Chapter Text
Being a doctor and surgeon, he’s seen plenty of rather grotesque scenes. Sometimes, he wished that all the animals he taken in temporarily were healthy; if that were the case, then he didn’t even need to do any rescuing.
But life was unforgiving. His patients came in hanging by a thread. Some could bounce back, others didn’t. The field of medicine wasn’t for the weak-willed nor for the ones that believed they could save the entire world; some cases were won while others were lost.
It all simply came with the territory.
Yet there was one very specific life that he managed to undo the very nature of existence for.
In their agreement, first drafted by Golf Ball while the factory was still half built, there was a clause that specifically forbade anything relating to genetic engineering.
She would not build anything that would allow genetic manipulation to be possible.
It was expected that Tennis Ball does not go through any experimentation that involved the creation of mutants, exotic hybrids, nor novel organisms.
- The exception to this rule was in regard to typical forms of genetically modified organisms such as strains of lab mice. Living material such as organs or tissues are also part of the exception.
The reason was that Golf Ball did not want Tennis Ball to be playing God. A good base in biology coupled with the innate talent of understanding how creatures are put together could potentially enable someone to create... whatever they wanted.
It could be as unimportant as a cross between a poodle and an iguana. Or it could be a whole new organism with the same level of thought and reasoning as themselves.
While the same ethical issue could be argued in regard to artificial intelligence, which Golf Ball is extraordinary talented with, the little gray ball already kept her virtual assistants a peg below sentience. She was not eager to go any further than that.
There was a loophole that Tennis Ball exploited in this manner. He wasn’t doing any manipulation per say. It hurt to be so sneaky about it with Golf Ball, but they were both lucky that it was an exploitation that was rarely used.
And it was the best for the both of them.
She was barely conscious. Tennis Ball longed to sit there and stare, paralyzed with fear. He was close to Golf Ball and vice versa. He didn’t know of anybody else that was as meaningful to her as he was. Should it be source of pride? She stood up for him when he needed it and was always relatively amicable on her better days. During her worst days, she could only tolerate his presence and nobody else’s.
He wished to be the friend sitting by her bedside, armed with only hope that things would turn out alright in the end.
But this was never meant to be. He was rigorously trained for this; he did not spend years of his life seeing grotesque wound after wound to only back away from it in the end. This has happened before. Workplace accidents happened despite Tennis Ball’s insistence at his companion to not work under such risky conditions.
Tennis Ball thought she didn’t deserve this. She could tempt danger all she wanted and Tennis Ball would still think she didn’t deserve any of this.
[ intubation complete. activating emergency protocol. ] chirped the factory AI via hidden speakers. He heard the shuffling of metal behind the walls. His heart lurched from how loud the wheels squealed as the bed zoomed past him from out of his view. That was his friend there. Oh, how he wanted her back. It made him nauseous that it was coming down to this.
He wished it wasn’t him. How he longed to be utterly ignorant.
The little room that preceded the operation room found him faster than he realized. Time had slowed for Tennis Ball. He swore he was walking at a snail’s pace, drowning in anxiety and worry, yet he was here faster than a blink of an eye.
A mechanical limb with a fine, slender claw brought up a pair of sterilized goggles to him. Another brought a mask. It was all protocol; these were the same steps that the AI did for any other surgery. In those times, Tennis Ball felt more confident. If the case was risky, he’d give himself a small pep talk that he’d try the best he could.
But he stood in the middle of the room, numb. The AI took care of the rest; prepping him for surgery as much as it did to Golf Ball. He stepped into temporary shoes. The goggles were placed over his eyes and securely tied in the back so it wouldn’t slip off, the mask too.
All so very gently.
Tennis Ball didn’t say a word to the AI. He has said... things to it before, secrets that he didn’t dare tell another soul. In fact, it was the first to know how he... felt about Golf Ball. It kept his secret faithfully despite Golf Ball being its’ creator.
But he didn’t feel confident. He saw the state Golf Ball was in.
It was a surgeon’s premonition.
“You were gentle with intubating her, right?” asked Tennis Ball out loud to the screen that was there. It was full of data on the upcoming case; blunt force trauma, severe damage to the legs and insides, something was definitely ruptured, medchip was still in one piece, and vitals were hanging on to dear life on the AI’s support in order to remain stable. He quickly looked away to keep himself from reading the rest.
The screen turned a bright blue, getting rid of the data. [ additional force increases the risk of internal damage ] it blipped back to him.
Tennis Ball narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want a fact. Other times, it would have worked. Facts helped steady the mind as they were reliable, constant things. Yet he didn’t care for all the facts in the world. “I asked if you were gentle,” he repeated, a bit more firmly.
[ yes ] the AI replied. It was only one word but for Tennis Ball, it was a rain drop of relief in this horrid desert.
The surgery room was on the smaller side with white floor tiles and dark grayish-blue walls. A couple of cabinets lined the east and west sides, filled with all types of surgical instruments.
