You lay in a bed, covered with blankets that felt heavier than they should have been. The familiar hum of the Genius Society’s equipment and the clattering of distant machinery were mere background noise, but your head was far too foggy to focus on them. A dull ache throbbed in your temples, your body fighting the fever that had taken hold.

You tried to sit up but quickly sank back into the pillows, your strength failing you.

The door creaked open, and a sharp voice cut through the haze of your mind.

"How much longer are you going to lay there and mope? You're not going to get any better by staring at the ceiling, you know."

It was Herta, of course. She stood at the door, arms crossed, her usual confident expression now laced with a hint of concern. You couldn’t quite tell if she was frustrated with your condition or if there was something more behind it.