Ch. 17: I Just Work Here

crux overdose, bleach + baking soda + hydrocortisone + glass

That's the third one this week. Crux has been the drug of choice for a while, originally synthesized a few decades ago through a particularly nasty abuse of a chemistry-based power, and is now found on basically every street in Dudek. It's a reddish, crystalline precipitate, typically crushed and taken orally. Or snorted, if you're particularly stupid.

For me, its the bread and butter of the Apothecary, even though it touches on both of my power's major limitations.

First, it doesn't work on mental disorders, or any mental symptoms directly. Depression, anxiety, psychosis, hallucinations, the mental facet of drug dependence, and so on are beyond my ability.

Second, it's incredibly unreliable for things that are going to be a problem, but aren't at the moment. A 99% likelihood of developing a disease you're genetically predisposed to? Well, you don't have it yet. Physiological addiction itself can fall under this, since if you keep taking the drug, you don't get the withdrawal symptoms. Meanwhile, it simultaneously won't alert me if continuing drug use will stop your heart, since you might stop taking it. Sometimes, I'll get flickers of it, faint cures that faintly hover at the periphery. Other times, it trips my power immediately, with no issue. Much like the reagents it requests, I can't find a pattern between when it works, and when it doesn't.

Crux overdoses can regularly be fatal, though, so my power always prioritizes them. Not that it is ever hard to diagnose, even for someone without medical training. Crux gets its name from a very characteristic skin condition it gives, forming maroon, x-shaped patches across the body. The swollen markings are usually centered on the arms, hands, and if you're unlucky, face. They usually scar badly, too, keeping the deep red color and never really fading. Even if you get clean, there's a permanent announcement to everyone you meet that you were a user.

It's fucked. No other way to put it.

Of course, I can heal the scarring, but I genuinely have stopped bothering with it on active users unless they specifically request it and pay a fairly exorbitant fee. Its selfish of me, but I hate going through the effort of cycling through the ten or fifteen conditions that my power alerts me too until I finally reach the physically harmless scarring, preparing and administering the cure, and seeing the same person here two weeks later with a fresh rash in the exact same place. I know its a physiological addiction, and not entirely their fault, but there's a part of my brain that wants to just lock them in a room for two weeks with food and water and hope they come out having survived the withdrawal.

Regardless, the man in front of me is shivering, heart rate probably in the high 220s or low 230s, eyes darting behind closed lids, fingernails burrowing deeply into his arms as he holds himself tightly. The man's friend who brought him here is trying to calm him down, but obviously her soothing words can't do much.

It's days like today where I think the greatest strength of my costume is that it hides my eyes rolling in front of patients. I take the handful of steps to my lab, assemble the cure, and return. He's hyperventilating. Good thing he got here when he did. I, with bored routine, attempt to inject him, to which he reflexively bats my hand away.

"Solvent, if you will."

She immediately puts him into a standing armlock, to which I inject him with ease near one of the distinctive x-shaped rashes just above his inner elbow. His breathing starts to slow, his eyes opening, heart slowing. The shivering still remains, as he looks around as he comes down from the high. His friend is crying. As always.

"Holy shit... shit. I'm so sorry. Thank you. Beaker, thank you, I swear, I'll-"

I've heard the routine too many times from too many people to listen to it again. Especially from this guy.

"I believe your inevitable return visit qualifies you for the discounted bulk rate. This is the fourth time I have returned you from the brink, no?"

"Third..." he says, guiltily looking to the floor.

"Regardless. You are aware of the routine. Front desk, if you will." I drop the needle into a sharps container, before leaving the room.

It's almost closing time, if you can even call it that here. I'm always on call for emergencies. I have a personal rule that I can't be more than 15 minutes or so away from the clinic in case there's someone bleeding out. I try to take a walk outside of the clinic when I want to have a moment away, but almost always end up sprinting back after one of my phones buzzes.

I'm definitely getting burnt out. Maybe I should cave and finally start using those stimulant potions so I don't have to sleep, just so I have more time awake and not working. Or would that just make the problem worse?

