CHAPTER 2 – Karma Chameleon

“I AM TELLING YOU, Director Harper, this is a medical miracle!”

Lana awoke to the commotion of two doctors and Nurse Bessey fussing about with her IV feed, scratching their heads in wide-eyed wonder. At first, Nurse Bessey almost lost her mind when she found Lana with tubes removed and supports displaced—until Lana sat and informed her that she was alright.

Doctor Mills then came rushing into the room to perform a head to toe, half-way through which he ran off to call the hospital Director.

“Her displaced cornea… undisplaced itself? Her left scapular and humerus mended themselves?” The Director of Marten’s Children Hospital was no less sceptical than his junior staff member. “The bruise covering the entirety of her left lumbar has faded?”

“She can move her left foot as well,” Dr Mills was a wild man. “Look! She had extensive tissue tearing of the plantaris. I mean, it’s still not looking great, but now, she can turn her ankles.”

To prove Dr Mills’ point, Lana wiggled her toes. They were very petite toes, ivory and delicate, and very wiggly.

“Send Miss Fontaine in for a full body MRI. Brain, neck, spine, chest, abdomen, pelvis, and knees—” Director Harper walked a half-circle around her, his eyes burning with curiosity. “Ankle and feet.”

“Isn’t that too expensive?” Lana asked sardonically. Even knowing that a suspicious party had covered her initial medicals, she baulked at the uninsured, itemised cost of Director Harper’s curiosity.

The trio stared.

“You can talk now?” Dr Mills was picking his jaw off her bed. “Why didn’t you talk earlier?”

“You said to blink,” Lana replied. “So I did.”

Nurse Bessey laughed. The woman’s mirth was so very different from Mills, who laughed like a cat with IBS. “I’ll call the radiographer then?”

“Yes, let’s get a CT of her throat as well. We’ll have to redo all of the bloodwork, naturally,” Dr Harper leaned in close. For the director of a small, government-funded children’s hospital, he was surprisingly New Amsterdam.

Reflexively, Lana gave the man her best smile.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus…” Nurse Bessey gushed. “How can such an angel exist?”

“Well, someone upstairs heard your prayers.” Dr Harper studied her like an archaeologist mapping a Grecian statue. “Someone who does not believe in modern medicine. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Miss Fontaine, but do you have any idea why you’ve miraculously recovered? Your convalescence schedule was for four weeks. Minimum.”

“I have no idea,” Lana lied as easily as she breathed. “Good genes?”

“I can certainly see that, but no, this is more than just good genes,” the Director read her medical history like a man rediscovering a favourite Penguin classic. “Whatever the case, I’ll ask Dr Hughes to pay you a visit. If you’re well enough, we should start your physio sessions before we miss the golden window.”

“That would be lovely,” Lana answered. Thus far, she had yet to leave her bed. She had no mirror or device with a selfie cam to examine this [Persona]. Other than the vague reflection of herself she saw on the CRT television set overhead, she still had no idea who Euphemia Fontaine was supposed to be, or why she had the body of a broken doll. For someone who had spent almost two decades glued to a handheld info-tainment feed, the lack of information was torture.

But just as her doctors had their work, so did she as their patient.

The CT. The X-rays. The MRI scans. The bloodwork.

It was through her paperwork that Lana finally got to know her Karmic [Persona], the body born on Valentine’s Day, 1992. 14 years old. Born in California. USA. Her address was 1325 N Western Ave, Los Angeles, CA. Her Emergency Contact was a Case Officer called Joan Campbell. There was no registered Next of Kin.

After drifting in and out of sleep, Dr Hughes came, and together with Nurse Bessey, she was guided from the bed to the physiotherapy room.

With some effort, Nurse Bessey slipped Euphemia into loose shorts, a sterile t-shirt, and slippers a size too large. Like a wounded bird, she was guided by the wing from the changing room onto the wheelchair, then from the wheelchair onto parallel beams used for bracing.

There, standing on tiptoes, trembling from the frigid air conditioning, Lana saw Euphemia Fontaine in the flesh.

Considering her usual company before the boating incident…

Euphemia Fontaine was… unimpressive.

She was small for her age. Unpleasantly skinny. Lanky, not petite, which would be a marketable characteristic.

But she did have a remarkable face.

Hers was exceptionally symmetrical, with large, luminous eyes the hue of shallow alpine lakes. Her nose was a classic button shape, slightly upturned where it mattered, the very same that a master surgeon would sculpt for a premium fee. Her lips, though pale and chapped, could not hide their cupid’s bow. The overall ratio, Lana’s trained eye discerned, was golden, even if one side was swollen.

But her hair. Lana shuddered.

Euphemia’s straw-blonde mop had never known the fingers of a stylist or real haircare.

Watching her face, watching herself, a strange, unhappy premonition crept into Lana’s heart.

Euphemia looked wiser than her youthful years, while paradoxically much too young for her age. Her resting expression was like someone who had suffered enough and was now wondering why her frozen corpse had been exhumed from the morgue to thaw.

Why was this girl hospitalised? Her professional curiosity grew morbid. From Dr Mills’ report, the injuries sounded like someone who had tried to fly, only to kiss hard, unyielding concrete.

Lana Zacanissian had an eye for pretty things. She collected them, both people and stuff.

And she hated it when beautiful things were ruined by callousness. Once, a protestor splashed engine oil on her favourite coat. Her response had been so toxic that HR had to sit her down and calmly explain the cost-effectiveness of merely leaving the perpetrator bankrupt.

“Chukwu m—, sweet bebe,” Nurse Bessey was once more dabbing her eyes. “I’ve prayed for this day…”

Lana immediately called for the holographical tabulation of the Persona she presently piloted.

Euphemia Fontaine [Lana Zacanissian]						Causality
Strength	10 (-3)	Athletics				1
Agility	12 (-4)	Acrobatics				Health
Vitality	11 (-4)	Endurance	Pain Suppression			18 / 25
Wisdom	27	Insight	Emotional Intelligence	Perception	Legalism	Stamina
Intelligence	35	Arithmetics If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it’s taken without the author’s consent. Report it.	Accounting and Finance	Business Acumen		24 / 30
Charisma	14 (-1)	Persuasion	Intimidation	Larceny	[Songstress]	Dasein
Comeliness	21 (-1)	Seduction				23
TRAITS :: [Prophet of Profits] [Crippled] [Silenced] Continue Reading You are reading a free preview (50%). Log in to unlock the full chapter and join comments. Log In to UnlockCreate Account Related chapter tags #metaworldhopecorechapter2#metaworldhopecorechapter3#metaworldhopecorechapter4#metaworldhopecorelatestchapter#metaworldhopecorereadonline 0 chapter views Related Novels Graveclass: Respawn in the Ruined Realm Zero Slot Ascendant Ashfall Authority When the Sirens Became the System 0 Comments You must be logged in to comment. Bookmark Quote TTS Link Play Pause Stop Skip Scroll Settings Note DMCATermsPrivacyContact 0 online