Way Down We Go

[Kuzo]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8[/media]​

​

Coruscant​

Agua District​

Though it was originally built as a low cost, emergency clinic, over the last few months the Sou Emergency Medical Center had been slowly gaining a reputation. While it offered no long term care facilities, word on the street was that for strange or unfamiliar maladies, there was no better place for someone of little means to go. It started filtering through the underground, never through official channels because it wasn't the rich and well appointed that the center catered to, after all. Not the kind of people who would take note and elevate the humble Agua district clinic.

But what people focused on? Pain. Chronic, acute, pain from sudden injury- the things the doctors there were doing to find not merely treatments, management for, but cures- Those reports, those rumors floated to the top.

After all, the potentially blacker rumors, well.....

There was no one to give them voice.

In this case silence did not mean innocence.

*****

Some days, Irajah simply enjoyed the simplicity of working the clinic. Especially when she had no patients of her own, hand picked and brought to the upper levels of the building, it was good to work with her hands.

Her own again, no longer cybernetic and she reveled in that. Once more, the hands of a surgeon, a pianist, rather than mechanical and cold. She had never adjusted to those simulacrums, so to have flesh again, and to use them as intended, well, that brought her joy.

Sending the last patient (a female rodian with two small children, her needs simple and truthfully dull) out, she sat back, musing thoughtfully. Long dark hair was pulled up in a bun at the nape of her neck. Hazel eyes, liquid and distant as she tapped through the patients in the waiting room, swiping on the data pad. Dressed in slacks and a button down shirt beneath the lab coat, the petite woman rested her hip on the table.

Slender fingers paused in their swiping.

Interesting.

She tapped, once, twice, pulling the file up to the front of the line. His name would be called next- sent to exam room three to see 'Doctor Calais.' Beloved, friendly, Doctor Calais. Just another one of the volunteers that offered their time to the clinic, nothing in particular of note.

Nothing in particular indeed.

[member="Atlas Kane"]

 

[Atlas Kane]

A pleasant sound filled the dimly lit apartment, barely pushing out the faint noise of traffic. It was an elegant melody, a seamless composition of distant echoes of tranquil rain, soft piano notes alternating slowly, rhythmically between legato and staccato, and gentle drums underlining the serene performance of the tender voice of a baritone singer, switching between beautiful held notes and flowing, almost spoken verses. The music drifted lightly between the barren walls, a soothing contrast to the turbulent chaos pervading the mind of the lone figure sitting in the room. His back was arched, head resting on the forearm which itself lay lazily on a table moved from its usual locale to the side of the slightly elevated simple mattress serving as the figure's seat and bed. The sole source of light emitted its light brightly into the figure's visage, eyes barely opened, partially to shield from the barrage of light, partially due to tired muscles. Occasionally the free arm's hand blocked the glowing screen's shine as it tapped lightly on the holographic projection of letters just beyond the figure's chin, their images covering the wooden surface from the resting arm all the way to the base of the screen's display. The fingers danced to summon text after text for tired eyes to read, again and again.

The figure interrupted the cycle with a resigned sigh after many of its iterations, closing his eyes to rest the side of his head on both arms, the other having joined its mirror twin. Thoughts, facts, details, information of all kinds raced through his mind, too turbulent to allow his mind to rest. Though they were only a small cornerstone of the true affliction that plagued him. With each heartbeat it came, the powerful pain that permeated the entire upper half of his frame, converging most violently throughout his head. It took several moments for the pain to fade with each heartbeat, long enough to allow more to take its place. The affected muscles were tensed up, unable to relax even as he attempted to rest, hopelessly trying to adopt the same serenity the melody lent the atmosphere so generously as his own, to find even a brief moment of peace during this agonizing chapter in his life. Nothing helped him find it. Not even the numbing chemicals that allowed a lull in the pain's intensity, as its absence was merely the cruel harbinger of eventual return. The pain had plagued him for months now and his patience ran thin just as his desperation to find a permanent solution grew.

