Chapter 3: The Diagnosis
There’s always a reason for the Fall.
This is the continuation of The Everly Files.
CW: Terminal illness, medical distress, strong emotional content. This story contains mature themes and is intended for adult readers.
Today’s testimony returns us to 2048, where a sharp fall leads to something much more terrifying:
The first thing I remember was the strong artificial lemon scent—industrial cleaner? I winced at the brightness behind my eyelids. I wasn’t ready to open them yet. A steady beeping sounded above me. A monitor?
“Did you propose?” I recognized Dr. Julius Dravo, Derek’s father, speaking in hushed, rushed tones some distance away.
“No, there was no time to tell her...” Derek’s response trailed off. I couldn’t hear the rest.
I forced my eyes open and turned my head away from the light, flinching. I blinked. An IV itched on the back of my hand. I was in a hospital gown, lying on an air-filled mattress with a small pillow, tucked under several thin blankets. My thoughts were still foggy, but a sharp, searing pain at the base of my skull brought the present crashing back.
“Owww,” I groaned.
Suddenly, Derek was beside me, grabbing my hand and helping me sit up slightly. “Hey, slugger. Take it easy, kid. You had a bad fall.” He adjusted the bed so I was upright. His blue eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying? I wondered. Oh, he probably hasn’t been home to change his AR lenses.
“How bad was it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
He handed me a cup of water, and I sipped slowly from the straw.
“Last night, we were heading to the hotel party after the bar. You fell on the stairs and hit your head.” He spoke gently. “The wound was deep, but they repaired it with ArtSkin—you won’t even scar.”
“Oh…” I paused. “Do they know why I fell?”
“They said they’ll know more after the bloodwork and scans come back.”
I nodded. That seemed reasonable. He smiled, but instinct told me he was holding back.
“Mia, listen…” Derek started, but was interrupted by a petite red-headed nurse, who looked about twenty, entering briskly.
“Knock knock! Hello! I’m Riley, your nurse today. Just here to check your IV. How’s the pain?” she asked brightly.
“I feel like I got hit by an autonomous car on the Fastway,” I said dryly.
She gave a sympathetic smile. “Oh, you poor thing! The doctor will be in soon with your results. We’ll get you sorted.”
Right on cue, the doctor walked in.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Tran,” She offered a quick handshake, tablet in hand. “I’m part of your care team and I’d like to go over your test results. Would you like some privacy?” She nodded toward Derek.
“She’s my girlfriend. I brought her here. I think it’s important I hear this,” he said before I could answer. I just nodded.
“All right,” Dr. Tran said, managing a polite smile. “Mia, your preliminary tests show some concerning abnormalities. Your white blood cell count is significantly elevated, and there appears to be a mass compressing your brain stem from your spine.”
She waved her pen at the smart wall. Scans appeared.
“That sounds scary. Is that why I fainted?” I asked.
“It’s possible,” she replied. “Have you had any other symptoms?”
“I’ve felt… off for months. But I figured it was from stress. I just passed the bar.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Headaches, stomach pain, tired all the time. A sharp pain on my side… My doctor said it was probably from menstrual pain.”
“Any recent weight loss?”
“Yeah, but I haven’t been eating well. I’ve been rationing credits.”
“I understand. Lots of people do these days. I’m ordering more tests. Don’t worry—we’ll have answers soon.” She offered a reassuring smile. “And congratulations on passing the bar,” she added before exiting the room.
“Thanks…” I said slowly, meeting Derek’s eyes. He gave me a small, reassuring nod.
A technician entered with a handheld VytalScanner, about the size of my mom’s old graphing calculator. Sleek and dark, it had a small display, a soft-blue sensor strip, and a barely audible hum that buzzed faintly through the casing like an old cell phone on vibrate. I noticed the Nurosyntex logo near the grip. That was the same company behind the subdermal implants and part of Julius’s empire at ViraRx.
“Hi, I’m Liam. I just need to grab a few more scans.” He walked to my bed and gently lowered the backrest flat. Pain spiked behind my eyes.
“Try to lie perfectly still,” he said, lowering the scanner toward my chest and beginning a slow, steady sweep.
I closed my eyes. A blue flicker passed across my lids as the device moved over me, slow and steady. I felt a soft warmth drift through my torso, like static electricity but without the sting.
I knew the basics: It used a mix of low-frequency ultrasound and electromagnetic sweeps to scan tissue and blood flow. No needles or radiation, just light and signals gliding across my skin. I heard a faint chime. It was done.
“Can I get something for the pain?” I asked Riley.
“I’ll check your credits,” she said, pulling out her tablet.
“I just need a blood sample before I go.” Liam sanitized my finger and pricked it, inserting the drop strip into the scanner. “Did her optimization go through?” he asked Riley.
Riley glanced at the IV monitor. “Yes, CLARA is optimizing her IV now.” CLARA—the Clinical Logistics and Automated Response Assistant, a common hospital AI—quietly adjusted the flow and fine-tuned the treatment in real time. The IV bag inflated as CLARA pulled fluid from a concealed reservoir in the cabinet behind my bed.
“Great. And genetic profiling is underway.” Liam gave a polite nod and left.
“I’m so sorry, Mia,” Riley frowned. “It looks like you’ve maxed out your pain relief allotment on your plan. Would you like to upgrade?”
“I’ll cover it,” Derek said, extending his wrist, implant radiating a soft green pulse beneath his skin as she scanned it.
“Thanks,” I murmured, relieved.
“Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet! You’re such a green flag,” Riley gushed, “And a Thynkchip, too—sol’ flare!” She quipped while adjusting the IV. “I’ll check in on you later.” She gave Derek a flirty wave and a wink as she skipped away.
