Ch. 15: Emergency Services

I nod to a couple plain-clothes Kudzu guards milling around the area near their HQ, and close to my clinic. They're not as subtle as they think they are, or maybe the point is just plausible deniability in case of cops. I've noticed they have started nodding in return in the last week or so, or doing a thin "acknowledging your existence" smile. It's not just them, either. Kamakiri and the Nightjars have been following suit. Bleeding Heart is a coin toss between the same, and ignoring me.

I descend the concrete stairs next to the wheelchair ramp into the long-defunct subway tunnel leading to my clinic. The well-lit walls have been covered in layers and layers of gang tags that seem to fight each other for space, spreading to the edges of the floors and ceiling like a rainbow of mold. Kingfisher hates having other people's tags in "his" turf, but I take a certain pride in so many people's endorsements. Any of the half-assed swastikas or slurs get covered up within a day, too, by any number of other gangs, large and small. It seems I'm not the only one who has a special level of distaste for them.

The clinic itself, notably, is almost entirely free of graffiti. There's one or two that pop up at a time, but mysteriously vanish by the next day. I've declined to continue using the summit-provided security rotation, switching to private mercenaries. Expensive, but hopefully worth the investment. Every time I ask them about who's cleaning the outside of the building, though, they always say they don't know, while looking faintly smug. I'm starting to believe Catalyst and Emily know too, but think it's funnier not to tell me.

I walk past the two guards outside, and past the one inside the security room watching a half-dozen monitors with rapt attention.

The waiting room and lobby, despite my barely two hour detour, have a dozen people inside. No one's actively dying, yet, though Catalyst is keeping a close eye on a select group of five, all civilians. Now that I look closer, everyone is a civilian. Strange.

All heads turn to me, as I observe the situation. "Catalyst, report."

"Some kind of explosions have started happening about half an hour ago. Reports all over the city. Dudek Hospital, St. Peregrine's, and Sunchaser are at capacity, so Dudek has been redirecting lower priority patients here at the advice of the EViRT. Apparently they're still coming, too."

"Marvelous. Inform them I have returned, and they may begin exporting middling and priority victims here at their leisure."

The irony here is so delicious I can barely contain myself.

Rather than separate everyone individually, I decide its more efficient to send everyone to the emergency overflow room, speaking to each one individually to get my power working more quickly. Bruising, sprains, a few broken bones, one had internal bleeding but didn't notice. All of them look a little terrified, more by me than their own injuries. I know it's perverse, but I'm starting to enjoy how scared they look, followed immediately by the surprise and gratitude.

The patients already here were all fairly easy and took maybe fifteen minutes total, minus one man with a bad sprain whose cure needs fresh papaya. I send Catalyst and Solvent to go pick it up while still in costume. There's a small local grocery store that's gotten used to seeing them every so often, to the point that Catalyst even jokingly signed up for a discount card using his cape name.

As I finish wrapping the sprained ankle, a call comes on one of my several phones. I hold it up to my mask, and answer with a "Good morrow, the Apothecary awaits."

I hear someone in the background say "Fuck, he's crashing," as the main voice comes over the line, a clearly distressed doctor. I recognize the voice, actually, one of the ER team. "You're the healer?"

"Indeed," I reply. I'm not going to waste time for theatrics.

"Another blast just went off, near your place. Populated area. What's your capacity?"

"Depends on severity."

"Six stable, four not?"

"Send them."

The doctor on the other end hangs up. Four is pushing it, but I can probably delay their deaths with more generalized healing potions until I can get what I need.

I hear the ambulances approaching after only a few minutes. The EMTs start wheeling in the first two themselves soon, though a few Kudzu members start pushing the carts soon after.

I lean over the most severely injured, speaking to them. Only two are conscious, and their injuries are pretty obvious. One's leg has been twisted around at the knee, almost pointing forward after a full rotation, blood pooling in his thigh. The other is impaled though the shoulder by a sharp metal post cut from some kind of decorative gate, but she's lucid enough that I'm not worried yet. She waves me off as I try to approach.

The unconscious two are more concerning. One is stubbornly refusing to stop bleeding from a V-shaped chunk of his leg muscle missing.

severe leg damage, any vegetable + any insect + healthy human blood + fresh papaya

What the hell is with the papaya today? I've noticed my power starting to do that more: fixating on specific reagents or types of reagents for related injuries. In this case, leg damage. Still, why papaya?

The other patient is practically ripped in half at the waist, only staying attached by half of their abdominal muscles. It's absurd EMS even took them here. I'm pretty sure they're a lost cause, but still, I focus on the person who's literally spilling intestines out. Worryingly, it works immediately, without the usual delay.

catastrophic damage, urgent, complex, best outcome implausible, dividing along 7 paths

That's new. What the hell does that mean, though? All at once, multiple formulas enter my brain at the same time, lingering in place as if my mind is keeping a checklist for me.

generalized organ damage A, wheat + water + any dried meat

generalized organ damage B, any juice + any empowered human blood + ginger + crux

generalized organ damage C, human hair + any feather + lysergic acid + crux

generalized tissue damage A, crux + boric acid + printer ink + oak wood + granite

generalized tissue damage B, sand + saltwater + ethanol + acorn + human blood

generalized skin damage, water + olive oil + any wine + leather + crux

blood loss, any wine + human blood + water + salt

Well. That's helpful. First things first, the conscious two can wait for a little bit longer.

