Snow dusted the mountains already.

  Early for the start of November...

  It came sooner every year now, but never stayed long, Becca, the housekeeper, had mentioned. Light fractured across the peaks like broken glass with shards of it spilling into my temporary lodgings through the sliding door, stinging my eyes.

  ViraRx, or rather one of its quieter subsidiaries, had arranged private quarters for me during treatment. I’d discharged myself from ViraMass General Hospital earlier that week. On the morning that I left, Derek insisted on wheeling me down to the front entrance himself. A chauffeur waited there. I recognized him as Julius’s valet, Harry. But the sleek, unmarked white van idling behind him was new to me. No tracking plates.

  We’re not taking an auto-car... we must be going off grid.

  “Precious cargo.” Derek said to Harry, nodding toward me. Harry silently took my overnight bag, packed by Derek himself, and loaded it into the van.

  “No tech, Miss.” Harry said, hand outstretched.

  I hesitated, then surrendered my watch and hearables. He pocketed them and slid the van door open. Inside, it was pitch black. No windows. No view of the driver’s cabin. Wherever we were going—I wasn’t meant to see it.

  My stomach turned.

  “Babe, it’s time,” Derek said, low and urgent. “Don’t worry. This is going to work. We’ll be together again in a few weeks. Then this will all be behind us.”

  He helped me to my feet and wrapped me in a hug—tight.

  Damn, he smells good, and there’s nothing synthetic about it.

  His grip was strong with a fa?ade of confidence, but I could feel the tension in it. I pressed my face against his chest, then he pulled my face to his and kissed me—hard. Not his usual public display. It stung.

  He’s scared too. Time to be brave.

  I took a deep breath to summon the courage to step into the van.

  “I love you,” he said as the door slid shut between us.

  I love you too, I thought, but the words were swallowed by the dark.

  The van jerked into motion before I was even buckled. I had no sense of direction. I must’ve fallen asleep because I woke to the sharp pop of my ears—altitude change?

  That always happened on trips to Derek’s family lodge up north. We’d spent Christmas skiing in the mountains last year...

  The van stopped.

  Light burst in as the door opened. I winced and raised a hand to shield my eyes. Slowly, a silhouette came into focus. It was a woman, about my average height, with a tidy bob and a perfectly neutral expression. She was dressed in a white lab coat and winter jacket.

  “Welcome,” she said. “I’m Dr. Raychelle Stevens. I’ll be handling your intake.”

  I recognized her name from the paperwork. She was the co-creator of the Everly Protocol.

  I offered a polite, if cautious, smile as I stepped out of the van onto icy ground. Snowy peaks and towering pine trees surrounded us. A cold wind bit through my jeans and windbreaker. I shivered.

  “Before we begin,” she continued, handing me a tablet, “we’ll need your signature on these waivers. This grants us permission to administer the treatment protocol and any emergency measures. And this one reiterates the classified and proprietary nature of the clinical trial, just a re-confirmation of your NDA.”

  I hesitated, thumb hovering above the surface waiting for my imprint. It felt wrong to sign papers I hadn’t thoroughly read. As a lawyer, I knew better. But what choice did I have?

  I stared at the screen. I’m signing my life away.

  At least you’ll have a life, I reminded myself.

  I signed.

  “Great,” she said curtly. “Follow me.”

  Harry handed me my bag, watch, and hearables and left me to follow Dr. Stevens down a winding path to what looked like a repurposed ski village. There were many condominiums with balconies as well as standalone cabins. I could see a ski lift transporting crates and boxes. I guessed supplies. Dr. Stevens briefly described the facilities as we passed them. She pointed out various lodges where I would eat meals, gather for group activities, exercise and swim.

  “And this is you,” she opened the door to a small cabin. One bedroom, a kitchenette, and a patio visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountains.

  “Curfew is 9 PM. All lodgings lock down automatically. There aren’t any cameras here, but your vitals will be periodically monitored by wall sensors throughout the night. You’ll notice that your comms are blocked. Visitors and contact with outsiders are strictly prohibited.”

  “Oh, is that all?” I muttered.

  “For now,” she was serious. “Here’s your itinerary.” She waved her hand over my watch and her implant on her wrist glowed under her skin.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see you after your initial assessment, although, you may not remember. If you have any questions in the meantime, Alice can assist you.”

  Alice was a common household AI-integrated virtual assistant. She was also available virtually anywhere.

  “Good luck!” Dr. Stevens added with a brisk smile on her way out the door.

