Cyborg’s Destiny (BioCircuit Nexus)

Chapter 5

Norn

I flexed my new cybernetic arm, marveling at how seamlessly it responded to my thoughts. The sleek metal gleamed under the harsh lights of the medical bay, a stark contrast to the scarred flesh of my organic limb. It had been weeks since the procedure, and I was still getting used to the sensation of having two fully functional arms again.

"Ready for your tour?" Imogen's voice pulled me from my reverie. I looked up to see her standing in the doorway, a datapad in hand and a warm smile on her face.

"Lead the way, Doc," I said, pushing myself to my feet. My body still ached from the countless surgeries and physical therapy sessions, but I was determined not to show any weakness .

Stepping out into the corridor, the stark contrast between this place and the military facilities immediately struck me I was familiar with. The walls were a soft, calming blue instead of utilitarian gray, and the air hummed with the gentle whir of advanced machinery.

"Welcome to the heart of Durmox C7's medical center," Imogen said, gesturing broadly. "We're at the forefront of cybernetic medicine here."

We passed by rooms filled with equipment I couldn't even comprehend. Holographic displays showed intricate schematics of cybernetic enhancements, while in other rooms, I glimpsed patients undergoing procedures that looked more like something out of a sci-fi holo than real medical treatment.

"This is incredible," I murmured, my warrior instincts kicking in as I assessed the strategic value of such advanced medical technology. "On Krixon, our medical facilities were basic, compared to this."

Imogen nodded, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "We're fortunate to have access to the latest advancements here. But it comes at a cost."

Before I could ask what she meant, we rounded a corner and came face to face with a sight that stopped me in my tracks. A massive chamber stretched out before us, filled with row upon row of stasis pods. Each pod held a figure, some fully human, others with varying degrees of cybernetic enhancement.

"What is this place?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Imogen's expression grew solemn. "This is the long-term care ward," she explained. "For patients whose injuries or conditions are beyond our current ability to treat. We keep them in stasis, hoping that one day we'll develop the technology to help them."

I stepped closer to one pod, peering at the face inside. It was a young woman. Her features were peaceful in artificial sleep. Half of her body was a mangled mess of flesh and metal, frozen in time.

"How long has she been here?" I asked, unable to tear my gaze away.

"Three years," Imogen said softly. "She was caught in a terrorist attack on one of the outer colonies. We've made progress, but it's slow going."

I turned to look at Imogen, seeing her in a new light. The weight of responsibility she carried, the lives that depended on her skills and dedication. It was a different battle than what I was used to, but no less intense .

As we continued our tour, Imogen showed me the research labs where they developed new cybernetic enhancements, the state-of-the-art operating theaters, and the rehabilitation facilities where patients like me learned to adapt to their new bodies.

Throughout it all, I watched Imogen as much as our surroundings. The way her eyes lit up when she explained a complex piece of technology, the gentle way she interacted with patients and staff alike, the determination that radiated from her with every step.

It was during a quiet moment, as we paused in an observation room overlooking the city, that I finally worked up the courage to ask that had been nagging at me.

"Imogen," I said, my voice gruff with emotion I wasn't used to expressing. "Why did you choose this? To be a doctor, I mean. To specialize in cybernetics."

She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the sprawling cityscape beyond the window. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, tinged with an old pain.

"I had a brother," she said, her words catching me off guard. "Younger than me by a few years. He was born with a degenerative condition. His nervous system was slowly shutting down, bit by bit."

I remained silent, sensing that she needed to get this out.

"The doctors on our colony world did what they could, but their resources were limited," Imogen continued. "They told us that with the right cybernetic enhancements, he could have a normal life. But we couldn't afford it, and the waiting list for government assistance was years long."

She turned to me then, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "He died when I was sixteen. And I swore that day that I would do everything in my power to make sure no one else had to go through what my family did. That's why I'm here, why I do what I do."

The raw emotion in her voice, the pain and determination, hit me like a physical blow. In that moment, I saw Imogen not just as the skilled doctor who had saved my life, but as a warrior in her own right, fighting battles every bit as crucial as the ones I had fought on distant battlefields.