Right now, I need human blood from someone healthy. "Healthy" is a relative term, and someone with a sprained ankle is almost certainly healthy enough. I'm right about to steal some blood from the patient in the exam room just as Catalyst and Solvent make it back, running over as soon as they see the situation. Before I enter the lab, I yell back to them, "I need someone healthy's blood within sixty seconds, convince the guy in the exam room or just take it from one of you two. Papaya?"

Solvent tosses me the bag, and I catch it as I slip into the room of reagents. Thank god I keep it organized. If my lab were a mess, I'd have a lot of corpses and no excuse.

I start dropping the various reagents into a series of empty vials, not worrying too much about precision amounts. If I waste some lysergic acid, I can always get more. Within twenty seconds, I'm offered a syringe completely full of Catalyst's blood, which I take with one hand as my other continues to deposit the ingredients.

By the time I'm done, I'm carrying a handful of syringes in one hand, and pushing them all into the very rapidly dying person's chest at the same time, depressing the plungers as I think about the other one. I pull the syringes from the probable corpse and hand them off to Catalyst, while I take the singular one I need for the leg injury and inject it.

"Solvent, take the cut in half patient to a recovery room. Catalyst, keep an eye on this guy." I return to the two lucid patients. The one with the leg is actively getting worse, it starting to turn a sickly purple-black at the thigh while below the knee is going pale.

near-complete leg rotation, fresh papaya + drinking straw + any wood + crux + titanium

broken knee, milk + any insect + house key + US half-dollar coin + ABS plastic

His knee will have to wait; it's probably a complicated recipe because of a larger number of small tears and breaks that can't be addressed individually. With another trip to the lab, I make the remedy for the leg rotation, followed by using my often neglected cabinet of traditional medical supplies to make a temporary splint until I can actually treat the knee.

"You okay, gate girl?" I ask, as the trail of the stable patients finishes pouring in, largely walking unaided. The girl with the metal spike in her shoulder gives a thumbs up with her good arm. What a trooper.

I splint the knee guy's leg as I inject him with the potion, having Solvent take him off to a recovery room. Those are filling up, I note to myself. I only have four.

I finally get around to the gate post impalement, whose only rare ingredient was white phosphorus, which I fortunately still had from Cavalcade's injuries. Gate girl was on her feet in a matter of minutes after, and I made sure to let her know I appreciated her composure.

The stable patients were thankfully much like the first dozen that were here when I arrived, fairly quick fixes. I even get around to finally fixing that one guy's sprained ankle, despite his whining about wait times. As soon as I see Catalyst helping the guy whose leg was ripped open, I direct him to go find a half-dollar coin and a house key alone, as I may need Solvent here to help restrain the more panicked patients.

Fortunately, despite my anxious pacing while waiting for a call, no more patients were directed my way. Eventually Catalyst came back with the half dollar coin and a fresh copy of his house key, which I manage to get made and injected only a few minutes before the patient woke up.

As the patient meanders out of the hospital with only a few other bumps and bruises, it occurs to me that I have taken exactly zero of their names, and more pressingly, zero of their dollars. I should have milked one particular non-urgent patient, at least, but he seemed so genuinely grateful from the start that I didn't have the capacity to.

With a tired sigh into my voice modulator, I finally go to check up on the once almost-torn-in-half person. Definitely alive, and interestingly, there's an extremely noticeable scar around where they were ripped open. It's thick, raised well above the rest of their skin, and spreads itself out in thin, root-like vines much farther up their torso than the wound actually went. I've never left a scar like that before...

They're starting to stir awake. I've hooked them up to enough of a pain treatment potion that they shouldn't be able to feel their body, let alone any pain.

"Good morrow, patient. Please refrain from being startled."

They blink awake, extremely disoriented. "Death..?"

That's the second time someone has said that to me. It's even funnier the second time. "The opposite, your physician."

"No... That's not right. I'm dead. I... got sliced in half."

complete spinal cord injury near L4, fiber optic cable + empowered human blood + goose down + carbolic acid + luminol

urgent damage derived functional issues including heavy skin scarring impairing flexibility of tissue by 8% and organ scarring impairing function by 12% and muscle scarring impairing muscular strength by 20% dispower, incurable

Incurable? It's never done that, either.

Wait, dispower?

"Pardon me, may I have your name?"

"Yeah... Yeah. Jay Altimari... where am I? And who are you? Am I supposed to feel my legs..? Are you a villain?"

"I will answer, but first, are you empowered?"

"Huh? Like a hero? No. Why?" They're getting a bit more lucid, shifting around.

