Jujutsu Kaisen: Clockwork - CH2 (Patreon)

As I followed Suguru's directions to navigate through Tokyo, driving his car through the unfamiliar streets of this metropolis, I couldn't shake off a growing sense of unease. The city was a labyrinth of neon lights and towering buildings, so different from the open roads of Texas. That being said, despite my focus on the road, my mind kept replaying the bizarre encounter with those monstrous creatures. 

I wasn't sure what to think.

If those things hadn't been a product of my imagination, well... it meant I truly wasn't in my world, that or the supernatural truly exists, either way, the situation was beyond confusing.

At the very least, I was certain someone else besides me had seen those monsters, and he was sitting beside me, giving me a small sense of security that I wasn't crazy. A very small sense of security, very tiny, minuscule... you know what, no sense of security at all.  

Oh... god, what if he isn't real?! And I am truly hallucinating everything?!

As my panicked thoughts started to invade my head, we arrived at the hospital. The clinical building stood out amidst the urban sprawl, its illuminated giving me a small sense of hope. Taking a deep breath, I quickly parked the car in the first spot I could find, ready to help Suguru inside. But as I turned to him, ready to offer assistance, I noticed something.

The passenger seat was empty.

Bewildered, I scanned the car frantically. There was no sign of Suguru, no trace of blood, nothing. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. 

"God damn it, I was hallucinating all of this," I cursed under my breath. I bet I wasn't even in Tokyo to begin with, it would certainly explain why a figment of my imagination was able to guide me through this fabricated place without killing myself on the road.

Fuck me on a Tuesday morning, and leave me on a Wednesday night. Perhaps coming to the hospital was a cry for help that the last vestiges of my sane self were trying to communicate. As in, you need help, GO GET HELP.

Stepping out of the car, I paused for a moment, taking in the chaos of the hospital entrance. I chuckled to myself, a bit hysterically, might I add. I suppose if you're going to lose your marbles, might as well do it in style, right?

Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the hospital, rehearsing what I was going to say. "Hi, I'd like one admission to your finest psych ward, please. Oh, and do you have room service?" I muttered under my breath, trying to find humor in my seemingly fucked up situation. 

As I approached the reception, I straightened up, ready to embrace my new role as the hospital's latest crazy person. "Excuse me," I started, my voice a mix of embarrassment and forced cheerfulness. "I believe I might be in need of some... psychiatric assistance?"

The receptionist looked up, her expression a mix of professional concern and slight bewilderment. I couldn't blame her. Then again, there was the chance she was another hallucination, so... fuck.

I gave her my best 'I-know-this-sounds-crazy' smile. "You see, I've had a bit of an unusual day. Found myself in a Japanese-style house in the middle of nowhere, fought some monster bugs, you know, the usual Tuesday stuff. Oh, and there was this guy, who disappeared into thin air. Classic Japanese hospitality am I right?"

The receptionist blinked, clearly trying to decide whether I was joking, delusional, or just another oddball case for the books. I leaned on the counter, trying to appear as sane as possible - a difficult task given the circumstances.

"So, about that psych ward?" I asked, raising my eyebrows hopefully. "Do I just sign up here, or is there a special handshake I need to know?"

Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard, and for a moment she stared at her screen as if it might offer some script for this peculiar encounter. Then, with the creak of her chair and a sigh that seemed to say: I'm not paid enough for this, she looked back up at me.

"The psych ward?" she questioned, her voice laced with a hint of skepticism that suggested she had seen enough to know the line between eccentricity and emergency. "I think we'd better start with some basic questions first. Can you tell me your name?"

"That's another thing, I don't remember my name," I replied, a beaming smile on my face. The smile needless to say didn't portray how I was truly feeling.

The receptionist's fingers stilled, and for a moment, the clacking of the keyboard next door filled the uneasy silence. "Alright," she said, her skepticism morphing into a more clinical detachment as she opened a new form on her computer. "Let's not worry about your name just yet. We can work that out later. For now, let's get some basic information. Are you experiencing any physical discomfort, or is it just the... unusual experiences you mentioned?" 

Her tone was careful now, balanced between disbelief and the practiced patience of someone handling what might be a mental health crisis. 