I couldn’t help but laugh, and I couldn’t blame her. Derek had that effect on most people with his quiet, confident demeanor and strong jawline. He was objectively handsome and finely sculpted. I was used to the ogling stares he received when we were out in public. Yet to be so conspicuous about it—Riley had to be a Trackling, one of those highly trained yet notoriously awkward trainees.
With declining birth rates, there were a lot of gaps to fill across most industries. Traditional high school had died with the old system—after a wave of sweeping reforms meant to fix the damage done under the previous regime, the government struggled to rebuild what it had torn down.
In the name of progress, they channeled teens into careers by their mid-teens. Every student had their own personalized AI tutor tailored specifically to them. Most learned from home, but there were school centers in refurbished libraries—now owned by education corporations—for those who needed daycare. Students sat around screens with headphones on, with limited peer interaction.
Fortunately, I’d been part of the last class to sit through American Government, taught by someone in the old way who still believed the old Constitution mattered.
“Sorry,” I said to Derek. “What did you want to talk about earlier?”
“It can wait,” he replied, still blushing. “Want me to turn on the hologram? They’re probably rerunning that old show you like.”
“Yeah. I guess they bring back the show every couple of decades for nostalgia’s sake. There’s something comforting about watching people just doing ‘normal’ stuff. Like when we were kids.”
“Nobody even works in an office anymore. I don’t understand why you find it funny,” he teased, switching on the projector.
The room shimmered as the hologram flickered to life, filling the space with familiar awkward office banter and uneasy glances. For me, the image was crisp and vivid, enough to make me feel like I was right there in the room with them. But Derek’s implants made the experience even more immersive. Extra details were layered on, like subtle shifts in body language, internal commentary, and even background noises only he could hear.
The news ticker scrolled quietly at the edge of my vision: “The embargo is unlikely to lift as the Northeast Kingdom Alliance fortifies its borders against the influx of climate migrants...”
Then the familiar theme played softly, and I finally felt calm.
***
After the episode, Dr. Tran returned. I could tell by her expression it wasn’t good news.
“Hello again. How are we feeling?” she asked.
“Not super great,” I said.
“Understandably.” She paused. “Mia, MULLIS has analyzed your results.” Medical Understanding and Learning Logic for Innovative Solutions—the same diagnostic AI my doctor’s office used, “And we’ve confirmed a diagnosis. It’s late-stage Ewing Sarcoma.”
“I have cancer?” I asked, stunned. Derek’s face went pale.
“Yes. And I’m sorry to say it’s very advanced. The scans show it’s spread from a tumor in your pelvis to your lungs, lymph nodes, bones... and up your spine. That pressure on your brain stem likely caused your collapse.”
She paused, waiting for it to sink in. Words failed me.
“I don’t understand,” I said finally, anger rising. “Three ER visits in as many months, and they said I was overreacting. My primary doctor told me I had anxiety and dehydration. She told me I just needed vitamins!”
Dr. Tran nodded. “I know. The AI likely classified you as low risk. You are young with no family history. Ewing Sarcoma is rare and typically affects adolescent males. It likely wasn’t flagged.”
“NO, YOU DON’T KNOW!” I shouted, livid. “MY LIFE IS JUST STARTING. I’M ONLY TWENTY-SIX. I CAN’T HAVE CANCER! NO, No, no…”
“Babe, let’s just calm down and hear about treatment options, okay? Cancer’s mostly curable these days,” Derek said, placing a hand on my shoulder, clearly uncomfortable with my outburst.
I unclenched my fists that had left fingernail impressions in my palms, and I took a shaky breath. He looked at Dr. Tran, gesturing for her to continue.
She nodded, cautiously. “Yes, many cancers are treatable. But this one—at this stage—isn’t typically among them.”
Derek shook his head, blinking fast. “There must be something. Surgery? Immunotherapy?”
Dr. Tran hesitated. “Some therapies exist. But with a case this aggressive… I strongly recommend palliative care.”
Palliative care? Pain management? They’ve already given up on me…
“How long do I have?” I asked, feeling like I was outside my body.
“Optimistically, a few months. But it could be weeks. I’ve never seen a case like yours.”
Derek put his head in his hands, rubbing hard, like he was trying to wake up. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t accept this. There has to be something.” He shot to his feet more animated than I’d ever seen him.
“Derek…” I whispered.
“NO!” he shouted and flung the stool he was sitting on against the wall with a loud crash. Dr. Tran and I flinched. We watched him storm out, disappearing down the hallway.
“I’m so sorry, Mia,” Dr. Tran finally said softly, eyes returning to mine. “Do you want to discuss your options now, or would you prefer some time to think about all this? Is there anyone else you want to call?”
“No, we can talk now.” I said, resigned. Isn’t it strange how, when one partner unravels, the other somehow grows calmer? Like an unspoken rule that we can only break down one at a time. Anyway, I didn’t really hear what she said after that.
Because I was going to die… soon.
That was the only thought echoing in my skull. I started picturing everyone I was going to leave behind. It wasn’t fair. I was supposed to start my career. Get married. Have babies. That was the plan. Now the plan was napalmed. Dr. Tran left me with digital files of my “options.” I scrolled through them mindlessly until the lump in my throat finally cracked into sobs. The lights dimmed for energy-saving. Nighttime arrived.
My IV cabinet blinked, “Goodnight, Mia,” and CLARA sent melatonin-induced dreams.
Sleep was the only escape.
Disclaimer: The Everly Files is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, organizations, or events is purely coincidental.
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Until next testimony,
— Everly Stevens
Even though I knew it was coming, it still hit hard. Love the world building.