Pandemic: of Twins and Tails

by Seven Fates

Day 5: Lockdown

Two people stood in front of the viewing window, looking in at the room's sole occupant. One was a doctor, while the other was a financial exec from the hospital's board of directors. Neither of them was particularly pleased to see the patient lying there, but for entirely different reasons. That reason had nothing to do with the fact the patient was ill.

For Dr. Avery Downey, it was a feeling of unease at having an Equine Transformation Syndrome victim in 'his' hospital. It was bad enough that people were being forced to undergo horrific mutations by this 'virus'. The patient napping in the bed on the other side of the glass had been to the quarantine zone in Colorado before anyone had even discovered the existence of ETS, and had infected an unknown number of people. Maybe the worst part was that nobody could determine the transmission vector, or what personal protective equipment was even effective in preventing it.

The exec, on the other hand, was more upset by the fact that an entire ward had been closed down in order to quarantine the patient. She wasn't so much concerned by that other patients may not receive the care they need, so much as she was with the numbers. Beds not filled with patients meant that less money was coming in from health insurance agencies or incidentals.

Given that word had gotten out that Federal Bureau of Investigations had now involved itself in the situation down in Colorado, she also didn't fancy keeping the man around. What if he was somehow responsible? If it turned out the man was some kind of bioterrorist—maybe even a victim of his own horrific plan—and word got out, the press would have a field day. An already strained healthcare system would be stressed past the limit if scared people started avoiding the hospital in favour of care in Dartmouth, or even in other municipalities.

"Dr. Downey, can I really do nothing to convince you to allow us to contact the Public Health Authority or Health Canada and tell them to take this man off our hands?" she asked in a hushed voice. "That... man belongs in a laboratory, not occupying an entire ward, putting our patients and staff at risk!"

He shook his head slowly, looking from her back down to the manilla folder. "You know why I can't do that, Taylor," Avery replied, thrusting the folder into her hands. "A person doesn't just start growing redundant organs, and whatever this disease is doing to him, it's outside the transformative behaviour in the Front Range cases."

While the he turned to observe as a nurse entered the room with an astonishingly large tray of food, Taylor Hendrickson opened up the folder and began reading. The man was Jacen Cadlow, an american immigrant who'd been living here in Halifax for several years now. Although he was brought in for a head injury caused during a vasovagal syncope-related fall, his family doctor—who had been performing a home visit specifically due to her self-quarantined patient having ETS—requested X-rays and MRIs due to bone distortions that had not been present during his visit to her office on Friday, in addition to the aforementioned redundant heart.

The exec was admittedly unqualified to read the attached MRI or X-Ray films, but there was an attached summary of what the imaging had determined. It was clear as day that he now possessed a heart in both the left and right side of his chest cavity, and there was a partially developed respiratory system at the time of imaging. His original two lungs appeared to be losing mass to make room, as well as shifting to the left side of the cavity. On top of that, bones all over his body were shifting and elongating in ways that should not have been possible at the rate observed.

There were also indicators that Mr. Cadlow's cranium was growing wider. Looking in through the window, she couldn't deny that it almost appeared as though someone had taken hold of his head in a photo-editor and begun stretching it out slowly. There were small masses growing behind the left and right eye inside the sockets. They didn't seem to be cancerous, but if it was following the same pattern as the rest of his body, he might even end up with four eyes.

It was a small wonder that, with everything happening to his body, he didn't appear to be in any pain. How long can that keep up though? It seemed as though his body were prepping to some unholy equivalent of cellular division. What about when the nervous system is affected?

Nausea began to bubble up inside her as she placed the folder back into his dark hands. "What's happening to him is inhuman, and I can't even begin to imagine what this is doing to his psyche," Avery noted as he tucked the folder under his arm. With his other hand, he gestured toward the man whose mismatched eyes and the two-tone hair didn't seem right on a human. "If what happens to his body is even remotely close to what we think is happening, he's probably going to look like some Lovecraftian horror for a time."

Ms. Hendrickson nodded, wishing he hadn't phrased it in that way. "I can see how keeping him here might be for his benefit then," she murmured as she turned away. "The public is already watching the situation south of the border with worry. If they saw him, especially if he ends up looking like something out of John Carpenter's the Thing, the public's going to panic."

