The Accidental Wealth

Chapter 6

Once dressed, he had to admit he felt more human. The clothes fit surprisingly well, though he couldn't shake the feeling that he was wearing evidence of his spectacular fall from grace.

"Well, look at you," QQ piped up. "From hospital chic to suburban dad in ten minutes flat. Bravo."

"You know, for a so-called 'Life Guide System', you're not very supportive," He grumbled.

"Oh, darling, I'm plenty supportive. I just have high standards. Now, shall we go face the music at reception?"

With a deep breath, Jackson headed out of the room and down the hallway. The hospital's opulence continued to astound him – he half expected to see a valet parking Ferraris in the lobby.

At the reception desk, a woman with a smile as plastic as her nametag greeted him. "Checking out, sir?"

"That's the plan," He replied.

"Wonderful! Let's just pull up your bill, shall we?" Her fingers flew over the keyboard, and He braced himself for impact.

"Alright, Mr. Jackson. Your total comes to... $45,500."

"I'm sorry, what?"

The receptionist's smile didn't falter. "That's $30,000 for your stay, $500 for your new outfit, and $15,000 for miscellaneous charges. Would you like a breakdown?"

"Miscellaneous charges?" He sputtered. "What, did you fly in a team of neurosurgeons from Switzerland?"

"Oh no, sir," she replied, her tone sickeningly sweet. "That would have been much more expensive. The miscellaneous charges include our premium care package, luxury amenities tax, and of course, our 'You Got Hit By A Bus But Lived To Tell The Tale' celebratory f*e."

He stared at her, waiting for the punchline. It never came.

"You're joking, right?" he asked weakly.

"I assure you, sir, we take our billing very seriously here at Luxury Life Hospital. No joking matter at all."

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. He'd gone from having thirteen dollars to his name to having thirty-five thousand to owing forty-five thousand – all in a day.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "Do I... do I need to pay it now?"

"Yes, sir. We prefer immediate payment upon discharge."

Panic rising in his chest, He muttered, "What do I have to do now?"

The receptionist's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

He quickly pressed his phone to his ear, pretending to take a call. "Hey, uh, Quantum Quill? Where are you now? I could really use some help here."

To his surprise, a different voice responded - a generic male system voice. "We apologize, but the software is currently updating. Quantum Quill is not available at this time."

"How long?"

"Estimated update time is 1 minute to 120 minutes," the robotic voice replied.

"That's a 119-minute gap!" He hissed into the phone, but there was no response.

He lowered the phone, his mind racing. The receptionist was eyeing him suspiciously, her plastic smile starting to crack. Jackson took a deep breath and decided to take a chance.

"Look," he said, leaning in conspiratorially, "I've got about 35k in my account right now. Is there any chance you could give me a few minutes to get the rest from a friend?"

"Of course, sir. You're welcome to return to your room while you wait. However, I should inform you that additional charges will apply if the wait time becomes... excessive."

"Additional charges?"

"Oh yes," she replied. "We have a very reasonable 'Procrastination in Payment' surcharge. It's only $100 per minute."

"A hundred dollars a minute? That's insane!"

The receptionist shrugged. "Luxury comes at a price, Mr. Jackson. Perhaps you should have considered that before deciding to get hit by a bus in front of our esteemed establishment."

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. There was no point in trying to reason with this woman. She probably charged for oxygen if you breathed too heavily.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I'll go back to my room. But just so we're clear, I didn't decide to get hit by a bus. The bus decided to hit me."

"Of course, sir," she replied, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I'm sure the bus is very sorry for the inconvenience."

As Jackson trudged back to his room, he felt he'd entered some bizarre alternate reality. A world where hospitals had chandeliers, nurses looked like supermodels, and getting hit by a bus was a luxury experience.

He flopped onto the silk sheets of his bed, staring up at the ornate ceiling. "Quantum Quill," he muttered, "if you're in there, now would be a great time to finish your update."

But there was no response. The faint beeping of medical equipment and the distant sound of what he could swear was a champagne cork popping.

He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of his situation. In a day, he'd lost his job, discovered his girlfriend's infidelity, been hit by a bus, flirted with a nurse, and racked up a hospital bill that could buy a small apartment.

And now, his only hope of salvation was a snarky, disembodied voice that was currently "updating."

"Come on," he groaned. "How long does it take to update a figment of my imagination?"

To his surprise, the generic male voice responded, "I am not a figment of your imagination. I am a sophisticated software system designed to assist and guide you."

He blinked, taken aback. "Wait, what? You're real?"