“I do not consent to being sedated again,” Askatla objected adamantly, glaring at the anaesthetist standing awkwardly in the dark behind her sister with a mask of nitrous oxide and a needle, the stark surgical lights overhead giving the rest of the operating room a disproportionately dim and cavernous atmosphere. Devoid of all the decorative opulence that filled the other chambers, the OR was as visually spartan as it was modern. What little of it she could see from beneath the surgical lights was built almost entirely of customizable panels, some on the ceiling she knew housed robotic arms for more involved surgical procedures.

“Please settle down, Little One,” Anaya cajoled as she put a new patient bracelet on her sister’s left wrist. “You’re not going to want to be awake for this, trust me, especially with your pain tolerance. You’re a doctor; you know what this is going to be like.”

“I would sooner feel you pluck out every shard than be sedated again. Oeuf,” Askatla called to her guard who stood like a statue in the corner, “if that man tries to sedate me, knock him out.”

“Alright, Albert, you can go,” the older sister gave in with…