"It's a bit late for that," came the voice of a woman behind them. There stood a woman in glasses, a white lab coat, dark clothes, and a surgical mask. Nearby stood one of the other nurses assigned to the locked-down ward. The exec didn't recognise the woman, and she wasn't wearing a lanyard denoting her as staff. It didn't seem as though her presence was unexpected to Avery, however. "Conspiracy theories about Lazy Pines, the end of the world, and even bioterrorism have been making the rounds all day online. If that wasn't bad enough, my clinic and many others are getting swamped with patients coming down with the flu." This was punctuated by a hard cough. "Even the ones who already had the seasonal variant."

Avery passed the yet-to-be-named doctor the folder and turned back to Taylor. "This is Dr. Tara Weintraub," he explained. "That's her patient in there. It's thanks to her efforts that we even have any of the limited information on ETS." He leaned closer to the executive and whispered, "She seems convinced that she might already be infected with the Virus, and is 'borrowing' the room next to his."

---

Jacen was absolutely sick of this virus. It was bad enough that he had to sit very carefully so as not to pinch either of his fluffy soft tails, but it was as though he'd traded one pain for another. His right shoulder was starting to ache, and knowing what he knew from the news, it sounded like he was on his way to becoming a one-winged angel. If only the long white hair had taken on both sides of his head, he could have made a Sephiroth joke.

It wouldn't have been so awful if he could figure out how to control both of the new appendages. Instead, he was left to manhandle them to either side any time he got up to use the room's attached toilet, or when he got back onto the bed. It was incredibly frustrating for him, and he got the distinct impression that his bodily autonomy was slowly being taken away by the virus.

That made him feel helpless, even more than being trapped in this hospital room. Getting taken to the hospital after hitting his head like he did at least made sense, but as he lie there, recovering from his concussion it occurred to him that they weren't going to allow him to leave. That was only confirmed last night by the nurse that brought him dinner and checked in with him. It was made clear that any attempts to leave would end with police involvement.

Just as well that he was here. Since hitting his head yesterday, his headaches and their frequency had only intensified. They'd given him some prescription strength ibuprofen this morning, but it'd done nothing for the lingering dizziness and vertigo. If anything, as the day had progressed, it'd only gotten worse, what with the buzz of tinnitus and an unusual prickling sensation in my ears.

At least he wasn't left to stew in complete boredom. His physician had been kind enough to collect a bunch of his belongings before locking up his place. His phone and charger, his wallet, and even a few books from his bookshelf. He'd have liked it better if she had grabbed something from a shelf other than the one holding the collection of Star Wars trade paperbacks he inherited from his parents. The only other book she'd managed to grab was a book on tarot, something he'd gotten at a friend's suggestion not too long ago, still in its factory wrapping. Still, it was better than nothing. What better way to get to know some of the legacy of my namesake than being stuck in a room with the books and little else to do?

Then there was the matter of his hitherto unwanted companion. Up until now, he'd seen her as an antagonistic detriment to his own mental well-being. She had always been negative whenever he ended up in a bad enough place for her to show up. Now that he had time to reflect—she'd surprisingly been giving him a fair bit of space, even if she continued to lurk—he was forced to admit that she wasn't entirely malicious.

Nearly everything she ever said could technically be traced back to his own self-doubts, conscious or not. The negativity towards his self-destructive tendencies—the smoking, the alcohol, riding a motorbike... Didn't all that come from the self-preservation instincts that his depression made easy to ignore? And my survivor's guilt is literally projected on her... that's why she acts like she thinks she's my sister, right? Up until now, he just didn't want to accept what she represented, instead seeing her as the enemy.

At this realisation, Jacen cast a glance from Zahn's Heir to the Empire, which he'd gotten a quarter of the way through, to the room's observation window. Neither Dr. Downey nor the woman from earlier, or any of the nurses seemed to be watching at the moment, so he looked over to the chair. It was where his hallucinatory doppelganger had been sitting quietly... just watching. For whatever reason, she'd also started sporting a hospital gown.

