A team of nurses and doctors rush into the room, ready to give Alia intensive care if her condition worsened. They quickly checked any measurements, hoping against hope that Alia didn't get an illness that was beyond their abilities to treat. Alia's handler was on the line, talking to the gathered medical personnel. They were hoping to get any advice they could to give her the treatment she needed.

Her vital signs are unchanged, except that her fever is now 38.5. A blood test shows that she has jaundice - the yellow tone is combining with the haemocyanin to make her skin green. A comprehensive blood test will confirm that she has acute liver failure.

Her breathing is noticeably crackly in her right lung.

"Can one of the nurses please find a donor who can help Alia get a new liver? Just walk out to the nearest cafe or mall or wherever and tell them we need a liver for someone compatible with Alia's blood and antibodies yesterday, now!" The doctor speaking snaps his fingers and everyone else works to get Alia on dialysis as rapidly as possible, until the donor arrives. He starts having the mask use positive pressure to have it start breathing for Alia, expecting that the lack of breathing will stop the crackling in her lung from worsening.

"Do you know why her liver failed? Something that happened once but you'll be able to prevent when you understand her better, or a fundamental problem with her body's attitude toward livers, like how transplanted kidneys don't work for cats?"

"We don't know at the moment, no. But we'll want her to be as strong as possible, and her having a working liver can only help. It will let us understand if it is an issue similar to what you've described, and give us more time to investigate the situation." A woman who owned a nearby cafe was a near-perfect match for Alia, and she'd happily let a few of her regulars take over the cafe while she was here to save someone's life. She insisted that the money she'd receive for her donation would be spent on providing public goods to all of thomassia, as was the norm. She was still waiting anxiously in the hospital's lobby; it'd be a fair while until the transplant would begin. The doctors in Alia's room were monitoring her, hoping that whatever was causing her lungs to crackle wouldn't worsen or necessitate any kind of invasive procedure.

The mask helps with her breathing but she's still crackling and it's slowly getting worse. The next time she coughs, blood stains half her pillow.

She passes out again.

One of the doctors very carefully enunciates "Fucker" before nodding and getting to work, testing Alia's blood for any kind of infection and rushing to try to keep her airways open. It doesn't take long before some nasty germs, presumably coming from all the octopus gunk, get discovered. The doctor nods before getting the first-line antibiotic on Alia's IV, and getting to work on using the IV to help keep Alia's blood pressure low enough to prevent too much damage from the stroke and improve the blood flow.

Alia's handler, after thinking about what Alia's history and current condition, ultimately concluded that she'd need blood transfusions, as her new blood coming from the octopus simply wasn't efficient enough to fully oxygenate Alia's tissues.

After a few seconds, the machine controlling Alia's insulin level made a very sharp, cymbal-like noise bringing attention to it. It took a few seconds of thinking and calculating on the part of one of the nurses, before he took a few seconds to re-adjust the machine to keep Alia's blood sugar stable. Presumably, the germs were causing issues; but this was easily resolvable.

Eventually, the woman waiting in the lobby was prepared for the liver donation surgery. She wouldn't have a hospital room quite as nice as Alia's, but it was spacious, and donors were universally entitled to a relatively long and entirely stress-free recovery period. She would change into the special hospital onesie, with her employment, given name, and her entire public ID number written on a sticker in front of the main magnetic button of the onesie. As a symbol of the deference thomassians were expected to show to donors, she was gently lifted into a hospital bed, before being pushed into the elevator; she would be preserving all of her energy and resting. Patients are to put as little strain on their bodies as possible.

All the relevant sensors were placed onto her body, and she focused on her breathing and how truly fascinating it was to be conscious, as she relaxed herself as much as she could manage while being carted into Alia's room, her eyes closed and mind focused.

Kyra lets the donor rest peacefully and plans out how to thank her later. Something living seems appropriate, especially if it grows continually while you harvest pieces off it, like how a liver grows back when you take part of it - the miracle that allows for living liver donors. Maybe a sourdough starter? If Alia survives and is powerful enough to be worth shipping abroad for future Events, that might be an excuse to collect some exotic starters from different environments. If the donor doesn't like to bake, she can give her a variety of finished loaves instead...

The new liver does not immediately fall to whatever killed the last one.

Alia's heart starts beating again on its own, but her right atrium isn't working at all and the rest of it is weak. The bleeding in her lung slows. Her fever drops to 37.9.

And she wakes up enough for a gentle game!

Kyra holds her left hand palm in, fingers up, and touches her right fist.

Yes, she indicates.

Two fists touching?

Yes.

Two hands palm down, fingers forward, not touching?

Yes.

Fingers interlaced?

No!

"Oh good, I was worried I wouldn't find a 'no'."

Palms pressed together, finger pointing up?

Yes.

"Hmmm." Left hand with finger up and palm in, right hand grabbing it?

Yes.

Hands clasped together?