In Sadie's room, the illusion of luxury had devolved into a chilling, industrial routine. The medical staff knew she would be the next to go, and the Council left absolutely nothing to biological chance. Every variable was controlled, every outcome predicted.
A dedicated nurse sat in an armchair in the corner, working in round-the-clock shifts, their face a mask of bored professionalism.
They kept Sadie's IV drip pushed to the maximum level, ensuring she was completely submerged in a narcotics haze. To Sadie, the room was a palace, the ocean breeze was real, and the nurses were her caring friends who brought her warm towels and sweet food.
The reality was far more grotesque. She was being managed like livestock in a high-end slaughterhouse.
The Council demanded sterile, controlled del
