The man instinctively rose to his feet as two uniformed men burst into the room. In an instant, he and the doctor were escorted into the hallway, teeming with uniformed personnel. Though they appeared unarmed, their attire resembled that of riot police. A woman, who seemed youthful despite her authoritative presence, stood at the forefront and addressed the doctor.

"Is this Jeremiah Anderson?" she spoke with a low, menacing voice, emphasizing each syllable.

"Yes, it is," the doctor responded promptly.

"We have received a complaint against your patient," she continued in the same cold tone. "He is to undergo evaluation by one of our own doctors before sentencing."

With a wave of her hand, a swarm of officers surrounded the man, securing his hands behind his back and forcefully pushing him down the corridor.

"Who are you? Why am I being arrested?" the man seethed, desperately glancing back at the room, only to realize the doctor had already vanished.

He was abandoned. Again.

This must be a terrible dream. Why couldn't he simply wake up in his cell?

Hours later, the man caught sight of the doctor once more. He had endured a grueling physical examination, which he undoubtedly failed, undergone rounds of questioning that he barely comprehended, and now stood in an immense courtroom, waiting for his turn.

"Please, God. I'm lost."

Eventually, he was ushered to a desk in front of a massive holographic judge display. As the judge read a brief statement detailing his crimes, the man struggled to listen. Apparently, he had been charged with purposeful misgendering, classified as hate speech and punishable by ten years in a re-education facility or termination if survival was estimated to be less than ten years. Completely numb to his own future at this point, he marveled at how such a severe sentence could be imposed for something as seemingly trivial as hurting someone's feelings. What kind of world was this?

Was the judge even human? He, or perhaps she, bore a vague resemblance to what the man imagined an artificial intelligence being might look like. How was this even...

"No." A familiar guttural voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Pat sitting to his left. "I will not."

"Really?" the judge responded after a moment of stunned silence. "You don't wish to press charges?"

Though visibly displeased, Pat shook his head.

"Well, this has been a colossal waste of my time," muttered the judge, furiously operating a screen interface in front of him. "The patient will be released back into your care, Dr. Kartsakis."

"No."

All eyes in the room turned to the doctor, the judge's hand freezing in mid-air.

"He will no longer be permitted in this facility," the doctor said, refusing to even look at his patient. "We will provide him with a mask and release him."

The man moved in a daze. His restraints were removed, and the doctor guided him toward the entrance he had walked through hours earlier. The bustling room paid no attention to his departure, much as it had ignored his arrival.

At the door, the doctor retrieved a packet and pulled out a gas mask. He placed it placed it on the man's face, ensuring it sealed successfully over his nose and mouth.

Only then, for the first time since his arrest, did the doctor meet his gaze. His eyes carried a profound sadness as he spoke quietly yet forcefully, delivering the last words the man would ever hear him speak: "Go. Find the woman who imprisoned you. She's the only one who can save you."

Two steps, a resounding clang, and the man found himself outside, standing alone on an almost deserted street as darkness descended.