I know what isn't helping, at least. A summit meeting about the bombing, followed by a private ceremony I am "very strongly encouraged" to attend by the mayor of Dudek.

Actually, the latter might be fun. If I make my own fun, that is.

The summit room's crowd is largely the same as last time. Overseer and Shu from the Nightjars, Gil and Kingfisher from Kudzu, Champion and Zola from Bleeding Heart, Ji-Won and her unnamed guard from Kamakiri, Nerva from the Untainted and Carson Porter from Supragenus. The main differences are that instead of Barkbite on EViRT's behalf it's someone I don't recognize, and that Gil is leading the meeting this time.

Barkbite's replacement is a 30-something guy in a black hoodie and frayed jeans, who also happens to be entirely made of, or at least covered in, what looks to be dull, hammered metal. Rather than it being amorphous, like mercury, it's entirely interlocking and overlaying metal plates like laminar or anima-style armor, the pattern of the hammered steel giving it a distinctive, reptile scale aesthetic.

I feel a certain sense of kinship to the person who turns to face me, whose pupils dilate like a camera shutter. I briefly nod, to which he tersely smiles, the plates of metal on his face made of far more small, smooth, and variably shaped pieces.

My power has no effect on him, I can tell just by looking. Shame, I think. I'd have liked to help with whatever hell he has to deal with to have a power like that.

"Okay, right to business." Gil's a lot less formal than Shu, it seems, but the packet in his hands implies he's no less thorough. "Three breaches of summit law. First, Kudzu is accused of recklessly harming civilians in Kamakiri territory, and has agreed to reparations in the form of cash payouts to victims, reconstruction of damaged infrastructure, and a full health evaluation for each victim. Kamakiri, we used the Apothecary for the evals, and they gouged the hell out of us. Any issues with that?"

"None." Ji-Won says, widely smirking.

"Great. Second, Supragenus claims that the Nightjars are killing Supragenus's negotiators. Champion, Sondersong of the Nightjars, and I investigated, and Supragenus's supposed negotiators were armed. One even brought a grenade. Nice try, Carson."

"Fuck you."

"Third, Bleeding Heart's hostile action on a neutral party, the Apothecary, under false pretenses. Zola?"

"She brought an armed bodyguard."

"Yes, to a supposedly neutral meeting point that was technically in your territory, where you had four soldiers armed with weapons. You then proceeded to antagonize and embarrass Beaker, force her to reveal sensitive information, before kicking her out without even listening to why she called the meeting. Beaker, please try not to be stupid going forward. You were asking for that to happen. Still not your fault, just some advice. Zola, as was agreed on by all member parties here besides Supragenus, your share of the Apothecary's investment has been nullified. Apothecary, the remaining debt you're owed, amounting to one point seven five million dollars, is fully waived."

Both Zola and I stay silent.

"Also, at Barkbite of EViRT's request, his seat is temporarily held by Amblys for the duration of the bombing crisis."

Amblys stands up with a slight clanking sound, but speaks in a beautifully smooth and deep voice. In another life, he could have been a phenomenal singer, I imagine.

"I'm Amblys. Barkbite's fine, just preoccupied. I'll be your go-to with any information you dig up about these bombings, which is the main reason we're here today. Let's go over everything we know so far, as far as recent explosive usage goes. First, some kind of explosive mine was tripped by the hero Cavalcade near the Nightjars' base of operations. Second, an explosive was implanted in the neck of a Bleeding Heart member, who went to the Apothecary to have it removed, but it exploded. Third, some kind of high explosion was detonated in an abandoned section of the old industrial site, whether its technically Kudzu or Kamakiri territory is up for debate, and I don't really care."

Amblys takes a moment to view the people around him. There's a disdain he's doing a very good job at hiding, but this close up, I can see the tiny plates in the corners of his mouth shifting down.

