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I received a clean bill of health from the doctors, who were truthfully a
little perturbed by it. It’s not that they wanted me to be unwell, but they
don’t understand how I could have been cured in the first place. They want to
find a reasonable explanation. They want to find evidence that something
happened to me, but they’re not going to, because my brief exposure to my own
immortality cleared me out entirely, and brought me back to square one. They
had no choice but to approve any medical treatment with any other doctor I
choose. In turn, the FBI had no choice but to let me move out of the
safehouse. Kelly, Dutch, and I are in the new apartment now. It’s not
technically a safehouse, but it may as well be so far, since our security
guards are keeping watch over us 24/7. It’s only a temporary place, as they
have all been for a while. But I’m really hoping that the next one will be
permanent. It has to meet all sorts of conditions, and my new security team
will have to run an inspection first. It sounds like a lot of fun. While the
other two are working more on that, I’m working through the details of my
upcoming surgeries. I think it’s gonna happen pretty quick now that I can make
my own decisions again. I don’t see this going more than a couple weeks before
we get through it. I’m pretty wiped from all the poking and prodding, so I’m
gonna have a nap. I hope it’s not a symptom.
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