For several prolonged moments, the figure simply rested, longing for sleep that wouldn't come. Another muffled but sharp exhalation of air added to the soundscape of the melody still occupying the room. With a subsequent groan, he lifted his head, eyes opening slowly, greeted by the pitch black lack of light. He reached out to turn the dormant display away from his eyes and tapped its surface once. The bright shine illuminated the room partially again, allowing him to make out the shapes of furniture within the room, the few pieces there were. He pushed the table with tired arms and rose from the hard fabric of the mattress, his legs carried him part way through the room before stopping abruptly. His balance was lost suddenly, slowly falling sideways towards the wall, fall halted when his elbow met the wall, immediately followed by the other arm's hand added for stability. A single flash of red streaked across the already unstable mind, a surge in the Force. The music ceased sharply with a brief crack as the void of empty silence took its place. The flame inside raged intensely. Silence didn't last, however. Heavy breathing and loud steps echoed through the room, followed by the rumbling of hands searching a small compartment and the clang of small glass vials. Then a quiet hiss, another quiet hiss, and another two.

The pain was still present for a moment. It threatened to consume his mind entirely, or maybe it already had, he wasn't sure, but he had no time to ponder before he collapsed again. His vision went blurry, control over his limbs was erratic at best, all he could do was lay motionless on the cold ground, breathing shallow breaths, fighting to keep his consciousness.

----------------​

It had been a few days now since he had taken too much of the numbing chemical. He was barely holding together, his limbs felt stiff at all times, mind barely able to form thoughts more intricate or complicated than those that dealt with the barest necessities. Sleep had eluded him, save perhaps barely more than an hour on the trip to this place, a clinic on Coruscant. Knowledge of its existence had reached him entirely by accident when he first left the small apartment for food. He'd overheard a couple talk about the miraculous treatment of a disease that had nearly been fatal, one that no other hospital had been able to provide. They were kind enough to say the clinic's name in their conversation, sparing him the awkward interaction. Once home again he'd contacted the clinic to set up an appointment, receiving their response a day later. Now he waited in the clinic, a grim figure, silently suffering removed from the other patients.

"Atlas Kane, Doctor Calais will see you in room three." A friendly voice announced. He could barely muster a grumble in response.

He was in terrible shape underneath the black robes and mask. Usually, he would never have given his real name, but the slip-up had barely registered when he revealed his identity to the receptionist, though the name went unrecognised, fortunately. His tired frame lumbered towards room three, a kind assistant guiding his way. When the door opened he nearly fell into the room, barely catching himself on the doorframe. He was an utter mess, though not just physically.

[member="Irajah Ven"]

 

[Kuzo]

The small, dark haired figure who must be 'Doctor Calais' was by his side in a series of quick, efficient steps. Low heels tak tak, and then she was offering support. Nearly a foot shorter than he was, it should have been ridiculous. But he was weak, unsteady, and she was stronger than she looked.

"Come on Mister Kane," she murmured softly. "Let's get you to the table and sitting, shall we?"

Whether he decided to lean on her or not, she was there, guiding, getting him settled and sitting properly before taking a step back. She reached over, tapping a single button on the data pad without taking her attention off of him.

"I am Doctor Calais, one of the volunteers for the S.E.M.C.," she introduced herself.

The interest on her face was open and easily readable. She made no attempt to hide it. But the professional mannerisms of 'doctor' out weighed everything else when she was working. Old habits laid down long before her life had changed so dramatically.

"Can you tell me what brings you here today?"

​She had his file, but it was simply check marks made on a sheet. It wasn't the same as hearing it from him.

[member="Atlas Kane"]

 

[Atlas Kane]

Despite the haze of sleepless nights and unrelenting torment oppressing his mind's freedom the foundation of his being stood strong. The nature of a Sith was reliance on the self above all others, on one's own power and strength, and allowing this doctor, this person that, through the actions of her profession, opposed the core of his beliefs, to aid him was still a was still one of the most difficult, if not the most difficult task he'd have to force himself to do. Despite the certainty that his fate would be placed in the hands of someone else, effectively turning him a slave to this healer's intentions, he still wished to show strength, even when at his weakest. Thus he breathed heavily and embraced the discomfort that came with his attempts at moving towards the examination table using only his own wavering strength for balance, completing the few steps without leaning on the shorter woman for assistance, despite the greater effort it took. Finally resting atop its cloth-covered leather surface he released a quiet sigh of relief before turning his attention back to the Doctor.