"Maybe it's these painkillers, the concussion, or something," he commented before turning back to the book, "but I think I'm actually able to make sense of you." As much as he hated to admit it, it was quite the page-turner, and Pete would no doubt be ecstatic to hear he'd given in to the 'dark side', so to speak. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

That drew a giggle from her. "Like you'd have listened if I said, 'Hey, I'm a manifestation of your guilt and suppressed will to live; do you wanna talk out your problems?'" She got up and started pacing around the room. "You didn't exactly trust me when I started showing up, and I can't exactly blame you." When the quasi-doppelganger turned to look out the window, he caught a flash of guilt in her reflection. "Up until these last few days, I was the worst... Some of that's your own subconscious response to me, but..."

Her presence seemed momentarily indistinct, as if staying were somehow a strain on her. The silence that stretched out gave him time to think. He slipped his mother's silk bookmark—he'd found it tucked in the front when he first opened it—between the page he'd left off and the one he'd yet to read, and then struggled to his feet. It took a moment to brace himself against the window so that he wouldn't fall if vertigo hit, but the view was worth it.

Now that he had the time to think about it, even on Friday she'd been somewhat different, with her actually-helpful suggestion about the helmet. The next morning, in the recurring nightmare where he relived the day he found out about his twin, she'd been trying to engage him and change things. Sunday night, she seemed more like she just wanted to talk... Then, yesterday, that was actual concern for his well-being.

It didn't make any sense to him. How was it even possible that she was more lucid and distinct now than ever before? How could she be changing so quickly that it was growing hard to recognise her? For that matter, he wasn't even sure how he'd gotten into such a receptive state of mind to start listening to her. Could painkillers or a concussion really have done all of that on its own?

"Dr. Sato once told us... no, told you that the unconscious mind handles a lot of things you aren't consciously aware of," she murmured beside him. "Do you remember?"

Jacen nodded. Autonomic function, subliminal perception, and automatic reactions were just a few of the things it dealt with. Dreams were another big thing, and the man had gone so far as to note that things we may be unconsciously aware of could influence dreams. There were even trains of thought that suggested that hallucinations themselves were unconscious thought bridging into the waking world.

"How many things are happening that you're not even aware of?" she finally asked as she turned to face him. There was fear in her eyes, and slit pupil in her pink eye was just as wide as her purple eye. "What is this doing to your brain? Besides me, can you think of anything unusual over the last few days?"

"Just an errant word that's popped up in my thoughts once or twice: 'pony'." He admitted. It still struck him as odd when he thought about it, but he had to admit that it seemed to fit with the amount of height he was losing. Weirder still was how this only served to agitate his hallucinatory companion. "What?"

Without any given explanation, she vanished, leaving Jacen alone at the window. It appeared as though, it was getting a lot busier down in the hospital parking lot— like a bunch of people were coming in. One or two people looked up, and for a second he thought they might have seen him, but if they did, there was no pointing or phones taking pictures. Makes me glad I was able to nab a slot with Dr. Weintraub when I did.

As he returned to the patient bed provided to him, he wondered what that was about. Her words echoed in his mind as he opened his book to the bookmark. What is this doing to your brain? It occurred to him that—until now—he'd only ever been concerned about the physical aspect of this transformation. If he was becoming an animal, wouldn't that begin affecting is intellect? That'd surely happen sooner rather than later, right?

Yet, as he thought about it, he didn't feel any less capable. At most, maybe his emotions might be out of whack, but that could've been attributable to the stress. Certainly, fear and anxiety were becoming much harder to reign in, as yesterday's panic attack had demonstrated. Similarly, he'd been obnoxiously rude to the point that he made a nurse cry when brought him a meal with meat in it—not realising he was vegetarian—only to become upset with himself with his actions later.

It's not right to make somepony cry like that just because you're stressed out, he thought darkly. Mom raised you better than that. A chill ran down his spine as he replayed that thought in his head. Some... pony? Where does that even come from? He was afflicted with what was being labelled Equine Transformation Syndrome, and the word pony just happened to start popping up in his thoughts—that hardly seemed like a coincidence.