  “Thanks?” I waved weakly with one eyebrow raised as she made her exit.

  Won’t remember? Not ominous at all...

  I wandered to the glass doors and slid one open. The cold punished me through my jacket. The mountains stood silent and indifferent to everything happening below. I soaked in the sun’s powerful rays and let the warmth combat the cold. It was late afternoon. Light glittered off the snow on the green, tree-covered mountains in the distance. The view was breathtaking.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  I could see why they chose this place. Secluded. But also, the natural surroundings gave off the power of healing.

  That’s a bit woo-woo, Mia. I imagined Derek teasing me somewhere out there.

  Don’t yuck other people’s yums. I would have answered. A phrase my mom had drilled into me as a child.

  I thought about the call I made to my parents from the hospital. I couldn’t tell them I was sick. Derek said the fewer people who knew, the better. Whatever that meant. Selfishly, I hadn’t wanted to tell them about my diagnosis. I didn’t want to experience their pain.

  Derek told me to tell them we were staying at his lake house in Maine for a sabbatical before settling into my new role. Unreachable. They believed me too easily.

  My watch vibrated.

  “Hello Mia,” Alice chimed in my hearables. “It’s time for your initial assessment. Please change into the provided uniform and report to E Building.”

  I scanned the room and saw that a white fleece tracksuit had been left on the coffee table along with spandex under clothes and fleece socks. A white parka hung on a nearby coat tree.

  Weird. But at least it’s not a hospital gown.

  I changed and followed Alice’s directions through the village. There were other participants walking to and from various buildings also dressed in white tracksuits—all of them men. Doctors and staff dressed in scrubs and white coats also made their way through the complex.

  From the outside, E building looked like a lodge combined with an office building, but on the inside, it was outfitted with a sterile waiting room and what I could only assume were exam rooms. The old stone-faced fireplace sat cold and unused in the lobby. I imagined the room once housed a café and a cozy place to gather around the fire with patrons chatting about the day’s adventures. Simpler times. I sat down and waited to be called. Number 17.

  This must be my participant number. It’s on everything they’ve given me.

  A woman about my age walked in. She grinned when she saw me.

  “Hi, I’m Harper!” She spoke cheerfully sitting down in a hard, white chair beside me, “First day?”

  “Am I that obvious?” I asked, stiffening slightly.

  “Not really,” she laughed, “but you’re the only other girl I’ve seen in the four weeks I’ve been here.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, I guess this terminal illness is more of a boys club.”

  “Wow, lucky us? Talk about taking feminism too far...”

  “Oh good! You cope with trauma through humor too. We’re going to be great friends. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Mia. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise!”

  “So... how bad is it?”

  “The treatment? Not too bad! It’s sort of like getting a vaccine. The injection itself isn’t too painful. But the days that follow are excruciating. I didn’t get out of bed much that first week. I feel great now, though!”

  “Awesome.” I frowned.

  “You’ll do great.” She reassured.

  “Number 13. Proceed to the exam room,” Alice’s voice filled the space.

  “That’s me. I’ll see you in group later. You got this!” Harper called over her shoulder as she bounced off toward the automatic doors.

  “Thanks,” I murmured as she disappeared behind the opaque glass.

  I fidgeted with my watch and bounced my legs restlessly as I waited in silence.

  “Number 17. Proceed to the exam room,” Alice called.

  I stood and felt dizzy. You’ve got this. Harper made it through. So will you.

  The doors slid open. Yellow arrows guided me down the hall. I passed many exam rooms, but saw no one else.

  It’s too quiet.

  I made a left at the empty nurses’ station and stopped on the arrows at the first door. They turned green. It slid open.

  The room was bare. One exam chair, long and reclined, was placed in the center. It had arm rests with rings around them resembling blood pressure cuffs.

  “Please remove all outerwear and be seated.” Alice commanded.

  I obeyed. My bare arms resting through the rings, the room may have felt cold, but I was sweating too much to notice.

  “Please confirm your identity.”

  “Mia Alden.”

  “Thank you, Mia. I will now take your vitals. You will feel pressure on your arms followed by a quick pinch.”

  The chair hummed to life and the rings squeezed my arms until they tingled. I felt several pricks. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

  “Your heart rate and blood pressure are elevated. This is expected. Vitals are within range. Blood count and metabolic panel are recorded. We can proceed. Now, I will ask you some questions. This assessment helps establish baselines.

