CHAPTER 28: The Echo in My Head

CHAPTER 28: The Echo in My Head

The Enid Corp. laboratory was silent, barely broken by the electric hum of equipment and the intermittent flicker of refreshing screens. The air smelled of disinfectant and ozone, cold, sterile. Dr. Armitage, in his wrinkled white coat and eyes tired from so many sleepless nights, held a folder with the results of Fénix's latest MRI.

On the screen floated a three-dimensional image of his skull: in the middle of the left hemisphere, a dark spot expanded like an internal eclipse.

Armitage sighed before speaking. He wasn't a sentimental man, but discomfort was evident on his face.

"Fénix… what I'm about to tell you isn't easy to hear," he began, adjusting his glasses. "Your scans show the presence of a glioblastoma multiforme, a highly aggressive brain tumor. It's located in the frontal lobe, with infiltration into adjacent structures. The problem is it's not an isolated growth… it's diffuse. It's spreading fast."

Fénix didn't look away from the screen, as if that spot could be erased by mere will.

The doctor continued, pointing with a digital pointer to the areas marked in red:

"In the last three weeks, the tumor volume has grown almost 22%, which is abnormal even for this type of glioma. That explains your headaches, disorientation, and episodes of irritability. We're dealing with a grade IV tumor, the most malignant. The cancer cells infiltrate healthy tissue like roots, making complete surgical removal impossible."

The silence was so thick you could hear the hum of the ceiling lights.

Armitage lowered his voice, but the firmness in his words didn't break:

"My medical recommendation is clear. The most immediate option would be a decompressive craniotomy to reduce the mass and relieve intracranial pressure. After that, you should start radiotherapy and chemotherapy with temozolomide. It doesn't guarantee a cure, but it could buy you time. Months, maybe a year. Without treatment, the progression would be fulminant." He swallowed, uncomfortable. "In your physical condition, you might last a bit longer than a normal patient… but that doesn't change the nature of the tumor."

The doctor stepped away from the screen and let the gravity of his words hang in the air.

"You have to understand this, Rogers. This tumor is not something you can negotiate with. You can't fight it with brute force or willpower. You have to decide what to do before it robs you of control over your own body."

Fénix's gaze remained fixed on the image of his brain, as if observing a death sentence etched in fire. His jaw tightened, his knuckles whitened against the gurney, but he said nothing.

The doctor, nervous, closed the folder and offered a final piece of advice in a grave voice:

"My duty is to warn you: if you let this progress, there will come a time when you lose motor functions, the ability to speak, even your judgment. What makes you Fénix today… could disappear."

An endless silence.

Finally, Fénix stood up, picked up his jacket, and in a hollow voice, uttered just one phrase:

"I'll keep it in mind."

And without waiting further, he left the laboratory, leaving behind the screen with the dark spot growing in his brain like an unstoppable shadow.

The hallway of Enid Corp. was deserted. The echo of Fénix's footsteps repeated against the metallic walls as if accompanying his sentence. He didn't speak to anyone, didn't look at anyone. He advanced with a fixed gaze, like a ghost just seeking a place to collapse.

Upon reaching his room, he slammed the door shut. The silence enveloped him. Everything was the same as always: the unmade bed, the desk with scattered reports, a lamp half-lit. Yet, the room felt alien, as if it no longer belonged to him.

He dropped his jacket on the floor, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the faucet. The cold water began to run with a constant murmur. Fénix leaned over the sink, supporting his hands on the ceramic edges, and plunged his face under the icy stream.

The water slid over his skin, but it couldn't wash away the weight oppressing his chest. Raising his head, he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red, and the reflection showed the image of someone who seemed a stranger.

"Not long ago…" he murmured in a hoarse voice. "Not long ago all this started… and so soon… so soon it's going to end."

The phrase broke in his throat. A couple of tears escaped without permission, falling into the sink and mixing with the still-running water. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could stop everything, but reality hit him without mercy.

He didn't know what to do. There was no mission, no enemy to unleash his fury upon. There was no training that prepared him for a fight against something devouring him from within without respite.

Fénix slowly slid down against the bathroom wall, sitting on the cold floor, his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his face. He cried silently, barely letting out a few choked sobs.

After a while, he took a deep breath. The trembling in his chest gradually calmed. He lifted his head and looked at the ceiling, as if searching for an answer that never came.

A resigned sigh escaped his lips. He didn't scream, didn't curse. He just accepted, in silence, that the shadow in his head was an end he couldn't avoid.

He remained there, still, while the faucet water kept running, filling the room with the constant murmur of time running out.