WORLD OF FICTION (WOF)

Priya’s surname disappeared every time she said it.

"State your name," the medical recorder said.

"Priya Odhiambo."

The metal plate beneath the grille printed:

PRIYA.

The empty space after it waited.

Priya stared at the plate.

Junior Editor Lio Fen stood two steps behind her with his slate held against his chest. Medical had replaced his normal grey coat with a white observation jacket so nobody confused him with the patient.

"Again," he said.

"I know the procedure."

"Then continue."

"Priya Odhiambo."

PRIYA.

The plate clicked.

Lio recorded the failure.

Priya turned in the chair. "Write the full name."

"I’m recording what the system receives."

"You heard it."

"Yes."

"So write it."

"This test measures whether identity persists without manual correction."

"I am manually correcting it."

"You are the subject."

Priya looked at the closed door.

The room contained no mirrors. After the strip frame caught her badge, every reflective surface had shown a slightly different woman. In one, her hair had been loose. In another, the correction text still moved beneath her skin. One reflection had contained no face at all.

Medical removed the mirrors.

It had not improved her mood.

"Say your surname alone," Lio said.

"Odhiambo."

The recorder printed:

PATIENT RESPONSE UNRESOLVED.

Priya stood.

The seals around her wrists tightened. Her knees nearly failed before she stopped reaching for total attention.

Lio did not touch her.

"You are supposed to remain seated."

"I am supposed to have a name."

"You do."

"Your machines disagree."

"Machines disagree frequently."

"That is the first useful thing you’ve said."

He made a mark.

Priya pointed at the slate. "Was that necessary?"

"No."

He erased it.

That stopped her for a second.

The medical door opened.

Mira entered carrying two brace keys and a stack of treatment orders. Her shoulder had been rebound beneath her jacket. The cloth around it was thicker than before.

She looked from Priya to the half-printed plate.

"How bad?"

Lio answered. "Given name persists. Family name is audible but fails automatic transcription, access verification, and historical retrieval."

Mira looked at Priya. "Can people remember it?"

"So far."

Lio said, "That is being tested."

Priya sat again because standing had begun to feel like losing an argument with her own legs.

Mira placed a new badge on the table.

PRIYA ODHIAMBO had been engraved by hand.

No Ink.

No responsive script.

Plain metal scratched with a physical tool.

Priya picked it up.

"Who made this?"

"I did."

"The letters are uneven."

"I had one working shoulder."

Priya ran her thumb across the surname.

The badge did not change.

"Thank you," she said.

Mira nodded once.

It was the only kindness either allowed the moment.

The medical recorder spoke again.

"Attention assessment required."

Priya’s fingers closed around the badge.

"No."

Lio checked the schedule. "It is listed."

"My last assessment contaminated the objects."

"This test uses no external objects."

"What does it use?"

"Your identity record."

Priya looked at him.

"That is an external object."

"The record refers to you."

"Which version?"

Lio stopped reading.

Mira opened the treatment order.

"What are they asking her to do?"

"Locate her own surname across the registry."

Priya laughed.

It came out rough.

"They want me to observe the thing observation is damaging."

Lio said, "Medical wants to know whether the loss is administrative or internal."

"And if I make it worse?"

"We stop."

"You did not stop the cup test when the answers changed."

His mouth tightened.

Mira looked at the white jacket. "Can you refuse?"

Priya knew the answer.

"Refusal extends suspension."

"That wasn’t what I asked."

"Yes. I can refuse."

Mira gathered the treatment orders.

"Then refuse."

Lio looked between them. "Warden Achebe authorized the assessment."

"Mira Sato is my assigned supervisor," Priya said.

Mira’s face changed slightly. The authority had landed on her again.

"I’m not your supervisor," she said.

"You are handling medical and movement decisions for the squad."

"That does not make me your superior."

"It makes you the person currently standing between me and a bad procedure."

Lio held out the slate. "I need a decision."

Mira disliked him for making it official.

Priya watched that happen.

Mira took the slate and marked:

DEFERRED PENDING STABLE IDENTITY ANCHOR.

Lio read it.

"This may delay clearance."

"Yes."

"Warden Achebe may reverse it."

"Yes."

He accepted the slate.

Priya clipped the hand-engraved badge to her shirt.

The room’s access sensor remained red.

Mira tried her own tag.

The door opened.

Priya looked at the threshold.

"I cannot leave without someone else."

"For now," Lio said.

She walked past him.

The corridor outside contained two medical bays.

Dorian occupied one.

He sat with his grey arm extended over a moulding table while three technicians constructed another brace around it. This version left the palm uncovered. Thin metal supports ran along the back of the hand, stopping the fingers before they could complete the phantom grip.

The gold scar remained visible.

A technician adjusted the smallest finger.

It did not move.

"Again," she said.

Dorian stared at it.

"I heard you."

"Attempt extension."

"I am attempting."

Nothing happened.

The technician tapped the joint with a wooden probe.

Dorian did not react.

"Any sensation?"

"No."

"Pressure?"

"No."

"Temperature?"

"No."

"Do you want to ask a fourth version?"

She withdrew the probe.

Mira entered his bay.

"Brace fitting?"

"Terrible."

"Medical answer."

"Still terrible."

The technician answered for him. "The open-palm design avoids scar pressure. It does not stop the invisible cut if the hand closes against resistance."

Dorian looked at Mira’s keys.

"Which one is mine?"

"The smaller."

"Give it to me."

"No."

"Good conversation."

Priya remained outside the doorway.

Dorian saw the engraved badge.

His eyes moved across the name.

"Looks crooked."

"Mira made it."

"That explains it."

Mira put the treatment orders on his table.

Dorian read the top sheet.

"Extended suspension."

"Yes."

"Two escorts."

"Yes."

"Officer Pell?"

"Requested reassignment."

Dorian looked away.

His grey fingers attempted to close.

The new brace stopped them halfway.

A thin white line appeared across the moulding table.

The technicians stepped back.

Dorian’s breathing changed.

"I didn’t—"

"We know," Mira said.

The line widened.

The tabletop split.

Dorian pulled his left hand across the grey wrist and forced the fingers open.

The cut vanished.

No one praised him.

A technician measured the black boundary below his elbow.

"Stable. No new spread."

"For how long?" Dorian asked.

"We don’t know."

He looked at the broken table.

"Then stop saying stable."

Priya’s badge became warm against her chest.

The corridor sensor chimed.

A new access record printed from the wall.

PRIYA ODHIAMBO — TEMPORARY PHYSICAL ANCHOR ACCEPTED.

Below it, a second record appeared.

ODHIAMBO — PATIENT LOCATION UNASSIGNED.

The empty treatment bay across from Dorian unlocked.

Its lights turned on.

The bed lowered itself.

A blank chart slid from the wall.

PATIENT: ODHIAMBO.

Priya stared at the room prepared for the part of her the system had separated.

Lio raised his slate.

Mira caught his wrist before he could write.

"Wait."

Inside the empty bay, the mattress sank as though someone had sat on it.

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