He nodded in response to her introduction, keeping his eyes focused on her face, attempting to read whatever information he could out of its pale features. She showed no attempt at hiding the attentiveness towards Atlas and the files on him on the datapad, was it genuine concern or did she know more than she let on? It wasn't every day that a Knight of the Sith requested aid from a volunteer's clinic in the heart of what could be considered enemy territory. His eyes remained focused steadily on the doctor, their burning orange-red, typical of Dark Siders, hidden behind the cool black visor of the mask also obscuring the rest his face, or what was left of it. It and the rest of his robes covered up the entirety of his body, save for a few longer strands of black hair that found their way past the mask and hood and into the light. He'd become so used to concealing his appearance and was so unfamiliar with receiving medical aid from others than himself, that it didn't even dawn on him yet that he might need to remove the mask or part of his robes. His condition also made sure his attention was focused elsewhere.

"Can you tell me what brings you here today?"

After a moment's delay, without breaking his glare, his hand moved up towards his mask, fingers touching the brazen metal with shaky confidence before recoiling as the realisation of what he was doing struck. With a subtle shake of his head, he expelled the reflexive course of action and instead moved his hand towards the fabric covering his neck. Sliding it down he revealed several small red puncture markings, many of them hardly noticeable anymore, others still fresh. He turned his head to the side to allow for a better view, inadvertently exposing some of the older pink lines that made their way like veins up towards the edge of his hair and mask; scars from both claw and lightning.

He waited a moment without a word before breaking the silence.

"These marks were left by injectors filled with pain-numbing chemicals I employed to combat the constant, inexplicable agony that has afflicted me. Now they have lost their effectiveness, allowing the pain to run rampant. I want you to make it stop." The tone of his voice was kept low, filled with the tension that kept him from falling apart. He'd have preferred to keep it emotionless, calm, and cold, but his body would simply not comply with the demands of his will, no matter how much he wished it did.

[member="Irajah Ven"]

 

[Kuzo]

She repressed a sigh.

She knew better than to expect her patients to understand what she needed. Even straight forward questions were so often met with what the patient thought was important, rather than what actually was. This was nothing new, nothing novel. And yet it irritated, because it wasted time.

And time, Irajah knew, was one of the few truly precious things in this galaxy- once wasted, gone.

"I am going to ask you some questions," she said, "And I need you to answer them as honestly as you can. The more information I have, the better care I can offer you."

She paused, a small frown on her lips as her eyes cast over the wounds on his neck. Self medicating. Amatuers and drug addicts, amounting to the same things. Mistakes, needing the feeling- in his case, to escape the pain. She knew only too well the clarion call of *freedom* from agony.... But here were familiar lines. Lightening. Force Users. Or someone who fought Force Users. She spent enough time around Sith that it was not a far leap for her. She cared little for the title, the implications.

What mattered to her were the results.

"How long have you been experiencing the pain? Did any particular event occur prior that might have triggered it? An injury? A brush with something abnormal? What have you been medicating with, and for how long? How often? What doses?"

She made notes when he answered, arching her eyebrow once but otherwise not commenting.

"I am going to need to examine you. Please disrobe- there is a tunic behind the screen there," she indicated across the room. "Once you have finished, lie down on the table please."

Her right foot snaked out, hooking a rolling stool and drawing it over. Perching there, she scooted, sending it rolling. Reaching up, she drew down the articulated arm of a small scanner. She had equipment upstairs that was significantly better, but this was good enough.
Good enough to help her decide if he was making the trip up stairs, at least.

[member="Atlas Kane"]

 

[Atlas Kane]

His hand remained where it was for a few moments, the mind was too preoccupied with listening to the doctor's words, forgetting the hand's position in the process. He registered her queries better now, suspicion made sure of that. Only when the doctor had finished asking her questions did he take a moment to put his focus elsewhere again, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment during a brief intake of air.

A little clarity returned to his mind, now that it churned to retrieve the information requested, in part due to the involuntary association of his actions with certain implications in the doctor's words. Though every instinct for self-preservation protested, he'd give her what she wanted to know. At least partially. Only the details he deemed necessary to formulate a treatment for his condition. Anything more would give away more about him than he was comfortable with sharing, especially on a planet brimming with those who'd see him and all of his nature dead. Though it was also a personal matter of pride. The more time he spent here, the more he regretted his decision to come. While the pain became more and more unbearable, the painkillers less and less effective, he was certain he could find a cure on his own, given enough time, but desperation drove his actions since his lengthy encounter with death, leading him to this very place.

