Riley was caught at the edge of the blast

As the minutes passed by where I lie awake in the hospital bed, I felt a growing discomfort in my lower back. I blamed the still groggy state that I was in, but with every heartbeat, I sensed the base of my spine flaring up. Moreover, I had difficulty moving my limbs. It was a delayed sensation, especially below my waist, paired with painful jabs at my nerves when I so much as moved my little toe.

It dawned on me that the strength of the blast could have been so powerful that it caused a whiplash, knocking me forward so hard that I practically doubled over backwards.

With what little strength I had in my arm, I reached for the call-button that hung attached to a small cord next to my bedside, hopefully summoning a nurse, my thumb tingling as I pressed the red button.

Only moments later, there were several figures at my side, men and women, all of them wearing scrubs. The oldest among them, a man wearing a mask over his face and his graying beard, took the word.

"Mister Smith, my name is dr. Drew Malcolm, and I am a neurosurgeon at Saint Hospital, the hospital you are currently residing in. I am afraid we have bad news for you." He said in an earnest, but compassionate tone.

I groaned, ignoring the metaphorical knives stabbing my spine as I tried to crane my neck to lean over to him. "I know." I moaned, tears forming in my eyes. "I can't move anymore doctor. Everything hurts when I am trying to move even the slightest."

The man looked towards his associates, brows raised, and some of them nodded, seemingly in acknowledgement.

"That is... something that we were afraid of," he began, "though it's not the source of our concerns."

I looked at him questioningly, my momentary lapse of silence an indication for him to continue.

"Yesterday, authorities were alerted to a terrorist attack involving a reality bomb going off nearby the city's economic center, with at least several hundred people having been caught in the explosion, the majority of whom are still listed as missing.

"The several dozens that the authorities did manage to retrieve, were those caught at the very edge of the blast. All of them, including you, have suffered severe physiological changes, that can best be described as... simply put, incomplete. As far as we can tell, along with expert colleagues from nearby hospitals, the changes that occurred, have done its patients more harm than good."

I chuckled at the hilarity of it all. "No shit!" I coughed. "As if I haven't noticed. My spine is flaring up constantly, and it is only getting worse."

Doctor Malcolm sighed. "Nurse, perhaps it is best if we increase mister Smith's IV-drip a bit."

He turned to me again. "We have done several scans to best understand your current situation mister Smith. Similar to our other patients, we have discovered that the great majority of your changes are localised, and very specific. These physiological changes follow a common pattern as well.

"The majority of the people who were recovered from the bomb site's vicinity, and whose bodies were altered, had initially been running away in a direction opposite to the center of the blast."

"The same goes for me doctor." I verified.

The doctor hummed. "The common pattern that we found, is that for any changes people suffered from the reality bomb's effects, they begin from the bottom of their feet, rising up over their legs, and for those affected the worst, ending at the base of their necks. Any instances of complete transformation, as far as we have seen, have not been uncovered yet. The farther away from the blast, the fewer changes suffered. We managed to recover blast-victims from anywhere between two-fifty and three-fifty feet away from the explosion's centre.

"Mister Smith, we concluded that you fall somewhere in the middle of this group. You were recovered some three-hundred feet away from the bomb's crater.

"Your changes reach up to just above your navel. The pain you are currently feeling in your spine is due to a disconnect between two spinal cords that were never supposed to be attached in the first place."

Realisation dawned on me. Concentrating, there was of course not only pain that I felt. Even if everything felt numb, mainly the area below my waist, there were other, even less familiar sensations as well.

I braved the stinging and jabbing sensations as I placed an arm underneath me for support. I saw several nurses and doctors taking a step away from my bedside, either afraid of my reaction or, worse yet, afraid or unsure of what was underneath the covers of my bed.

As I grabbed the edge of my bedsheet with a shaking, tingling hand, another one grabbed my wrist. It was doctor Malcolm's.

His expression was fierce. "Mister Smith, I need you to understand that, whatever you do when you uncover yourself, you must not panic."

I swallowed, but with a determined look in my eyes, I nodded, and the neurosurgeon let go of me. I threw the covers off of myself.