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The early morning sun barely filtered through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the sterile white walls of the room. Chris Blackwood, still unconscious, lay motionless on the bed. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, steady and lifeless like a pulse that had yet to find meaning.
Dr. Helena Blackwood-Gray stood beside the bed, her fingers lightly brushing the tablet screen as she read through his vitals. Classic's room had become almost a second home for her, but Chris's room—this room—held a heavy silence that pressed against her chest. Even the most hardened medical professionals, those who had worked under her command for years, spoke little around these walls. It was too close, too personal.
Inner Monologue (Dr. Helena):
Everything is stable. His vitals are holding steady. It's been a month now—no change in the neurological scan. The long period of inactivity is… concerning. But we've seen patients in comas for years with minimal responses. He'll wake. They both will. Right?
---
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft click of the door behind her, the quietest of knocks. It was a soft reminder of the outside world—one that had not paused, even for the most powerful man in the empire. The Dictator, Christiana, had sent an urgent message again, demanding updates.
But before she could respond, something happened—something she wasn't prepared for.
A subtle twitch. At first, it was almost imperceptible. A flutter of the fingers on Chris's right hand. Dr. Helena leaned in closer, her breath catching in her throat.
---
Inner Monologue (Dr. Helena):
No... it couldn't be. It's too early. We've monitored every inch of his body. There hasn't been any neurological stimulation. His reflexes have been dormant. This... this can't be.
She waited a few more moments, her gaze locked on his hand. She swallowed hard, hesitant to believe what she was seeing. Then, the twitch came again—this time a little stronger. His fingers, trembling with slow, deliberate motion, curled slightly inward, and then relaxed again.
Dr. Helena (whispering):
"No... no way."
---
She quickly pulled up the sensor readings on her tablet, eyes scanning the data. His brain activity had spiked. It was minimal, but it was there. His finger movement confirmed what the machines were trying to tell her.
Dr. Helena (to herself):
This can't be a fluke. He's responding. He's... coming back.
She rushed to the side of the bed, pressing a button to adjust the IVs. Her heart raced, but she didn't allow herself to feel the weight of hope just yet. Her eyes flicked to the monitors, noting the sudden changes in the electroencephalogram (EEG) readings.
---
At 3:13 a.m. on the dot—the same time she'd noted in her records from days ago—Chris's brain activity surged again. His fingers twitched once more, and then, something even more remarkable occurred. His eyelids fluttered.
---
Dr. Helena:
"Chris?"
Her voice was barely a whisper, but the words hung in the air like a prayer.
---
She leaned in, watching him intently. His breathing had deepened slightly, and his pulse was quicker now. It was faint, barely a whisper in the machine's hum, but it was there. She pressed a button to adjust his oxygen mask, just in case he was struggling to breathe. The room felt tense, the air thick with the weight of what was happening.
---
Inner Monologue (Dr. Helena):
This could be the moment. He's waking. But why now? What triggered this response?
---
Slight movement again.
A hand... his hand—clutched the side of the bed. A tiny, deliberate motion. His fingers gripped the edge weakly.
---
Dr. Helena (gently, softly):
"Chris... it's Helena. Can you hear me?"
---
The sound of her voice, calm and comforting, seemed to reverberate through the room like a lifeline.
Chris's chest heaved slightly. His breath was ragged. The fluttering of his eyelids stopped, and his right eye—just a slit—peeked open, the tiniest trace of movement in his pupils.
---
Dr. Helena:
"Come on, Chris. Just a little more. Just a little more…"
---
Seconds turned into minutes. But in that silence, Chris's body seemed to respond with more strength. His right hand clenched slightly again, this time more forcefully.
Then, with a sudden, sharp breath, he moved. His chest heaved as if he had been holding his breath for hours, and then—
---
Chris (weakly, hoarsely):
"…father… Classic…"
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Dr. Helena (stunned, whispering):
"Chris?"
---
His voice was weak—barely audible. But it was real. He had spoken. His body was fighting its way back.
---
Chris (groggy, trying to focus):
"Classic… I need to… I need to see him…"
---
The words struck Dr. Helena like a bolt of lightning. The shift in his voice, the desperation—she could feel the weight of his words, the importance of them.
---
Dr. Helena:
"Chris, you're awake. You're alive. But… Classic…"
---
She didn't finish the sentence. There was no need. The tension in the room thickened. He was asking for his son. And for a moment, she wondered if Classic's fate would intertwine with Chris's awakening. Would his son—now in a coma too—be the reason Chris truly woke?
---
Chris (mumbling):
"Where is… my son?"
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Dr. Helena:
"He's… still unconscious, Chris. But you, you're awake. You're alive."
---
His hand twitched again, his grip tightening slightly as he tried to sit up. His eyes, unfocused and blurry, were still struggling to process the world around him.
---
Dr. Helena (concerned):
"Chris, you need to rest. Don't overexert yourself…"
---
But it was too late. His muscles trembled, and with a sudden burst of strength, he tried to sit up further, pushing against the bed. His voice was now clearer, more insistent.
---
Chris (forcefully):
"I need to see Classic. Now. He's my responsibility. He's my son."
---
The urgency in his voice was clear. She could see it now—he wasn't just fighting for his life. He was fighting for his son. For his legacy.
---
Dr. Helena (decisively):
"I'll get you the details, Chris. But you need to stay still for now. You're not fully recovered."
---
But Chris's gaze was already drifting, searching the room as if the answers were hidden in the sterile walls. His determination was clear.
---
He was back. And the war for his empire… had only just begun.