Without thinking, I reached out with my organic hand, gently wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. The touch sent a jolt through me, a warmth that spread from my fingertips to my core.

"I'm sorry," I said, the words feeling inadequate. "For your loss, and for not understanding sooner."

Imogen gave me a watery smile, leaning into my touch for just a moment before stepping back. "Thank you," she said softly. "I don't talk about it much, but I'm glad you know."

As we made our way back to my room, a comfortable silence fell between us. My mind was reeling from everything I'd seen and learned, not just about the medical facility, but about Imogen herself.

Back in the familiar confines of my recovery room, I found myself restless, unable to settle. The cybernetic arm whirred softly as I clenched and unclenched my fist, a nervous habit I'd developed since the surgery.

"Something on your mind?" Imogen asked, her keen eyes missing nothing.

I hesitated, unsure how to put my tumultuous thoughts into words. "I'm conflicted," I admitted finally.

Imogen pulled up a chair, her expression open and encouraging. "About what? "

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "About everything. This place, this technology. You." The last word came out barely above a whisper, but I knew she heard it.

"My whole life, I've been trained to be a warrior," I continued, the words pouring out now that I'd started. "To see the world in terms of threats and assets, to value strength above all else. But here, I'm seeing a different kind of strength. In you, in the work you do."

Imogen listened intently, her gaze never leaving mine.

"And it's making me question everything I thought I knew," I said, frustration creeping into my voice. "Who am I if not a warrior? What's my purpose if not to fight?"

"Oh, Norn," Imogen said softly, reaching out to take my hand. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver through me. "Being a warrior isn't just about physical combat. It's about fighting for what you believe in, protecting those who can't protect themselves. And from what I've seen, you have that in spades."

Her words washed over me, soothing some of the turmoil in my mind. But there was more, something I was afraid to voice, even to myself .

"There's something else," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "Something I don't know how to handle."

Imogen squeezed my hand gently, encouragingly. "You can tell me anything, Norn. You know that."

I looked at her then, really looked at her. The warmth in her green eyes, the gentle curve of her lips, the stray strand of auburn hair that had escaped her braid. And I felt it again, that surge of warmth, of longing, that I'd been trying to ignore for weeks.

"I think I'm falling for you," I blurted out, the words hanging in the air between us.

Imogen's eyes widened, a flush creeping up her cheeks. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching out like a chasm.

"Norn, I..." she started, then stopped, seeming to gather her thoughts. "I care about you too. More than I should, as your doctor."

Hope flared in my chest, warring with the ingrained discipline that told me attachments were a weakness. "But?" I prompted, sensing there was more.

Imogen sighed, her thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. "But it's complicated. You're my patient. There are ethical considerations. And you're still recovering, still adjusting to everything that's happened."

I nodded, understanding her hesitation even as part of me wanted to sweep it all aside. "I know," I said. "And I respect that. But Imogen I've never felt this way before. About anyone."

She looked at me then, a softness in her expression that made my heart race. "Neither have I," she admitted. "And that scares me a little."

I chuckled, the sound surprising even to me. "The great Dr. Imogen, scared? I didn't think that was possible."

She smiled, a real, genuine smile that lit up her whole face. "Oh, I get scared plenty. I'm just good at hiding it."

We sat there for a long moment, hands intertwined, the air between us charged with unspoken emotions. Finally, Imogen spoke.

"Let's take it slow," she said. "Give yourself time to heal, to figure out who you are outside of being a warrior. And I'll talk to the ethics board, and see about transferring your care to another doctor."

I felt a pang at the thought of not seeing her every day, but I understood the necessity. "Okay," I agreed. "Slow it is. "

As Imogen stood to leave, she hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. The touch of her lips sent a jolt through me, like an electric current.

"Goodnight, Norn," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Imogen," I replied, watching as she left the room.

As I lay back in my bed, my mind whirled with everything that had happened. The marvels I'd seen in the medical facility, the revelation about Imogen's past, the confession of my growing feelings for her.

I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of it all. These new feelings provoked a battle within me, as the warrior in me, the part that had been trained to see emotions as a weakness, resisted. But another part, a part that was growing stronger every day, embraced them.