He resolved to ask Dr. Downey about the MRI they'd taken and potential changes to his brain. Maybe Tara, too, if she was up to discussing. It seemed like despite her efforts to keep strong, the flu was starting to knock her flat on her ass. It might be better to let her rest. She'd visited after lunch, and had even discussed some of what they found—though clearly not all of it—before retiring to the room next to his.

That was another thing. The doctors had told him some of what they'd found, but they weren't telling him nearly everything. They said they found masses growing behind his eyes, that they weren't cancerous, but not what they were. Not only that, but in regards to what Dr. Weintraub had found yesterday, this Downey fellow simply refused comment. It didn't fill him with the least bit of confidence.

He may have had a concussion and this virus potentially eating away his mind, but he wasn't an idiot. As biologically impossible as it seemed—not that any of this made any biological sense to begin with—his body was generating redundant organs, and he had grown two tails. Unless they were going to be put to use, it wouldn't make any sense. His body was clearly getting ready to split down the middle, whether they'd admit it or not.

"Are they hoping to keep me from panicking by keeping quiet?" he wondered aloud as he looked down at the book in his hands. He'd gotten so lost in thought that he'd probably read the same line twenty or so times without any understanding of the words. "It certainly isn't fucking working."

With a sigh, Jacen tossed the novel back onto the small table the hospital staff had provided. What he needed was something to focus on—something other than a novel or instant messaging. The tarot book sitting on the table seemed to beckon him. It was kinda funny, in a sense. Rather than Gage, who was always into magic, fantasy, and witch-y stuff, it'd been sci-fi fanatic Pete who'd suggested he look into it as a means of introspection. Other stuff like that was just 'new age crap' to Pete, but he swore by tarot readings.

"I bet with your skill at cards, you could actually see the future," his friend had joked before suggesting the book sitting on that table. It even came packaged with a 78-card deck in a neat little deck box. A bit of insight definitely couldn't hurt right about now.

Seeing as none of the nurses or doctors were around, and Dr. Weintraub was resting in the next room, it wouldn't hurt for him to give it a read. So it was, he unwrapped the book and paged through the basic concepts. Not long after, he moved on to the sorts of spreads, their general purposes, and even potential questions one should be asking themselves beforehand. It was kind of fascinating, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure he bought into it.

A simple one-card draw can help familiarise one with their deck over time, while allowing one to focus on the deeper meanings of the cards. That was effectively what it boiled down to. Just to get something to reflect on, ask a question, draw the card, and read up on the meaning, he thought as he removed the cards from the box. As he shuffled them, even taking the time to switch up the orientations, he thought about what he wanted to ask the cards.

"What should I know about the situation I'm in?" he whispered aloud. With that, he set the deck down on the table and drew. It was one of the numbered, named cards of the Major Arcana, VII - The Chariot, upside down. He flipped through the book to the page dedicated to the Chariot and read. As he read, he found himself frowning. "So upright, the card would represent success, ambition, willpower, focus, self discipline or control. It says the inverted card speaks to forcefulness, aggression, powerlessness, obstacles, or a lack of control or direction."

He bit his lip as he thought about this. The concept of a cold read in fortune telling was not unknown to him, so to a certain extent reflecting on the meaning and how it related to his question was just a cold read on himself, right? Still, he couldn't deny that ETS had filled his life with unknown obstacles, and had effectively robbed him of his self-determination; he had no power or direction here, and every little thing he did was but a struggle to wrest back control.

Yet, as he looked from the book back to the card in his hand, something in the back of his mind prickled—like something clicked into place. It could also serve as a warning. Aggression and forceful behaviour might interfere with the best potential outcomes. He needed to be mindful of himself and how he treated others.

"Ask the cards about ETS," came his companion's voice. He looked up and found he sitting cross-legged at the foot of the hospital bed, staring at him with a look of anxiety. "Try the three card spread the book suggested—the one about past, present, and future."

Jacen only nodded, shuffling the card back into the deck. "You know, it occurs to me that I never once gave you a name," he commented as he returned the deck to the table. He met her eyes as he drew three cards and lay them out face-down on the bedsheet between them, side-by-side. "I was convinced that giving you one would give you power... but at the same time, I'm tired of just thinking of you as she or her." He glanced down at the cards, and quickly added, "You ask the question."

