[Greetings, Master.
Welcome to Shaman Protocol.
My name is Doom. I will be at your service till your end.]
Mikel furrowed his brows, staring at the hovering screen before him.
Is this part of the eye surgery package?
"Mikel?" the surgeon called again. "Mikel."
This time, the surgeon tapped his shoulder, causing him to jolt. Mikel looked up, only to see concern in the doctor's eyes.
"Is everything alright?"
"Uh…" Mikel let out a confused noise, pointing at the screen in front of him. "What is this?"
"Huh?" the surgeon followed the direction of his finger, as did the nurses and a few management staff around the bed.
Mikel looked to where they were all staring, only to realize their gazes passed straight through the screen.
"Not him—this," Mikel corrected, gesturing again. "Is this part of the surgery package I agreed to?"
"Mikel, what are you talking about?" the attending doctor stepped forward.
"I'm talking about this screen!" Mikel intoned, voice rising in both confusion and panic. "I didn't sign up for some built-in screen in my head. What is this? Some black-market chip upgrade?!"
Everyone's expressions shifted into concern.
"What's going on?" one staff member whispered. "The operation was successful, but something's clearly wrong."
"Someone explain this to me—what is this?" Mikel insisted, patting the back of his head instinctively. Did they sneak in one of those conspiracy-theory chips or something?
Who knew? It was an experimental surgery, after all.
As anxiety spread through the room, the surgeon gently placed a hand on Mikel's arm.
"Mikel, I don't know what you're talking about. There's no screen," he said calmly. "And we didn't implant anything but the eye and a bit of repair on your right."
"Then, how do you explain this?" Mikel asked, gesturing again at the interface only he could see.
The doctor sighed. "You've been on heavy medication. It's very possible you're hallucinating."
"I'm seeing things?" Mikel asked in disbelief.
The doctor nodded. "Yes. But it should be temporary. You're still young, but even a low dosage can overwhelm your system."
"So I'm just hallucinating," Mikel repeated, looking at the screen again. "This might not be real."
"We've been lowering your dosage. These effects should fade soon. Otherwise, we'll run more tests to find out the cause."
The explanation was oddly convincing. Mikel normally wouldn't buy it, but it was the only thing that made sense. The alternatives running through his mind were far too wild.
Once he calmed down, he answered their follow-up questions regarding the surgery and agreed to a routine check.
"Once we confirm you're stable, you'll be cleared to go home," the surgeon said, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "I'm glad the surgery was a success."
Mikel looked at him and the rest of the staff. He wanted to smile—almost—but didn't. Not when he was supposedly hallucinating.
"Rest for now, alright?" the doctor said warmly. "You've done well."
With that, they left the room, smiles on their faces, proud of what they thought was a successful full-eye transplant. They didn't seem to care much about his earlier dilemma after hearing his answers about the surgery.
But then Mikel noticed one nurse lingering by his bed.
"Huh?" he mumbled as she approached.
"Good job, Mikel," she whispered, her voice sweet—but something about it made his gut twist.
She touched his arm. Her skin was cold. Freezer cold.
Then she left, the last to go.
Mikel's gaze followed her, brows twitching up as he noticed the lack of shadow following her. However, he didn't get a chance to dwell on it as the message on the screen changed.
[Threat detected.]
[Analyzing the threat…]
His frown deepened. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It's just the meds," he muttered. "Just the medicine. Probably hallucinating about video games from withdrawal."
He peeked again, and the screen was still there.
"Never mind," he told himself, and carefully leaned back into his inclined bed. "It'll disappear once the meds wear off."
Yeah. Once the meds wear off…
He glanced toward the next bed. An old man was eating grapes, watching TV on mute. He had hearing problems. Even at max volume, he couldn't hear anything, so he kept it muted.
He stared at the old man, but his mind was drifting elsewhere. "I got my sight back. That's all that matters."
Just then, he noticed a child peeking in through the entrance.
"Shoo." Mikel waved the kid off like a stray cat. "Don't hang around sick people."
The boy blinked. "Big brother, do you know where my mama went?"
"Your mom?" Mikel asked, wrinkling his nose. "No, but—"
He stopped, spotting a nurse walking past the child.
"Ask her," he said. "That one who just walked by. She'll help more than I can."
The boy turned toward the nurse in the white uniform.
"Thank you, big brother!" he chirped and ran off.
Mikel shook his head, but the old man — his wardmate — suddenly spoke.
"Kid, who were you talking to?"
Mikel turned to the old man. "Huh? That kid. He was lost."
The old man exhaled slowly. "Hospitals have more spirits than cemeteries. Lost, confused… some don't even know they're dead. And just like the living, not all are kind."
"..." Mikel blinked. "Grandpa, I'm not scared of ghosts. And in case you missed it, I'm mildly hallucinating. So… if ghosts could hold off, that'd be great."
He sighed and shook his head, trying not to think about his wardmate's comment. However, the human mind tends to linger on such things. And Mikel was just any other person, so he curiously asked,
"Grandpa, you really didn't see the kid?"
The old man sighed again. "Hospitals have more wandering spirits than cemeteries. They're lost… confused. Some don't know they're dead. And just like the living, not all are nice."
Mikel's face twitched.
"Shouldn't have asked," he muttered, as the old man continued looping his eerie sermon.
Eventually, Mikel leaned back, staring at the screen before him. Then he decided it wasn't important.
Whether by exhaustion or force of will, he chose to ignore it. Somehow, it worked, and he didn't even notice when the screen disappeared.
He assumed the meds were finally wearing off. So, he spent the rest of the day watching a muted TV with the elderly man across the room.
*****
As night fell, the lights in their ward dimmed. The darker the sky grew, the quieter the night became.
Mikel yawned and glanced at the old man. He stared at the old man for a while until he could see his chest moving up and down weakly.
"Guess he's not dying tonight," he yawned again, feeling his eyes grow watery.
Sleep soon overtook him, quietly lulling him into slumber. But while he slept deeply, faint noises began to ring in his ears. They weren't enough to wake him until something tickled his nostrils, as if someone were brushing it with a feather.
"Hm." Mikel irritably touched his nose, but the sensation persisted, this time on his cheek.
Wiping his cheek in his sleep, he turned his head slightly for comfort. However, he couldn't completely turn to this side as something heavy pressed down on him.
"Mikel," a whisper caressed his ear. "Oh, Mikel."
His brows furrowed as he groaned, but the playful whispers continued, slowly rousing him from his slumber. When he felt something wet in his ear, as if someone had licked his earlobe, his eyes suddenly snapped open.
But before he could react, he froze.
A face hovered just inches from his own.
A woman crouched on his chest, her weight crushing his breath. Her long, tangled black hair draped over his face like wet threads. Her mouth stretched unnaturally wide to her jaw, revealing a set of crooked, mud-caked teeth. A string of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth onto Mikel's cheek. Her eyes glowed — not like lights, but like dying coals — hollow, hungry, and full of hate.
Mikel's hand instinctively shot up, grabbing the fingers dancing along his neck. "What —" he choked as her cold hands squeezed around his throat.
Her light giggle made every hair on his body stand on end, and she spoke in an eerie, almost breathless voice,
"Shaaaaaman… die."