There's a reasonable chance Kingfisher is listening in right now, and I want him knowing as little as possible until I know more. "Merely a hunch, as your recovery was notably more expedient than others. I am Beaker, physician and chemist. You were caught within some explosive's range, along with many others. As the capacity of the larger hospitals was reached, the injured were sent elsewhere, including to my clinic."

"Oh... oh shit, you are a villain. I don't suppose you could let me go?" they ask, nervously smiling.

"I would, but I am waiting on reagents to restore function to your spinal column. You are welcome to a wheelchair, if you would prefer. I believe I have one from a patient who no longer required it."

"Shit... Then..?"

"Temporarily, should you choose to remain under my care. I have few doubts the more credible hospitals would be keen to take you. However, do note that you are in one piece, despite your thorough impression of a magician's sawing illusion."

"Yeah..."

"Additionally, as you are my most notably impressive success yet, I intend to parade around photos of your abdomen for a time, largely for boasting. In turn, you will not be charged a fee for my services."

"Wait, what?"

"I see no purpose in extorting you when you have already provided me with great value. It may take several days to acquire the needed reagents for restoring your mobility. Additionally, there is heavy scarring, expect physical therapy to rebuild core strength, and you will likely have mild digestive issues for a time."

"Are... are you fucking with me? Scarring? Digestive issues? I was cut in half. I shouldn't be alive, and you're saying I'll need to exercise. Is this just some sick joke to fuck with me?"

Yep, they're lucid again. "Ack, I am discovered! My devious plan to keep you alive for the sole purpose of taunting you has been found out! You are far too cunning!"

"I don't know! This is too fucking weird!"

"Fine, then have your spirit crushed beneath the agonizing weight of your trauma. You are approximately 99% anesthetic at this juncture. It will wear off, and you will be in most likely agonizing pain. You will likely never fully recover your core strength. Statistically, you are likely to become addicted to opiates, despite me not using them. The scar is incredibly prominent and permanent. Have you been sufficiently depressed, or shall I make up complications for you to grieve over, ungrateful wretch?"

They groan, looking under the sheets at the impressive scar. "God damn..."

"Now, will you continue to be an irritant, or have you decided I am not here to harm you?"

Before they can answer, my phone rings. Another bomb? I answer it, truncating my greeting.

"Beaker, Apothecary."

"Right. Okay. It's Dudek Hospital." Director Kinsey's voice comes over the phone, startling me a bit. "You had twenty-five patients sent over. We have capacity. How many do you need to send here?"

"None."

"Damn it..." He pauses for a long moment. I'm right about to check if the line is dead when he speaks again. "How many deceased?"

"None."

There's another pause. "Critical?"

"None."

The sound of a fist hitting a desk through the phone makes me flinch. "You asshole, stop messing around!"

"If you doubt my efficacy, then I implore you to visit, Dudek Hospital staff."

"Director Kinsey. I knew EViRT was crazy for trusting you. Are you taking hostages?"

"For heaven's sake, Sir Kinsey, I am a physician. If it would sate your fury, I may introduce you to the singular patient left in my care, one Jay Altimari. Venerable Altimari, kindly introduce yourself to the director of Dudek Hospital." I turn it on speaker, to which Jay gives an awkward greeting.

"Bullshit. We confirmed the identity of a Jay Altimari, but they were sent to you as a formality. They're dead. Breaking an emergency service order is a high level offense. Expect me there, along with Empowered Defense."

"Feh. Bring EDR, that they too may know of this success." I hang up the phone, hoping against hope Kinsey comes himself.

I glance back at Jay. "Apologies. It seems I am using your body over photographs of it."

They squirm a bit. "I'm happy EDR is going to be here. No offense."

"Yes, I imagine so. Solvent, please make sure the patient doesn't attempt something particularly insipid. Catalyst, inform Kudzu that EDR is merely visiting. I need to make calls of my own, I believe Sondersong can acquire luminol on short notice..."

I leave the room to make the next call, but my phone rings again, sending a wave of frustration through me. "Beaker."

"Hey. EDR's deploying to find you, EViRT's been told to stand down. What the hell happened?" Barkbite's voice comes over the line.

"Some simpletons refuse to accept the truth of my ability. Have you news of the explosives?"

"Yeah. Looks like a coordinated attack by a bunch of people. I'm already investigating."

That makes the most sense, since there were so many. Once more information comes out, I'm sure it'll be pretty clear who did it.

Still, I don't want Barkbite ending up in the same state as his sister, or worse. "For now, I suggest you remain put."

"Gotta strike while the iron is hot. Cavalcade's still not in the field, don't worry. Oh, I'll vouch for you if you get taken in."

"My thanks. Fair hunting, Barkbite."

The call disconnects, as I finally get the opportunity to call Sondersong. I haven't actually asked the Nightjars for anything yet, and I figure now's as good a time as any. It's a surprisingly brief call, just a few words tossed back and forth, and I'll have my luminol within a day.