The doppelganger folded her arms as she stared down at the spread. "Is someone responsible for ETS?" She then rubbed a hand through her hair. "I know Jaina is off the table," she noted, seemingly remembering that his digital assistant bore the name of his would-be sister. "You always treated me as something of a bad omen or straight up bad luck... like a sort of jinx. Why not call me that, instead?"

Unable to help himself, Jacen laughed. "You're definitely running off the same brain as me if you've got my self-deprecating humour," he replied. "Alright, Jinx. Let's see what the cards say."

As he turned over the first card, he felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn't that the card looked particularly ominous. Rather, it felt like he was doing something taboo... that he shouldn't be doing this. "Eight of Cups, upright..." Flicking through the book, he got to the card's meaning. "It speaks of transitions, abandonment, walking away, leaving everything behind, and a search for a greater truth." He frowned as he tried to make sense of this taboo feeling and the card associated with the past. "If someone was responsible, she must've turned her back on everything in the belief that she was doing something important."

That feeling got even worse as he turned the card associated with the presence over, and the newly named Jinx looked somewhat distressed. They were of the same brain, so of course she'd feel what he felt. "XI - Justice, inverted..." He didn't want to do this anymore. He simply couldn't explain the feeling, how every instinct was screaming for him to stop. Yet curiosity drove him forward to read of the card's meaning. "Inverted, it speaks of injustice, unfairness, corruption, dishonesty, and retribution..."

His headache was starting to get worse, like his head was caught in a vise. Why pony, why she? "She's deluded herself into the belief that what she's doing is anything but unjust... but she need beware vengeance." The words almost didn't seem to be entirely his own. "Mankind won't back down... it'll never back down."

It almost felt like his nose was starting to run, and Jinx was starting to look terrified. "Jace, stop! Something's wrong," she pleaded. "Stop it, please!" Yet even as she said this, his hand was already moving to the next card. When had his hand begun to shake? The card was turned over... XIII - Death.

That was when he noticed something off. There was red beginning to run down the front of his hospital gown. The feeling of wrongness snapped away... like he'd just slipped out of a trance. He brought his left hand up to his face and touched his chin. His fingers came away bloody, and the buzzing in his ears had become extra loud. "That's not good."

To his surprise, Jinx reached across the bed, somehow physically seized his free hand, and forced it over to the call button. He didn't even realise he'd squeezed the button until the nurses rushed in. One, took a look at his face, then met his eyes, and she paled before running back out of the room. He must've been quite a sight for her to do that.

The other—the one who'd brought him his lunch—stayed with him, helping him mop up the blood on his face with some tissues while asking him what had happened. Yet, as he try to explain, he found himself at a loss. A pall of exhaustion slowly slid across his mind, and rendered everything fuzzy. He'd been doing a tarot reading for something, and then... what? What had he been trying to divine, again?

The only thing he could explain was a feeling of utter wrongness, and that didn't seem to reassure the nurse at all. She quickly removed the cards and book from the bed, and then met the doctor and the other nurse at the door. He could tell that she was relaying what he said to Dr. Downey, but the only word he made out was seizure.

I thought seizures were all stiffness, tremors, and foaming at the mouth, he thought as the doctor came over to have a look. Why do I feel like I'm forgetting something important?

Author's Note:

Fun fact: Seizures have been linked to some types of 'visionary religious experiences', and it has been suggested that one prophet in the old testament may have been epileptic.

At this point in Jacen's transformation, it highly unlikely that any sort of pony magic may actually be at play. In fact, it shouldn't manifest in any meaningful way for at least another five days (being on his seventh overall day of transformation). Human mysticism, however, has never really seemed to actually rely on magic, and there have been some instances in even my own life where I have experienced inexplicable moments of precognition. Who can really say what the human mind could tap into with the right (or very wrong) conditions?

But what do you think? Was his reading actually giving him insight, either by inadvertently tapping into the ETS magic inside of him or something else entirely, and somehow gleaning momentary insight towards Sunset? Or was he simply having a 'religious experience' as a result of the seizure?

Comments

[Mix-up]

Well looks like it's going as expected, I wonder if they will both be pegasis once they become apart? I wonder what will be the major plot in this story and when it will come in.