In Place of Echoes

It wasn't until the adrenaline wore off that I noticed the pain again.

My hand, still crudely bandaged from hours ago, had stiffened to the point that unwrapping it felt like peeling cloth off meat. The makeshift strip of hoodie fabric I'd used was stiff with dried blood, and as I worked it loose, the wound beneath tugged open with a quiet, wet sting.

Patch looked up at me from her usual post beside the vent, tail curled around her legs like an oversized comma. She blinked slowly, head tilting with feline curiosity as I grunted through the last of the wrap.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "Should've changed the dressing."

She responded with a small chuff, the kind that sounded just judgmental enough to be funny if it weren't half true.

The debug console pulsed softly behind me, and as I moved closer, another set of tiles slid into place, quietly, without the usual system drama. Just a kind of low-key awareness, like the room had been watching and decided I'd finally earned a little compassion.

[SANCTUARY NODE: CONDITION MONITORING ENABLED]

[BIOLOGICAL STATUS: WOUND DETECTED]

[AUTOMATED RESPONSE: MINOR REPAIR INITIATED]

[RESOURCE DRAW: 2.4% // SOURCE: BLOCK SHELL FRAGMENT_01]

I stared at the message, brow furrowing.

"Automated response?" I muttered, half-sceptical.

A panel behind the console shifted open with a faint click, and a shallow drawer slid out. Inside was a low-profile medkit, clearly rendered from placeholder textures, grey, no labels, one glowing red cross embossed into the lid.

Patch padded over and sniffed the edge before hopping up and, naturally, sitting directly on the corner.

"You're not helping," I said.

She purred.

With some effort, I pulled the kit free, unlatched the lid, and found a single applicator inside. It wasn't a bandage. Not a needle. Just a compact device about the size of a marker. When I tapped the side, it hummed softly and lit up with a faint amber glow.

[WOUND SITE SCANNED]

[APPLY TO DAMAGED AREA]

[REPAIR ESTIMATE: 86% FUNCTION RESTORATION]

I pressed it against my palm.

There was no pain. Just a strange heat, more simulation than sensation, and a soft tingling that radiated up my wrist like pins gently exhaling. After a few seconds, the open slice on my palm had faded to a thick pink scar. Still tender. But closed.

Patch licked my thumb when I lowered my hand.

"Cheers," I muttered, voice rough.

She hopped off the bench and trotted a few steps ahead, then looked back expectantly. Her tail flicked. Her ears turned.

It took me a moment to realise what she was waiting for.

A new icon had appeared near the rear of the room, one that hadn't been there before.

It was simple: three lines stacked vertically beside a small water droplet and a vaguely bowl-shaped glyph. The text below it read:

[BASIC SUSTENANCE UNLOCKED]

[HABITAT COMFORT ZONE ESTABLISHED]

[CALORIC PROJECTION: INSUFFICIENT // TEMPORARY PROVISION ONLY]

A second panel unfolded from the wall like a folding counter, and two shallow indentations slid out: one larger, one cat-sized. Both filled with a low hiss of compressed air. Then the scent hit.

Warm.

Familiar.

Soup.

I stepped forward, cautiously. The liquid in the larger bowl was a cloudy broth, not perfect, not full, but rich enough to smell like lentils and old curry mix. It made my mouth water instantly. The smaller dish contained a strange gelatinous paste that shimmered as it resolved texture, fish-based, from the smell, though Patch didn't seem bothered.

She jumped up without hesitation and began lapping it up with short, methodical swipes of her tongue. Her little shoulders tensed with each lick, and she paused every few seconds to glance at me like she was making sure I was doing the same.

I sat on the floor, cupping the larger bowl in my hands, and took a slow sip.

It wasn't good.

But it was the best thing I'd ever tasted.

Hot. Salty. Real.

My stomach cramped in protest at first, unused to actual food. But a few spoonfuls in, the ache started to recede. It was enough. Not satisfying, but grounding.

Patch finished before I did, of course. She padded over and flopped against my thigh with a purr, cleaning her paws in the exaggerated, elbow-over-head way only kittens can manage.

"You always eat that fast?" I asked.

She paused, blinked up at me, and let out a single, smug mew.

Right.

Digesting the moment, I noticed a familiar pressure in my lower back, subtle, but urgent. The kind of signal you try to ignore until your body refuses to pretend anymore.

"Okay," I said, sighing. "One last test."

I stood, turned, and walked to the small access panel I'd discovered earlier, the one labelled for sanitation. A new tile had appeared there as well:

[PRIVATE MODE ENABLED]

[SANITATION UNIT STABLE // OCCUPANCY DETECTED = TRUE]

[EXIT ON COMPLETION // SYSTEM CLEANING AUTOMATED]

Patch made a noise behind me that sounded dangerously close to amusement.

"Don't look at me like that," I said. "I'm still human, you know."

She sat primly beside the console, flicked her tail, and promptly turned to groom her back foot.

"Yeah. Thought so."

I stepped into the hatch.

Less than five minutes later, I emerged with clean hands, an emptier bladder, and a working sense of dignity.

Patch was sitting directly outside the doorway like a guard posted at a royal chamber. She looked up, blinked once, and let out a soft chirp that I chose to interpret as approval.

"Happy now?" I asked, half-laughing.

She stood, stretched, then trotted a tight circle around my legs before settling against my foot and falling asleep like she'd just supervised a national emergency.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt… human again.

Not restored.

Not healed.

But functioning.