Fallout

    If someone had cared to track Sean and his companions’ route from Aster’s workshop to their lodgings in the spire, they would have had an easy trail to follow. The blood leaking through the seams of Flick’s boots marked their path until about the half-way mark, when her bandages finally staunched the flow. Around the same time, something in Mordren’s stomach turned and he began to leave a different kind of sign in the sterile hallways.

    Sean couldn’t help but be impressed by the man’s fortitude. In the immediate aftermath of the core’s sealing, the attendant had briskly led the group on their way from the blast area. The only sign of any harm from his handling of the object was the fact that he couldn’t remove his gloves.

    Mordren had calmly, if arduously, explained that the leather had fused to his flesh in the final flash. Sean hadn’t been sure how they’d deal with that from a medical perspective, but he’d been relieved that the cost of his companion’s heroics had been so light.

   That was wishful thinking.

    He looked at Mordren’s form slumped in a chair by their room’s window. By the time they’d reached their door, the elf had been barely able to stand. Flick had taken the cart into her care soon after the vomiting had begun, but even with the transfer of that burden their pace had gradually slowed to a crawl.

    Sean couldn’t help but be ashamed at his own infirmity preventing him from taking the burden of their prize. Rationally he knew that he wasn’t in much better shape than his attendant. Watching Flick’s bandaged hands struggle to grip the pull bar as Mordren stumbled behind her, though, made him feel unworthy of their loyalty.

    Before he’d lost consciousness, the elf had pulled a token from his robe and used it to signal Aster. All Sean could do now was listen to Mordren’s labored breathing and wait for their host to arrive.

    Flick came up next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

    “Mordren’s strong as an ox. If we can get him to a proper healer and away from this awful city, I’m sure he’ll pull through.”

    Sean shook his head. “I don’t think so. This reminds me of an illness from my home.”

    He didn’t need the Chain to help him diagnose this particular issue. Like most of his generation, the internet had been the go-to source of medical knowledge in an era where a doctor’s visit might be too expensive or too late to be practical.

    In Sean’s case it hadn’t been about time or money, though both had still been a concern. Instead he’d been trying to weigh whether the side-effects of the treatment for his disease would be worth the slim chance they’d given him of remission.

    “You know what’s wrong with him then?” Flick asked.

    “Yes and no. It reminds me of an illness that’s caused when a person is exposed to large amounts of harmful energy.”

    “Like this 'caustic mana' from Aster’s core, aye.”

    “Well, a different energy source, but basically yes. The more you’re exposed to, the worse it gets.”

    He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t be completely sure but based on what I’m seeing and what Mordren mentioned about the first clean up crews, I think it’s similar.”

    “How would the healers where you’re from try to fix it then? The smug bastard seemed sure you could get anything in this nightmare of a city.”

    His research into radiation therapy had led him down into a very deep hole. At the bottom he’d wallowed in endless minutiae about nuclear accidents and the costs they incurred on those who’d been brave enough to try and fix them. None of those accounts had made him more eager to attempt the medical version of the process.

    Sean looked over to the elf, unresponsive in his chair. Based on the symptoms he was already presenting, there didn't seem to be much hope.

    “They wouldn’t, Flick, they’d just do their best to make him comfortable until things…ran their course.”

    “Ah.” She breathed, deflating. “Well I suppose that’s all there is to it then. Do you think we can move him to the bed?”

    “I think the least we can do is try.”

    Between them, and less gently than Sean would have liked, they managed to shift Mordren’s limp body to the mattress. Blood trickled from the gashes in his palms where the ring had cut, staining the bed’s sheets as Sean maneuvered his arms into what he hoped was a natural position. Meanwhile Flick used the towel with which she’d most recently tended Sean to clean around the man’s mouth and eyes.

    Both of them worked quietly, with the soft rasp of cloth on skin and the creak of Mordren’s gauntlets as the only noise. Flick’s voice, uncharacteristically timid, broke the silence first.

    “This energy sickness that’s afflicting Mordren, will we catch it too?”

    Sean paused from unlacing their patient’s boots. He looked over to Flick, but she avoided meeting his eyes.

    “I don’t think so, but it’s hard to say for sure. Mordren said the room was meant to be warded, but that was with the door intact. We’ll have to wait and see if symptoms manifest.”

    “… so, I still might have killed us then?” She asked the wall.

    Rather than answering with empty reassurance, Sean moved over to Flick. Tentatively he placed his hands on her arms and, meeting no resistance, pulled her into an embrace.

    “No, Flick. No matter what happens now, you’re not the one at fault. Without you getting us into the office in the first place, we wouldn’t have even made it this far.”

    Even the light pressure of her back against his chest produced a stab of pain from his broken rib, but Sean didn’t shrink away. Instead, to distract himself as much as to confirm his suspicions, he focused on his own body and sank into the Chain.

    Much like Mordren, who was still visible on his pillar in the corner of Sean’s eye, he saw a pseudo-diagnostic view of himself. He was seated in a throne made of copper and dry mahogany, his various cuts, bruises, and breaks all glowing in various shades according to their severity.

    The shallow wounds from his roll in the glass were all a light pink, while his bruising from the same event ranged from the same color to a slightly darker rose. He could see the rib he knew he’d broken highlighted in bright red, while its two neighbors were crackled with red where the bone had been strained but held firm. Other issues, like the state of his lungs and his overall deterioration, were evident in a similar fashion.

    He looked over to Mordren, who was almost completely obscured by a red fog. Sean took it to be the radiation or caustic mana contamination that the man was now suffering under, and reviewed his own body for the same signs.

    While some of his own body was covered in the same haze, it was significantly lighter and present only in small amounts.

    He backed out of his trance, about to give Flick the good news, when he heard the door click open behind him.

    “I come to provide payment for services rendered.” Aster’s voice cut through the quiet of the room on a burst of cool air. “I’m sure you don’t mind me letting myself in, I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”