The Nagas - scan

This is a sketch I made almost a year ago after writing down a part of plot for this man right here. Very related to both The Nagas and Coffeekick combined! After all the stories cross over in the mid section pretty heavily

Feel free to read this snippet:

The doctor’s office was too cold... that was Owen’s first thought. Too clean, too quiet under the clinical lights. The type that buzzed lightly above your head, maybe too low to hear unless you were already anxious. And Owen indeed was.

Even his breath felt loud in his chest... where the real noise was, if he listened too closely, but he tried to ignore it.

He sat stiff in the chair across from the doctor, his hoodie sleeves were pulled over his hands same as when he was a teen, as if they could shield him from what was coming his way. He’d been through a scan that morning... all alone.

His younger brother Adrian was at school, grabbing lunch with his pals and band members, Siron and Hans.

Owen hadn’t told a soul about this- not even his best friend Troy. Especially not Troy! He couldn’t deal with concern or sympathy right now, it'd just make him feel worse.

The doctor was still studying the file in his hands, tapping a stylus, squinting slightly at the chart. Owen’s gaze dropped to his own knees for a moment as his legs felt too heavy, like they were nailed to the floor.

Finally, the doctor spoke: “The murmur’s more pronounced now.” he said, monotone... not because he was cold, just factual. “It’s progressed from last year.”

Owen just nodded and the doctor looked up. “You mentioned you’ve been more tired lately?”

Owen licked his lips, nervous: “After work, yeah. And after walking up stairs sometimes. Some days I get winded even when I... I’m not doing too much.” He hesitated, then added a detail: “Chest aches a little… rarely. On and off, though... mostly at night.”

The doctor sighed, then set the papers down along with his tablet.“I won’t sugarcoat this, Mr. Hyun... You’re looking at a high-risk situation... Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even in the next months... but this is progressive. There's no way around it, you’re walking a fine line.”

The pause that followed felt like a vacuum, sucking all the minimal remaining warmth out of the soulless room.“We should discuss a heart transplant.”

Owen’s body stayed completely still, but his mind jolted, like someone had thrown him from his seat straight into the wall. Unnoticeably his fingers held tighter at the fabric inside his sleeves. “…What kind?"

The doctor leaned forward, images on a screen: “There’s a new program, a bio-mechanical transplant. It’s fresh, will leave less invasive scarring, lower risk of immune rejection, somewhat shorter recovery time. A hybrid between fully synthetic and what feels like organic tissue, but isn’t. It’s a new material that mimics skin... we’ve had promising success for high-risk cases.”

Owen blinked twice: “A prosthetic heart.”

“A living prosthetic.” the doctor clarified: “A smart one. Not fully robotic. Not what you think of when you hear tech in the body as many plastic surgery clinics like to suggest nowadays. This one is fully medical and regulates, adapts, and stabilizes. It’s close to a natural rhythm, slightly louder, but you won’t notice it.”

But Owen had already stopped hearing him at prosthetic because Adrian was part of a movement called "no-tech."

Because 250,000 dollars was the next word out of the doctor’s mouth... as he had no true functional health care coverage anymore the prices became too steep.

Owen didn’t flinch, but something in his brain locked up like a machine trying to process incompatible code... He nodded again and said the bare minimum: "Sure, okay. Thanks. I’ll call if I decide anything.” His hand felt numb when it shook the doctor’s.

By the time he reached his motorbike outside, the sun was fully out, but nothing felt warm or cozy. He sat for a moment, the scan folded in a plain envelope and tucked in the bag hanging from his handlebar... It might as well have held his death certificate.

Two hundred and fifty thousand. He could practically hear the words burning through the walls of his skull, it echoed like the ringing sound of a bell at a funeral, and then he drove home a little too fast.

He parked, locked up the bike automatically, stepped through the door of his home and dropped everything at the entrance like it weighed fifty pounds more now. No one was there, Adrian wouldn’t be back for three hours. That gave him time... time to scream, crumble, sob.

He couldn’t scream much to his surprise, he just sat on the edge of the couch, bent over, gripping the envelope tightly. His breath was too quick, then it slowed down, and then he was crying- ugly crying. He hated how he cried. He always tried never to let a tear fall, it made him feel more broken than anything else.

His voice wasn’t built for it... it cracked, twisted in his throat, and turned his face into a scrunched-up mess. Lips pulled too far down for his liking, nose pinched, wet, brow creased. Tears hit the envelope more and more, he wiped them, but they kept falling faster. “Fuck-” he whispered to himself “Fuck, no…” He couldn't afford it. Couldn’t even pretend to.

He still owed 1k from Adrian’s hospital bill from an accident a year ago. And the shop was stable but not booming. It was just him running it after all. He wasn’t even thirty yet! He had so many things left to do, and now...

Heart transplant.
Biomechanical.
Prosthetic.

That would be the end of Adrian’s respect, wouldn’t it? Adrian, who ranted every week about how no one should have tech inside them or outside them. Adrian, who blamed tech for their mother's complications. For the city drowning. For everything wrong in the world.

Owen let out a dry unamused laugh, wiped at his cheeks like it would help... he could hear the debate already, feel the fire behind Adrian’s words, even if he never said them aloud. “You’re letting them put a machine in your chest?”- “What next, Owen? Gonna replace your brain too? They are tracking you!”- “Don’t tell me you’re part of that system now. Giving our savings to machines!? You trust them?! We'll be in debt with our enemy!”- "You're not my brother anymore! You want to sell our childhood home to pay this shit off!?"

He slumped forward, hands against his eyes. What could he even say to that? “You’ll be alone if I die.” “You’ll lose me if I don’t find a way to live.” ...

But he wouldn’t say it. He wouldn’t say anything... Because Adrian didn’t know! Because Troy didn’t know! Because Owen still didn’t know how to say: “Help me! I think I’m dying.”

And he couldn’t... So he let it all out, right there on the couch, until the sun started dimming.

When he was done, the envelope sat untouched on the table as his head throbbed, his throat felt raw, but he pushed himself up regardless. Three hours were almost over, Adrian would be home soon.

Time to clean up. Time to get rid of the tears and most importantly time to hide that envelope. Time to forget how close he was to losing everything and pretend nothing had ever been wrong... until the next appointment, the next reminder or until his heart gave out... unless he found a way to buy time.

Whichever came first.

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Hello, I am Ari and I do digital
and traditional art