The Nurse Part III

Ophira lies slumped against a crate, her medical kit serving as a makeshift pillow. Dark hair falls across her face, rising and falling with each steady breath. The nurse's hands still clutch a roll of fresh bandages, even in sleep.

Shiro approaches the suitcase, her movements careful and measured despite her weakened state. Friend follows her closely, feathers gleaming gold in the night light.

She reaches for the clasps, snapping it open with a muted click. As she lifts the lid, the stench hits her first - rot and antiseptic mingling in a nauseating cloud.

Inside lies what's left of Ophira’s. patient, if it can still be called that. Bandages wrap most of its form, stained brown and yellow with seepage. The telltale signs of Bile addiction are carved into what remains of the flesh - mottled patches where skin has sloughed away, tissue deteriorating from within. The nanobot's signature pattern of destruction is unmistakable.

Where the limbs should be, there are only roughly wrapped stumps. Bile always starts at the extremities, eating through flesh and bone until amputation becomes the only option. But even that desperate measure rarely saves its victims.

Friend waddles over, drawn by the movement. Her head tilts as she examines the bundle of bandages and meat. She stretches her neck forward, beak pecking curiously at a loose bandage end.

A muffled shriek emerges from what remains of the person's throat. The sound is wet, choked - more gurgle than scream. Friend jumps back, feathers puffed in surprise, before leaning in again with renewed interest.

"Stop." Shiro pulls Friend away from the suitcase. "Don't peck that."

Friend clucks in protest, trying to peek around Shiro's legs at the fascinating bundle of bandages. The person in the case makes another strangled sound, its exposed muscle tissue quivering with the effort.

Shiro crouches beside the case, her pale eyes fixed on what remains of the person inside. The bandaged form twitches under her gaze, muscles contracting beneath stained wrappings.

"Your name?"

The ruined jaw works, tissue and bone shifting beneath torn flesh. A wet gurgle emerges, forming something close to "Arrh." The sound bubbles up through damaged vocal cords, more liquid than language.

Friend steps closer. She opens her beak and lets out a series of clucks that somehow mimic the gurgling sound - "bawk-arrh-arrh."

The thing in the case - Arrh - shudders at the chicken's interpretation.

"Why hasn't she let you die?" Shiro asks, though she knows the thing can't properly answer. "You're beyond saving. Anyone can see that."

Arrh quivers. A wet sound bubbles up from what remains of its throat.

"A quick death would be kinder. You know that, don't you?"

The gurgle that emerges is different this time - shorter, sharper. To Shiro's ears, it sounds distinctly like affirmation. Arrh manages to twitch what's left of its jaw, as if trying to form a "yes" through ruined flesh.

Shiro studies what remains of the face, focusing on the exposed tissue where an eye is still partially visible beneath the bandages.

"Can you still blink?"

A wet gurgle answers her, followed by a slow, deliberate blink.

"Let's make this simple. One blink for yes. Two blinks for no. Understand?"

Arrh blinks once, clear and purposeful.

Friend settles at Shiro's feet. Her usual restlessness stills, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Shiro's gaze remains fixed on that single visible eye. "Do you still want to live?"

The silence stretches between them, broken only by Arrh's labored breathing. Then, slowly, deliberately, the eye blinks twice. No.

Shiro sits back, letting the weight of the answer settle in the air. Friend presses against her leg, offering silent companionship as Shiro processes the truth of what lies in the suitcase- not just a broken body, but a trapped consciousness begging for release.

Arrh makes another wet sound, softer this time. Its eye remains fixed on Shiro, as if pleading for understanding. For mercy.

Shiro extends her arm over an exposed patch of flesh. Her sharp talons press against a toxic blue vein. A quick slash opens the vessel. The poisoned blood wells up, thick and luminescent in the moonlight. A single drop falls, striking raw muscle tissue.

The effect is immediate. Arrh's body convulses, a violent gurgle tearing from what remains of their throat. The sound echoes through the bridge, wet and desperate, before cutting off abruptly. The exposed tissue spasms once, then stills.

The single visible eye glazes over, its desperate plea for release finally answered. Friend hops back from the sudden movement, her feathers ruffled by the disturbance.

Shiro watches as death claims its overdue prize. Her bleeding wrist drips once more onto the deck, the toxic blue spreading across metal before dissipating into nothing.

***

Morning light spills across the bridge, painting the metal walls in shades of amber. Ophira stirs from her makeshift bed against the supply crates, her muscles stiff from sleeping upright. The roll of fresh bandages tumbles from her lap as she stands.

She crosses to the suitcase. The latches click open under her fingers. As the lid lifts, the usual stench of rot and antiseptic doesn't hit her. Instead, there's a new smell - metallic and sharp.

Her hands freeze on the lid. Arrh lies still, too still. The exposed tissue has taken on a blue tinge, spreading outward from a single point of contact. His remaining eye stares upward, glazed and empty.

"No." Her fingers press against what remains of Arrh's neck, searching for a pulse she knows isn't there. "No, no, no."

Ophira storms through the ship's corridors. She finds Shiro at the helm.

"You killed him." Ophira's voice cracks.

"I ended his suffering." Shiro keeps her back turned. "The poison in my blood was quicker than letting him waste away."

"That wasn't your choice to make. I was trying to save him."

"You were prolonging his suffering. He wanted to die. Asked for it, in his own way."

"Asked?" Ophira lets out a bitter laugh. "He couldn't even speak."

"He didn't need to. His eyes said enough."

Shiro finally turns, meeting Ophira's gaze. "You're the first person I've felt I could trust again. I'm trying to help you see what you're doing."

"Help? You think murdering my patient is helping?"

"He wanted to-"

"No." Ophira's hand slashes through the air between them. "Don't pretend this was mercy. I've seen mercy. This? This is what monsters do."

Her fingers brush against the medical kit at her feet. In one fluid motion, she grabs the plasma cauterizer, its metal surface cold against her palm. The device hums to life, crackling with contained energy.

Ophira lunges forward, pressing the cauterizer against Shiro's neck. Blue sparks dance across pale skin as the plasma discharge activates.

Shiro doesn't flinch. Her eyes lock with Ophira's, filled not with fear or anger, but something deeper - disappointment.

"That won't work on me." Shiro's voice comes out flat. The plasma crackles harmlessly against her skin, leaving no mark where it should have burned flesh.

The plasma cauterizer slips from Ophira's fingers, clattering against the metal deck. Her legs give out and she crumples to the floor, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Get off my ship. Before I do something we'll both regret."

Ophira lifts her head. Her mouth opens, but no words come out.

"I said leave." Shiro steps back, putting distance between them. "Now."

Ophira pushes herself to her feet, legs trembling. Her medical kit lies forgotten on the deck, supplies scattered across the metal grating.

Ophira's footsteps fade down the corridor, each echo a reminder of trust broken. She doesn't look back as she descends the gangplank.

Shiro watches as her reflection stare back from the water - a monster with pale hair, cold eyes, scales creeping up her neck where the plasma should have burned. The same monster that made others run in fear. Only Ophira had stayed, had helped without question.

And now she's gone too.