The AI had numerous metal limbs coming out from the ceiling. A couple were weaseling through the drawers, their fine tips picking up the dainty tools necessary and placing them on a silver tray.
There was a control panel that was for him specifically. Golf Ball also built it, but he designed it. Surgery needed a steady hand and hands were something that he didn’t have. Despite being good with manipulating things with his legs, there’s only so far he could develop that skill. The AI always acted as his arms during an operation.
It was close to the bed where he could easily overlook the injuries and check on his process.
A blue, surgical cover was draped over Golf Ball’s face. Tennis Ball ignored the way the AI nudged the surgical tray towards him, wordlessly wanting him to check if its prediction on the tools necessary was correct. He could only focus on his friend, his partner, his...
It was a blessing that he couldn’t see her closed eyes. He could only see that tube coming out from under the cover, the one thing helping her breathe as well as delivering a controlled dose of anesthesia. If he could, he’d surely weep. He couldn’t cry right now; it’d break the fragile sterile field.
The large floodlights shifted to hang over the patient, illuminating every innards, flesh, and trickling red. He could see every detail even though he didn’t want to.
He’ll... He’ll stitch her up again. Let her rest in post-op. She’d be out for a good couple of months. Golf Ball would get so restless once he would start to wean her off painkillers and sedation medicine. He had to start thinking of ways to keep that busy mind of hers entertained so that she wouldn’t try escaping the post-op area. She was so restless. Such a silly partner. So, so silly.
Tennis Ball felt that terrible bout of nausea, but he swallowed it back down.
He double-checked the tray and he motioned for the AI to move the screen that told him heart rate and blood pressure closer as he took his place behind the control panel. Four mechanical limbs began to close in. Tennis Ball felt his heart crack at the sight as they hung over ominously above his friend.
“Things are going to be okay,” he whispered. He hoped Golf Ball heard it too, deep in there. “Hang on a bit for me. You’ll be okay.” He was thinking he could keep her entertained with chess. Did you know that chess has a long and complex list of different openings that needed to be learned? He thought it was something that could make her happy in the post-op.
Another arm came in with a tissue and gently dabbed away a tear before it could contaminate something.
The clock said it was 1 in the morning.
Tennis Ball sat on a bench, exhausted. Sleep was making his eyelids feel heavy even though he downed a couple cups worth of caffeine. Yet he still felt adrenaline flood him and he was sure it was the only reason why he hadn’t collapsed on the floor yet.
The screen that the AI usually showed information on was pitch black and pointed in his direction. He could see his faint reflection on; he looked so frazzled, and his fuzz was unkempt. Tennis Ball could only stand looking at himself for a second before uncomfortableness ate him alive.
This particular room was a break room after an operation. Some cases were brief with him being in and out in maybe two hours. Others took hours, nearly half a day.
This had been the latter.
There was a large window panel that he could see through back into the operating room. It was a strange place to put a window in, but he liked the sight of when the AI wheeled away patients into the post-op. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction. His “best” truly had been the “best”. He gave an innocent creature another chance to go back to a natural life.
But the bed was still there.
Tennis Ball watched as the arms carefully pulled back the cover and pried open the mouth of his friend. It wriggled out the tube and covered its creator yet again.
It was taking the bloodstained tools away for cleaning and sterilization for the next case. Another pair of arms was cleaning the tiles from mess.
His “best” here wasn’t enough.
And it stung.
He almost didn’t hear the screen in front of him move near him. The quiet electrical hum emanating from it couldn’t put a dent into the fog of failure that filled his mind.
[ remove golf ball’s medchip? ] the AI asked him.
The green ball stared at it wearily. Grief made him mute.
A small keyboard was offered to him after a minute of utter silence. He pressed the Y key.
The screen left him alone. He went back to staring blankly through the window. He watched as a pair of arms came over Golf Ball and held her down. Another one slowly moved above her until it came to a stop right around her head.
He couldn’t hear anything from the room. Thank god, he thought. He simply held back his intrusive thoughts that played a soundtrack of a sickly cracking noise as the AI dug in as if its’ creator was nothing to it.
Cold blood splattered the table and the floor again as it pulled out a black chip that was about the size of a quarter.
Did you know Golf Ball built that for him? He was the one to design it though.
[ medchip extraction complete. sending it to holding. ]
Tennis Ball left the break room. He didn’t wait around to see the bed finally rolled out of the operating room. He couldn’t walk straight anymore. For the entire trek back to his personal room, he walked with his side to a wall for support.
He was telling himself how to walk. One step forward. Then another. Another. Keep going. Once he was by his bedside, he fell face first into it.
Tomorrow, he had to go outside. He liked to be out of the factory at least 4 times per week. Golf Ball wouldn’t come. She said she was too busy with her atom splicing project again even though it would be three weeks since the last time she left her factory. Her staying too long down here wasn’t good.
He started to grossly weep into his sheets.