"I feel a bit tired, but mostly... the unusual experiences," I replied, scratching the back of my head

The receptionist nodded slowly, as if ticking off mental checkboxes in her head. "Tiredness can be a side effect of many things; stress, for one," she murmured, more to herself than to me, typing away with renewed energy. "We'll have someone see you shortly, but first, do you have any allergies or medical conditions we should be aware of? Any medications?"

Not sure what good would do, asking a crazy person that. "No allergies, and no meds, which now seems to be the problem, right?" I chuckled at my joke, one she didn't find very amusing. 

She barely managed a polite grimace, the corners of her mouth lifting in a motion that was more professional obligation than genuine amusement. "Perhaps," she conceded, her eyes flicking briefly to my face before returning to her screen. "Do you have any next of kin, anyone we should contact in case of an emergency?"

"I... I don't remember either," I replied, my tone becoming dull. Just how much I couldn't remember?

The receptionist's eyes softened, just a fraction, as she witnessed the dawning confusion on my face. She had probably seen this kind of thing before, people lost in their own minds, adrift in a sea of forgotten names and faces. "That's alright," she said with the first genuine note of sympathy in her voice. "We'll work through it together. For now, let's make sure you're safe and comfortable. The memory issues might be temporary, but we need to get a better understanding of what you're dealing with." 

The receptionist stood up, her movements suggesting a decision made. "Follow me."

I pushed myself out of my trance, following her through a series of sterile corridors that looked much the same as any hospital or clinic: white walls adorned with the occasional motivational poster, floors so clean they squeaked underfoot. 

As we walked, the air seemed to hum with a low, indecipherable murmur, as though the building itself was whispering just beyond my hearing. Every now and then, I'd catch a flicker of something in the corner of my eye... a shadow darting away or a light that briefly glowed an unnatural

Eventually, we arrived at a small room that had the charm of a minimalist hotel. A bed, a chair, and a side table were its only furnishings, each item as impersonal as the next. She gestured to the chair. "Please, take a seat. Dr. Nakamura will be with you shortly."

I did as instructed, the chair's faux-leather surface cool against my skin. The room was quiet, eerily so, and I found myself straining to hear that odd murmur again... it seemed my mind wasn't done fucking with me.

Dr. Nakamura entered without a sound, the door whispering shut behind him, a man not much older than myself, I figured, with an easy demeanor that clashed with the sterile environment. He wore a white lab coat that seemed to accentuate the sharpness of his features, his gaze penetrating as he held a digital tablet against his chest.

"Good morning," he greeted, though the neutrality of his expression made it hard to gauge the warmth of his welcome. "I'm Dr. Hiroshi Nakamura. I understand you're experiencing some mental difficulties?"

"Yes," I answered, my voice almost surprising me, had it always sounded so hollow? "To be clear, I'm not even sure all of this is real anymore. I mean, what are the odds of finding all the right Japanese people that speak perfect English? Then again, I'm pretty sure the fact I'm in Tokyo is an hallucination as well, so... forget I said anything."

Dr. Nakamura's lips upturned in the faintest hint of a smile, the kind that suggested he was no stranger to the dealing with a crazy bastard. "I assure you, we are very real. And as far as English goes, you're speaking Japanese."

Of course I am. The guy that failed English in high school is talking Japanese so fluently that he thinks is English. I have to admit, I never do anything half-baked, if I work, I work hard, if I go crazy, I go full batshit crazy, not funny uncle crazy.

Dr. Nakamura set the tablet on the side table and pulled the chair a bit closer, his movements measured and deliberate. "These experiences you're having, they're not uncommon in cases of extreme stress or trauma," he explained, folding his hands together as if to physically weave his thoughts into coherence. "Your mind is trying to protect you by detaching from reality, a defense mechanism. It can be disorienting, frightening even, but it's our job to guide you back to a sense of normalcy."

I listened, the words filtering through the fog in my brain. Trauma? I suppose that's one word for it. Not the word I would use, but it fits.

"You should know, I don't have insurance," I replied. I mean, I did, but I'm not sure my basic ass insurance would cover anything other than half a band-aid.

"Don't worry," Dr. Nakamura said, catching my eye with a look that was both stern and kind. "Here in Tokyo, you're fully covered under a special program we have for cases like yours, foreigner or not. Financial burdens should not obstruct your path to recovery."

Free healthcare? Ha! Now I know I'm hallucinating.