"The obvious event is that six bombs went off all across the city. There's no real pattern here, other than popular public spaces. Whoever placed them went for parks, busy highways, that kind of thing. In total, there were seventeen deaths, and current estimates put it at around three hundred and change injured in some way. Current population of the city is something like one hundred and nineteen thousand, so for those of you bad at math and at perspective, about zero point twenty-six percent of the city being directly injured. That's obviously unacceptable. We don't know any motive yet, no groups have claimed to have done it, and we have no suspects. Unless anyone would like to speak up now and take responsibility, of course."

Obviously, no one does.

"Naturally. Beaker, you were there for the aftermath of three of the four seperate events. Was there any pattern?"

I slightly adjust my beak. "Nary a trace. Twas entirely unpatterned in style and substance, Cavalcade's injuries were consistent with a more improvised firebomb, while the victims of the attacks two days prior were consistent with shrapnel. I will say, in particular, the bombing in my clinic seems to have been a deliberate attack on me and unrelated to the others. The host of the weapon had seemingly incurable cancer, and potentially either the carrier himself volunteered, or the bomber chose someone who was not long for the world regardless. That sense of surreptitious pragmatism is not mirrored by the two events beside."

I feel my phone buzz with a text as Amblys starts talking to Porter. I check it subtly, and see a message from Catalyst about someone needing urgent help. Damn, I wanted to see Porter being grilled. I get up, and apologetically bow. "I must abscond, a patient requires urgent care. My scuffle with the reaper never sleeps, and it seems neither can I. Amblys, please inform me of the notes from this meeting after." I hastily exit after a few nods from the table allow me to leave, and take the elevator up, texting basic instructions on what to do. One of the mercenaries had volunteered to be my driver today, so I direct him to take me and Solvent to the clinic.

Once back outside my clinic's subway tunnel, I scurry down the stairs, no doubt looking even more ridiculous than normal. I really need to get in shape, I think, as I breathe hard in my suit.

Sure as hell, it was urgent. Some Kudzu guy shot in the leg. The femoral artery, in fact.

It wouldn't be the first death in my clinic, but it would be the first while I was there. Being pulled away from time to time for meetings or errands had led to at least two deaths on my floor, waiting for their savior who never came. The first time didn't phase me. Kudzu woman I never met got into a heated argument and got hit in the head with a metal baseball bat, and probably deserved it.

The second time was when I made the rule about never being more than fifteen minutes away, because the person who died was some random civilian who had a heart attack. An extremely treatable condition for me, because at its core, it requires very little for the body to do. Just a little jump start, invariably three very common ingredients. The guy had a thirteen or fourteen year old girl, which I only found out going through his effects to ID him. That bothered me, because it wasn't his decision to get involved in something dangerous. Seeing his body taken away in an ambulance was the most humiliating and humbling experience of my life.

Fifteen minutes is far too long for someone shot in the femoral artery, though.

Which is why I was surprised to see him lying down, covered in a few blankets, legs raised up by a folding chair, and a woman putting heavy pressure up by his groin and calmly instructing Catalyst on adding more bandages to the wound near his knee.

She keeps speaking to the guy, explaining everything she's doing as she does it, and how this is hardly the first time she's had to do this, that its not as bad as it looks, that nosebleeds have more blood than this sometimes even though it looks like a lot.

All complete lies, designed to comfort and prevent him from panicking.

Like another actual doctor would do.

Catalyst was solid with first aid, certainly, but this was professionally done work. I bend down, and inject the wound with a potion from my coat, which makes it start to close fairly quickly. With the bleeding already slowed, the healing elixir is even more effective than usual.

Within a couple minutes, he's more or less stable, the wound closed, worst thing is still the blood loss. Plenty of time for me to make something to expedite the process.

"Solvent, please ensure our hero's stay is comfortable. But that she stays until I am finished." I'm not sure I needed to say it, since her hands and clothes are completely covered in blood anyway, but still. I quickly throw together what I need from my lab, and inject it into the man lying down. Soon enough, his face regains color, his eyes open, he stops sweating, everything.

"Fuck! Oh fuck!" He scrambles back at seeing me leaning over him, until he grabs his heart. "God damn it. Beaker. Scared the shit out of me. What kind of doctor does shit like that?"