"It first started a few years ago, but it went away rather quickly, only lasting a week or two. About a month or two ago it returned, I can't say when exactly, I've ..." he paused, his pride prevented him from further admitting a flaw. "The first time I felt it was I after I received injures, after what had inflicted them on me was ... neutralised." He cursed himself quietly, phrasing it like that would only lead the doctor to draw even more conclusions, but he supposed it didn't matter if he prevented further slip-ups.

"Symoxin. The doses began a few days after the pain returned. It was low concentration, enough to numb pain, but not enough to impair higher brain functions, the med- someone assured me of that." A quiet groan followed the statement.

His voice remained far more emotionless this time, now that his thoughts had begun clearing somewhat. A thick fog still hung over his mind, but slowly confidence returned to him. His pride demanded he seem competent again. As a Knight of the Sith it was in his nature to show strength and as such his pride in that identity forced his willpower's return. His back straightened a little more, his chin lifted a little, and his arms crossed in front of his chest. The believed return of dignity within his posture was palpable to him, ridding his pride of the more superficial wounds. Though in truth he still seemed shaky. A minor tremble remained within his hand, one that went unnoticed as his efforts were more focused on restoring an image of strength, one of great personal power. Especially when the doctor's request came.

His reply was brief, it had an air of finality to it, spoken with more confidence than any statement before it.

"No."

It appeared like simple stubbornness, but to Atlas it was a lot more, even if he wasn't fully conscious of all the reasons himself. If he removed his mask, his robes, his scars would be visible, the injuries once inflicted upon him, not in battle, but during torture, as punishment, as a sick joke, whenever that Darth had felt like it, and he had not the power to stop it, at least not until much later, until he'd already suffered too many of the scars to hide them easily. They were a testament to the time he was powerless, to a time when he could do little but endure the torment he was put through, when he was weak.

Those times ended when he killed the Darth, taking his revenge. The decision to never let his weakness be known again came when he killed the first innocent life he'd encountered. The moment he took their mask, to forge a new identity. One that he had to protect, to not show weakness again.

[member="Irajah Ven"]

 

[Kuzo]

She listened, assessing..... and filling in blanks. Not enough of them.

Her eyesbrows rose at his 'no' however. She made no attempt to hide the appraising look, disapproval in those hazel eyes, but also a deeper scrutiny. Everyone lied. Everyone hid things. Frankly, it was hideously normal and mundane. People were ashamed, or simply over looked details that were necessary to assure their own care.

People, Irajah had come to find, were deeply stupid when it came to their own self preservation. She was not immune to it, and didn't pretend to be, though she was keener now in her awareness of the self deception that went along with such things. The lies that one told to themselves were so much more pervasive than the ones told by others, after all.

"You have two choices here, Mister Kane," she said softly. Her voice wasn't gentle perse, but neither was it harsh. It was simple, straight forward and to the point.

"You can play games, and waste both of our time. You came here, I presume however, for care. For relief. So that seems deeply silly all things considered. Or, you can be honest with me. I can do my scans with your helmet on, if that is bothering you so much, but I cannot do my work if you will not extend the details of what caused the initial symptoms. Unless you simply do not know what it was, in which case I will do my best, but any information you have may lead to answers that would otherwise elude my findings. I have other patients, other work. If you do not truly wish for relief then by all means. But please, don't waste my time."

Irajah only liked mysteries that were genuine. Those that needed sleuthing, discovery and experimentation to discover. Those that were merely hidden by lies or omissions however were not 'mysteries'. They were merely hurdles- roadblocks. People, she had decided, where rarely the enigmatic creatures they liked to pretend they were.

Usually, they were simply liars, pretending to make it feel better to do.

Of course, there was nothing strange about that. Not truly. It was, simply, what they did.

"You can wear the mask in my examination room," she continued softly. "But only you can decide if the one you wear beneath it is going to ultimately be what decides if you stay in pain until it kills you. Holding on to the pain, the secrets doesn't make you strong, Mister Kane. All it does it keep allowing it to take what it can manage, day after day."

That last was not the voice of a doctor. That was the voice of experience.

[member="Atlas Kane"]