On another note, I need to draw a blood sample. If the results are clear, you'll be discharged."

As she prepared for the blood draw, the door opened, and a doctor walked in. He glanced at David with a mix of professional interest and underlying curiosity. This was the patient who had caused such a stir, the one everyone was talking about.

The doctor approached David, his eyes scanning for any visible injuries. 'Who could this David be?' he pondered internally. 'What kind of influence must he have to warrant such attention from the top medical staff in the state?'

In the aftermath of the doctor's visit, the nurse lingered outside David's room, mulling over the peculiar instructions she had received. Her recent scolding from the senior doctor still echoed in her ears, underscoring the unusual nature of David's case. She took a deep breath, steadying herself for what was to come.

Stepping back into the room, she approached David with a cautious air. "Oh... Yes, the doctor has reviewed your case again and said you can leave whenever you're ready. Your recovery... it's been quite extraordinary."

David, who had been somewhat lost in thought, snapped back to attention. "Really? So, do I need to sign any discharge papers or something?" His voice was tinged with a mix of relief and eagerness.

"No, everything's already been sorted out for you," the nurse replied, her voice regaining some of its professional steadiness. She handed him a sleek new phone, adding, "This was left for you by the administration."

David accepted the phone, a quizzical look crossing his face. "And these?" He motioned towards the clothes she held.

"Your clothes," she said, handing them to him. They were familiar, his own, suggesting someone had taken the time to gather his belongings. "Your shoes are under the bed. Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm good, thanks," David responded quickly, his mind racing with questions about the unusual circumstances of his stay and the apparent urgency in his discharge.

As he dressed, David couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his story than met the eye. The nurse's demeanour, the unexpected gift of a phone, and the peculiar haste in his discharge all pointed to something larger at play.

Exiting the room, David felt a strange mix of freedom and uncertainty. The hospital corridors bustled around him, but he felt detached, as if he were walking through a dream.

The nurse watched him go, her expression a blend of professional detachment and a flicker of curiosity. 'Who is he, really?' she pondered, as the mystery of David's case lingered in the air.