"The form of physician which is allowing your egress payment-free."

"...not gonna argue. Uhh, thanks. And thanks to the lady who was there first, whoever you are."

She nods politely, but her eyes are fixed on Solvent as the patient overcompensates by limping when there's nothing wrong with his leg anymore, until he leaves.

I look the woman over. Very distinct, and she's been here before. "Wait. I know you."

"Gate girl," says, an awkward smile as her eyes keeping darting to the exit.

"Solvent, please locate the blood-cleaning drone. It always remains in hiding when there's work to be done..."

She nods, and leaves to find it as I walk forward, inspecting her.

mild back pain, w-

"You are healthy. What winds carry your return to my apothecary, gate girl?" I ask, keeping a respectable distance.

"Well... put simply, you seemed like you were barely managing when that bombing happened a couple days ago. And then when I came here to thank you, you weren't here for forty minutes, and I saved someone's life while you were away."

"I see. This is an eclectic form of gratitude."

"It was a thank you, but now I feel like I'm owed one, too."

She's spirited. I wonder how spirited, though. "Perhaps. Perhaps my gratitude is shown through my works, where your life was granted through my-"

"Are you this much of an egomaniac with everyone?"

That throws me off. I distinctly remember pulling out an iron bar from her shoulder two days ago, and she's insulting me. "I... What?"

"I mean, god damn, it's just a thank you. I left nursing specifically because of the egos. But no, even here, you're still the same." She looks disappointed, like meeting a celebrity who turns out to be an asshole.

It gives me pause. Sure, it fits the character of Beaker, but I know exactly what she's talking about. I have to fight around egos my entire career. "I... yes. I do believe you are owed my gratitude. And an apology, which I give wholeheartedly, madame." I dramatically bow. "Tis easy for these walls to echo my eccentricities, and mine is one of scant few voice to reverberate."

I hear Catalyst sigh from behind the desk. "I'm here too, Beaker."

"Scant includes more than one! You are one of scarce three, in total, that I have any desire to listen to. In fact... bah. This mires my mind, and I am engaging in conversation."

I turn back to the woman, who still looks a bit nervous, but mostly frustrated. She's Hispanic, or maybe Spanish? Young, too, front half of her 20s. There's an observant frown staring back at me, plump lips and bright eyes. Unlike Michiko, this woman's not observing me as an object to protect, but me as a person to interact with. She makes me feel like I'm being watched from behind, even when staring directly at me.

"Quit staring at me," she says, awkwardly taking a step towards the door.

"You had said you retired from nursing?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Are you finding your current line of work unfulfilling?"

"...you're fucking with me."

I laugh into the mask, blinking the voice filter away. "Hi. I'm Beaker. What's your name?" I offer a handshake.

She very hesitantly takes it, but her grip is firm. "Vera... Vera Casal. I'm not being held hostage, right?"

"No, of course not. BSN?"

"Yeah..?"

There are very few genuine moments of serendipity in my life. I can think of two.

The first is getting my empowerment while in the hospital, so I had access to pretty much everything I needed while I ran around like a maniac for a few hours until EViRT and a few other surgeons figured out that I wasn't crazy, just desperate.

The second is meeting Emily, probably the only person in the world who would put up with my genuine avalanche of constant insane requests and expectations.

This, though, is getting pretty damn close to making the list.

"I would like to offer you a job. No weekends or holidays, though you'll have to work odd hours on the weekdays." I say, bobbing the beaked mask up and down.

"...you're a villain, right? Like, villain villain?"

"Ehh... Catalyst, am I a villain?" I ask, looking over to Ishfaq.

He only briefly looks up from the mountain of paperwork. "I don't know, I just work here."

Solvent finally comes back, carrying the hundred pound drone without much exertion and dropping it next to the pool of blood.

"Solvent, am I a villain?"

"We had this conversation before."

"She says maybe."

"That is not what I said. I will punch you."

"She says we had this conversation before and if I mistranslate her again she'll punch me."

Vera's eyes drop to her bloodied clothes, lost in thought. "...what's the pay like?"