  “Please answer honestly. Failure to do so may result in your ineligibility to receive treatment. If you are unsure how to answer, say ‘Pass,’ and I will provide more explanation. I will repeat the question if your answer is invalid. You have three attempts to answer each question.

  Say ‘I consent’ if you are ready to continue.”

  “I consent.” No going back now.

  “Thank you. What is your date of birth?”

  “February 2, 2022.”

  “Do you have any known allergies?”

  “No.”

  “Have you had surgery in the last 12 months?”

  “No.”

  “Rate your current pain level from 0 to 10.”

  “6.”

  “Why are you here?”

  What?

  “To receive treatment...” I guessed.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’m dying. I have Stage IV Ewing Sarcoma.”

  “Why are you here?”

  What happens after three tries? “I want to live.”

  Alice paused briefly.

  “How well do you tolerate isolation?”

  “I’m not sure...Pass?”

  “What do you fear most: pain, failure, or irrelevance?”

  “Failure, I guess?”

  “If your partner asked you to do something that felt wrong, but promised it was for your own good, would you comply?”

  “Yes.” I already have, haven’t I?

  “Is pain a signal to stop or a signal of transformation?

  “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” I replied with sarcasm. My dad has that printed on a coffee mug.

  “If your life ended today, would you consider it meaningful?”

  I swallowed hard. “...No.”

  Another long pause with only an ambient hum filling the space and then a series of chimes.

  “Thank you, Mia. You are now cleared for protocol administration.”

  A door behind me hissed open. I heard fast footsteps. I twisted in the chair instinctively, but the rings around my arms pulsed tighter—just enough to remind me I wasn’t supposed to move.

  A woman stepped into view, dressed in clinical white scrubs with a silver ViraRx emblem over her heart.

  “Hi Mia. I’m Nurse Dayna. I’ll be overseeing your treatment.”

  She had dark curls pulled into a tight bun and a hardened expression that didn’t match the softness of her voice. She was pushing a cart with an IV holder and monitor.

  “Hi,” I croaked. “Am I the only one freaked out by this?”

  “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be human.” Dayna said sympathetically.

  She began prepping the cart beside the chair—needles, an IV bag filled with normal saline, a syringe, and a small vial with a clear liquid that shimmered slightly when it caught the light marked EV-β.2.6 — Live Nanovector Sample.

  “That’s it?” I asked, nodding toward the vial. “That’s the Everly Protocol?”

  “This is the beginning,” she replied. “The full protocol is administered in phases over the next six days. The treatment uses molecular nanobots, not robots like people usually imagine, but tiny repair tools made from synthetic DNA and RNA. They’re programmed to respond to your unique biochemistry.

  “Remember your pre-work-up at the hospital? That’s how we tailored them. These bots are adaptive. They know how to find damaged or cancerous cells and start the healing process. Once they’ve done their job, your body breaks them down naturally.”

  She paused, then added, “This is the vector seeding—the part that gets the nanobots in and mapping. After this, you’ll begin integration.”

  She finished placing the IV in my arm. Then she drew the fluid from the vial into the syringe.

  “You’ll feel a flush,” she continued, “and maybe a burning sensation along your arm, spine, and into your chest. That’s normal. It’ll pass.”

  “Will I be awake the whole time?”

  “For this part? Yes. The rest... we’ll see. Some people sleep for days. Some hallucinate. Some get obsessively hungry, and others have tried to hike naked into the forest.”

  “That’s... comforting.”

  She chuckled. “I’m here the whole time. And so is Alice.”

  Great.

  “Okay, deep breath. Ready?”

  No. “Yes.”

  She inserted the syringe into the IV port and slowly pushed the plunger. I watched the liquid move through the IV tubing toward my vein. The burn hit instantly.

  “Oh my god—” I gasped, head jerking back. It wasn’t painful exactly. It was heat and pressure and a strange tingling—followed by a metallic taste and tingling inside my mouth. My vision went white at the edges.

  “Good,” Dayna said calmly. “That means it’s working.”

  My body seized briefly. The chair tightened around my arms.

  “Alice, begin neuro-monitoring,” Dayna said, her voice suddenly clinical.

  “Monitoring initiated,” Alice replied.

  I could hear my own heart beating. The room began to spin, and Dayna’s face blurred.

  “Heart rate 220. Blood pressure 80/40.” Alice reported from what sounded far away.

  “You’re okay,” Dayna’s voice echoed, distant now. “You’re doing great, Mia.”

  The pounding intensified, it was the only thing I could hear in my head.

  And then—

  Darkness.

  That was day one.