{"sf1_id":2260687,"sf2_id":"qmy2jq4n","title":" Prosperity: The Steel Petal: Ch. 3: Denied","author":"MouseJ","words":2311,"posted_at":"2025-06-13T23:22:24.000Z","tags":["Cyberpunk","Dystopia","Furry","Mouse"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2260687-prosperity-the-steel-petal-ch-3-denied","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/qmy2jq4n","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/c7/76/c7768d9b-66f1-4d69-93f5-cac5aaad3fb7","description":"Kari gets the bill.  \n?78,580.  \nNo appeals. No second chances. Just polite smiles and a deadline.  \nShe tries everything—storefronts, kiosks, AutoJob scans—but Prosperity only sees liability.  \nBy sundown, her legs give out. By nightfall, so does her resolve.  \nAnd then a neighbor offers her something: a matchbox, a name, and a one-way alley.  \nShe takes it.\n  \n  \n\n[Posted using PostyBirb](http://www.postybirb.com)","content":"—Denied—\n  \n\n“Given the patient’s Paxetine and Optivacore usage—two and a half and one and a half years ago, respectively, it is likely this has been an ongoing problem brought on by stress and self-neglect. The claim was denied.”  \nKari’s eyes didn’t flinch. Part of her knew that the insurance would do this. The poodle never looked up, and just kept reading.  \n“Productivity strips aren’t life-critical. “System flags it as lifestyle-related. This is the current statement.”\n  \n\nPROSPERITY HEALTH SYSTEMS  \nIn partnership with Caduceus™ Pharmaceuticals  \nBilling Division: Patient Financial Outcomes  \n\"Your Health Is Our Business\"\n  \n\nPATIENT NAME: Kazushige, Masaki  \nDOB: 03/14/1972  \nPATIENT ID: 8397-1102-5546  \nADMIT DATE: 05/28/20XX  \nDISCHARGE STATUS: Ongoing Observation (ICU – Tier B)  \nCLAIM STATUS: Denied\n  \n\nItemized Statement of Charges:  \nEmergency Cardiac Triage (Level 3)..........................?12,600  \nNeuroVital Scan (Legacy Equipment – Continuity Fee)........?4,400  \nICU Monitoring (Tier B) – 3 days @ ?9,300...................?27,900  \nPaxetine Interaction Panel..................................?2,150  \nOptivacore Toxicology Review................................?2,850  \nAssisted Vent Support (Limited Plan)........................?5,200  \nSomatic Registry Alignment (Pharma Gene Index)..............?3,100  \nAdministrative Processing Fee................................?850  \nRegulatory Sync: Civic Engine Integration Log (auto-gen)....?1,250  \nDigital Chart Access (per session) – 8x.....................?640  \nCaduceus Health Messaging Compliance (embedded licensing)...?980  \nEmotional Risk Disclosure Acknowledgement (auto-stamped)....?730  \nBehavioral Tier Alignment Report™ (Transplant Eligibility)...?1,150  \nResponsibility Reacclimation Protocol – Participation Declined.....?1,050  \nBedframe Rental – ICU ergonomic (scratched).................?460  \nCeiling Light Burnout Replacement – shared room..............?325  \nPharmaceutical Delivery Margin (Caduceus Surcharge).........?2,200  \nBioData Capture Fee (Memory Sync: Pending Analysis).........?590  \nICU Moodfield Optimization – Passive Scent / Tone Modifiers...?1,175  \nNext-of-Kin Verification Delay (No Confirmed Contact)...........?380\n  \n\nTOTAL CHARGES: ?78,580  \nINSURANCE ADJUSTMENT: ?0.00  \nPATIENT RESPONSIBILITY: ?78,580\n  \n\nClaim Notes: Per Prosperity Health Systems policy 18.3(c), medications classified under “Productivity Assistance” (e.g., Paxetine®, Optivacore™) are not eligible for emergency coverage unless pre-certified with dependency documentation and an approved spiritual exemption code.\n  \n\nHuman Outcome Value: Non-prioritized  \nRehabilitation Tier: Pending Behavioral Audit  \nReview Method: Credit-Risk Optimization\n  \n\nPayment Due: Within 28 days of statement issue  \nFailure to pay may result in:  \n\\*Service Denial  \n\\*Interest Accrual (12–17% variable)  \n\\*Behavioral Credit Recalibration  \n\\*Automated Triage Restriction  \n\\*Employment Risk Pool Reassignment (Palmera Sync)\n  \n\nTo appeal this statement, please contact the Virtual Appeals Bot in your patient portal.  \nEmotional inquiries may be submitted via our Emotional Processing Intake Form (in development).\n  \n\nThank you for choosing Prosperity Health Systems™.  \nA Caduceus-Aligned Service Provider. Progress. Precision. Service.\n  \n\nShe hadn’t read past the total. Not the amount—just the length. Her fingers stayed clenched around the paper.  \n“If unpaid within twenty-eight days, balance may increase by twelve to seventeen percent. Variables include late penalties, tier reassignment handling, and third-party escalation. Behavioral collections review will initiate on day twenty-nine. ICU continuation beyond day three is currently not eligible. Revised billing estimate: sixty-six to seventy thousand credits.” Pause. “This information is available in your statement printout.” She finally looked up to Kari with the same smile she always wore. “Any clarifications you’d like automated follow-up for? We value your emotional feedback.”  \nKari said nothing. The question didn’t sound like one.  \nHer body held still.  \nThe word 'seventy' kept looping.  \nBehind the nurse, the holopanel reset. _Your Health is Our Business._  \n==  \nThe charge nurse had explained the procedure in clinical detail. It washed over her like static. All Kari really caught was the five-figure price tag—and that her father needed it soon. Fear didn’t matter. Not when every closed door was another tick off the clock her father didn’t have.  \nShe scanned storefronts for any ‘Help Wanted’ sign—places desperate enough to hire a high school grad with no experience.  \nShe kept walking, jaw set, ignoring the burn in her legs.  \nThe first was a soykafe bar, smelling of burnt beans and cologne. They wanted four years of barista experience and a full background check. Ten business days. She didn’t have ten days.  \nThe second was a Stack+Saver—cheap imports, flickering lights, markdown tags stacked like noise. The floor manager barely glanced up. Said she wasn’t tall enough to reach the top shelves—and that insurance wouldn’t let her use a stool.  \nSynthFish cart didn’t trust minors; laundromat didn’t trust nobodies.  \n“Try again when you’ve filled out more.”  \n“Smile didn’t meet baseline marketing calibration.”  \n“Persona profile incomplete. Applicant unverifiable.”\n  \n\nShe kept walking. AutoJobNetworks scanned her. A red flash. No job. No message. Nothing.  \nA red light blinked. Then stayed on—just above the kiosk. Had it always been watching?  \nShe shook her head at her own paranoia, and her thoughts drifted to happier times. At fourteen, she danced five days a week—concrete floors, no mirrors, just the speaker of her cracked phone and a drama teacher with a cigarette cough. She wasn’t trained. Not really. No academy would’ve looked twice. But she watched enough bootleg videos to mimic form, rehearsed routines in the laundry room when her father worked nights. Singing rehearsals on weekends. She’d thought maybe she was good enough. Maybe.  \nBut when the music hit—her ribs expanded, her limbs remembered what joy felt like. Her body could lie and tell the world she was free, even if she wasn’t. On stage, she could become someone else.  \nBut her father called it wasting time. “Dreams don’t pay bills,” he would say.' “Real life has no room for a stage!” “Prosperity does not care about rhythm - just clocking in and shutting up!”  \nThe awful truth crept in. Maybe he was right. Just another unranked girl. No Persona Score. No prospects.  \nThe next door stank of fryer oil and raw meats. Rust n’ Rations. A lonely register, a broken horn, and a rhino who looked like he’d seen better decades. He was the only one managing orders tonight. With an uncaring tone and gravelly voice, he nearly growled at her. “Rust n’ Rations. Can I help you?”  \n“Please sir, I’ll take anything!”  \nHe rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry, kid. We’re full. Should’ve applied a month ago.” He scratched his head. “Try Northwood?”  \n“They said the same thing.”  \nHe muttered, almost to himself, “Yeah. Figured.” And then: “Tough times. Everyone’s scroungin, ya ain’t the only one.” He turned and re-entered the backrooms.  \nThe door’s bells jingled as she left. Her stomach clenched. Her socks had slipped halfway down, heels rubbed raw. A thread from her cuff caught on a dumpster corner. She kept walking, even as the thread tore.  \nHer round ears drooped. She scanned the street, desperate for one more chance.  \n_Fall seven. Rise eight._ But her legs gave out first, unable to carry the mantra any further.  \nHer chest burned—rage, or grief, or just breathlessness. She didn’t know which.  \nMaybe it didn’t matter.  \nShe wiped her face and stared at the pavement, waiting for the tears to stop.  \nShe dropped onto a nearby bench. It was crusted with dried bird droppings—neglected like everything else—under a flickering city lamp that buzzed with disrepair.  \nIt was past 7:30. Most stores were already closed. Only bars and clubs stayed open. The rooftops burned orange, and the neon buzz of nightclubs flickered on, one by one, like stained stars.  \nFor the first time today, tears leaked down her cheeks.  \nWhat was she expecting? A miracle?  \nShe clutched the red ranger keychain on her backpack strap. She was praying for one—a miracle. Just enough to erase the number that was erasing him. In less than a month.  \nHer thoughts coiled bitter and sharp—no big deal, right?  \nWhen the tears finally slowed, she climbed on her bike—but her vision stayed clouded. By the time her bike rolled to a stop near the apartments, she could barely see. The tears kept coming, blurring everything. Her breath caught—raw and shallow. She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve.  \nLocking it up, she started toward the stairs. She hadn’t meant to stop at the stairs. But her legs did. Like they already knew there were no other exits. Her heart hammered in her chest, temples throbbing. She curled inward—tail tight, lungs shallow. Just the moment. Just staying.  \nShe didn’t hear the bottle until it clinked again.  \nThen a voice: “Heyyy, mousey! You’re burnin’ the midnight cheese again, huh? Where was you off to in such a rush?”  \nShe looked up. Nick sat beneath the stairs, a half-empty bottle in hand and more bottles scattered on his tail-cushioned spot underneath the stairs of the apartment complex. In his inebriated stupor, he pushed himself up and steadied himself before limping haggardly towards Kari. But even he could tell something was off.  \nHer throat tightened. “Nick…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. She swallowed hard, choking back sobs. “My father’s in the hospital. He needs surgery. Heart surgery. It’s… nearly eighty thousand credits.”  \nHer knees buckled, and she collapsed in front of Nick. Tears streaked the concrete.  \n“I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to earn that much. No one’s hiring. No one cares.” Her voice cracked as she lashed out, her face contorted. Her shoulders shook, and her breaths came in ragged gasps.  \nShe sounded like a child. She hated it. Hated how small her voice had become.  \n“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered just a hush louder than the faint traffic of the night.  \nNick paused, drinking the story in. The news was more bitter than the foulest liquor. He shifted uneasily, licking his lips, eyes flicking to the shadows as if they might be listening. Then down to his hand.  \nHe turned to leave.  \nThen stopped.  \nShe hadn’t said anything. Just sat there, holding her tail like it was all that kept her together.  \nHe muttered a curse. Rubbed his face. Then reached into his coat pocket.  \n“Mousey. Look. I had a daughter once. About your age. Real firecracker.”  \nHe stared at the streetlight. “Too loud for this city.” He paused. “Too soft, too.  \nLiver gave out. They said hepatitis. Said it was a fluke. Played by the rules. Still rotted out. ”  \nShaking his head, with tears leaking from his eyes, he continued. “She got desperate. I told her no—thought I was protectin’ her. I… I thought—”  \nHe swallowed. “Didn’t matter. It still got her. Slow. Ugly.”  \nHe looked to his pile of empty bottles. A long pause. He reached into his coat and placed his hand on her’s. She let go of her keychain to accept something stiff and paperboard. Still warm.  \n“Look. It ain’t clean. But clean don’t keep people alive.” He stared at Kari’s hand covering the item in his palm for a long time. Like that thing weighed something. “I knows a guy. He’s got work. Fast work. Pays good. Real good.” He trailed off, squinting as he thought his words through.  \nKari thought of ICU lights. Her father’s still chest. Her father’s hospital bed behind a curtain of wires. Then Nick’s daughter.  \nMaybe shame could come later. Breathing came first.  \n“You remind me too much of her,” he said. “That’s the only reason I’m—” He didn’t finish the sentence. Just looked away, as his lips curled back revealing grimacing fangs. “Please. Just… think careful-like about this, yeah? It’s the kind of place people go when they’re desperate—or dumb.” He paused. “It do pay. It’ll pay off that bill. Still… decide for yourself. You didn’t hear this from me, alright? Watch your back.”  \nHe removed his hand to reveal a matchbox. A smirking sphinx stared back, cigarette in its teeth.  \n“Go to the alleyway behind the Chop Exchange. Show it to whoever’s back there. 4 AM sharp. Don’t be late, don’t be noisy about it. Tell him Nick sent you. And… just don’t tell me how it ends, alright?”  \nKari looked at the matchbox, thumb brushing the corner. Her hand trembled. The sphinx on the box smirked—like it had been waiting all along.  \nShe hugged Nick. Her head barely reached his chest.  \n“I’ll go.”  \nShe pulled away, eyes stinging.  \nA red light blinked above the stairwell. Watching? Or always there?”  \n===  \nAt 3 AM, she left the apartment and blazed away. The ride across the city blurred past. By the time she reached the Chop Exchange—a small butcher shop near the downtown subway station—it was 3:40 AM.  \nDismounting, she wheeled her bike into the dark alley, her back lit by flickering neon signs. A cat yowled two blocks down. Then silence again. A car backfired somewhere distant. Then quiet. Even the neon buzz felt muffled—like the city was holding its breath.  \nHer bike lock felt heavier than it should. Her chest rose, but the breath never came. Her eyes flicked to the shadowed corners, muscles coiling slightly. The alley stank—wet meat and hot ozone burning her nostrils. The dumpster oozed something that hissed when it hit the pavement. A buzzing cloud of flies hovered above.  \nStill, the homeless scavenged, never letting the trash rot for long. The thought made her blanch. She prayed, silently—for his fortune, and for her own. She wondered if Nick was still holding on… or if the city had already sunk its teeth in.  \nShe paused at the opening maw of the alleyway. It was 3:45 AM. She had a moment to turn back. She clutched the keychain on her bag without realizing. Her thumb ran over the helmeted face—brave, rubber, grimy from years of grip.  \nNo. No turning back. Not now. She pulled out her phone and dialed into Prosperity Health Systems’s EchoCare line—a cost-saving feature branded as “real-time bedside connection.” Everyone knew it just funneled desperate voices into a backlog of unread data—assuming the terminal worked, and someone remembered to check.  \nHer screen lit up with the system prompt:  \n“Room 1346 is not accepting calls. This message will be stored in backlog until authorized staff can review it.” A beep. Then nothing.  \nShe hesitated. Then spoke. “Father, if you wake up… I’ll be different. I prom-”  \nThe system interrupted her with another sharp beep. “Message recorded. Thank you for your compliance. Prosperity Health Cares™”  \nShe let the phone fall to her side. Her fingers stayed curled like it was still there.  \n“Close enough,” she muttered.  \nIt wasn’t. But the line had gone quiet. Just like everything else.","series":{"name":"Prosperity","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2258682-prosperity-the-steel-petal-ch-2-arrhythmia.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2261318-prosperity-the-steel-petal-ch-4-audition.json"}}