Ch. 7: The Apothecary

It only took two weeks. Two weeks, in total, with the dozens of schematics and floor plans and intricate devices that an anonymous Emily designed. It was done, all with a budget of 48 million dollars. Apparently, Kingfisher had a connection to a group that builds these kind of compounds, no questions asked, and at a very reasonable rate considering the secrecy of the work.

And they delivered. The building is magnificent. No other word can describe it.

The defunct subway station my new clinic was repurposed from still has service passages to every active station across the city. By walking into any 'employees only' door at a subway, you have access to the front gate of my new practice.

I had made an offer to Kinsey: drop the investigation into me, and I'd willingly sever all ties with Dudek Hospital and not pursue legal recourse of my own. No strings attached. It was an easy decision for him, since the press around such an investigation would undoubtedly hurt the reputation of the hospital.

No investigation meant my medical license stayed intact. Even if the place was raided, there's nothing illegal for them to find, beyond a handful of illicit substances I can claim I confiscated from patients. Providing medical services is legal, after all.

Simply called "The Apothecary," the station itself was completely converted into a clinic. Past the screening room staffed by a rotating security force from multiple gangs was the lobby, now staffed by my assistant Ishfaq. Thankfully, he didn't need much convincing once he saw I was serious about doubling his salary.

To the left of the clinic are a series of rooms for exam, emergencies, and a large overflow room with ten beds in total, and my private laboratory. On the right of the lobby are other rooms for recuperation and waiting. The entire structure was hooked up to emergency nozzles that can pump in disinfecting gases, a paralytic nerve agent, a fire suppressant, and other emergency measures.

Behind the clinic, though, lays an actual home, accessed either through the practice directly or by a hidden entrance within a nearby apartment complex a couple blocks away.

There's a new decontamination chamber design, too. This one is activated by voice and a small chip placed in my environmental suits, or with biometrics for anyone I wanted to allow in. The door leading into the chamber is even sealed tight with a magnetic lock to deter any would-be snoopers.

It's as big as an actual house, though due to the location, it's arranged as one big line. You enter into the decontamination chamber, then into a small coat room. To the right, in order, are a living room, a theater with seating for twelve, a guest bedroom, and a bathroom that would spray decontaminating gases for the duration someone was inside and not open back up until the person within washed their hands. To the left, a personal office, a storage room, a bedroom, and a second bathroom that was keyed exclusively to me. Past the bathroom was even a miniature lab, specifically for making my required regimen.

Notably, in clear view to everyone who walks into the clinic, the words "Do Some Harm" were placed prominently behind Ishfaq's desk in black calligraphy on the otherwise empty white wall. It's meant as a warning. I'm a doctor, but I'm not defenseless. I'm here to help, but not to be taken advantage of.

As I said, it was magnificent.

To top off the new building, Emily even took time off work to make me an entirely new suit. This one was a true masterwork, in every sense of the word.

The base layer of the suit is much like my normal day to day one, plus the injection pods and voice activated commands from the original Beaker costume. It's matte white, and made of a slightly thicker arrangement of materials than my last one.

The really amazing part, though, happens once I put the Beaker mask on over the faceplate.

The entire suit shifts in color to a cloudy black and gray, faintly moving and resembling smoke. Emily was very apologetic in saying it was supposed to be fully black, but she couldn't source what she needed. I felt bad, but I actually laughed when she said that, since the 'defect' was actually very distinctive. I kept the long black coat, now reinforced with a thin layer of aluminum mail beneath the surface to stop most attempted stabbings at relatively low weight, and the kevlar and leather cape.

Even the mask had a bit of an upgrade, going from a flat white to eggshell, and lovingly painted to make it more fully resemble a bird skull. The HUD is now much easier to read, too. And of course, to complete it, the wide-brimmed hat.

And today is the first day The Apothecary opens.

I have several simple rules for the practice.

First, no white supremacists. I turned down their money, and I don't intend to let them into my clinic. I never really believed I had an obligation as a medical professional to save the lives of people who would just as easily end mine or my friends' for the sake of 'keeping the bloodline pure' or whatever the hell excuse they gave. I also barred a smaller gang from near the edge of Nightjar territory as well for similar reasons. I made it clear I would kick out anyone else I didn't like at will.

Second, excluding those banned by the first rule, I will treat anyone who finds their way here. I don't care if they're 'in the game' or not, if someone is at my doorstep, I will at least hear them out.

Third, I will determine what patients will pay. A cut of any profit is distributed back to the gangs themselves, proportional to the original investment. However, I set the prices for using the clinic. As an example, for curing a failing liver, I intend to charge anywhere from two hundred thousand for those I knew could afford it, and charge nothing for those I know can't find the money.

And so, I look into a mirror in my new home, and with Emily by my side, I don the Beaker mask.

total immune system failure dispower, californium + Fijian free-tailed bat heart + aurochs horn + lunar regolith + Vivian Amsel's eye + human infant heart killed via radium

"Have I ever told you why I don't cure myself, Emily?" I say through the modulator. Somehow, it makes it easier to talk about the subject. Every time I look in a mirror for more than a couple seconds, that recipe shows up in my brain. It's like it's taunting me, begging me to completely lose my mind with the impossibility of a normal life.

"Yeah," she says, hugging me. "The reagents aren't possible."

My polarized lenses peer back into me. The reagents aren't impossible, but they are for anyone who isn't a psychopath. With a final nod, I step out through the decontamination chamber, and into the clinic for the first time as Beaker, Apothecary physician.

As it turns out, people aren't constantly injured, and word hadn't spread much recently. Ishfaq had opted for his own way of concealing his identity: scrubs, a surgical mask, and a dollar store domino mask. His name tag simply read 'Assistant', though he intends to pick a more permanent name later. Simple, but effective.

I sat next to him in the empty room, nodding off in my chair as Ishfaq nervously swiveled from side to side in his.

"Hey, Dr. Amsel-"

"Beaker. At all times when in the clinic, even when alone. It's a good habit to get into." I hate correcting him when he's already taken such a big risk on me, but it has to be done. If my identity is compromised, I won't be capable of even walking down the street without a target on my back.

"Sorry. Beaker, are you doing alright?"

"Yes. I'm more than a little tired, but honestly I'm doing well. You should see the lab setup I have going. There's even an ant farm." It's a little strange to talk to a personal friend through a voice modulator, like my real life is bleeding into Beaker's.

I can tell he's smiling. "Saves me from having to run into the wellness garden and turning over rocks."

I laugh. The number of times I had him out there looking for beetles and confusing the hell out of patients and doctors alike...

The door opens. My first official patient.

"You!" says a cape, at least, I assume he is. Dressed like a noir detective, with a simple black eye mask. About as lazy a costume as someone can get. Then again, I'm not really one to talk. I decided on what mine would look like after the first few results a search engine came up with...

I use my cane to push myself to my feet. "I see my reputation precedes me! Welcome, my-"

"Don't you dare act like you don't know me." Hateful eyes burrow into my impassive mask.

"Have we been acquainted?" I ask. He's vaguely familiar, but I might just be thinking of one of the dozens of identical characters in movies, TV, games...

"Yes we- you got me sent to prison for two months!" He takes a threatening step towards me.

That's... not good. I still don't recognize him, either. "Assistant, refrain from contacting my security detail. Come, come, let us put the past behind us. You have arrived for a reason, I imagine."

"I'm not- You- I..." He breathes through clenched teeth. "The Investigator. I'm the Investigator."

"Ahh, but of course, how foolish of me. I apologize, these hectic past days have left me discombobulated," I say.

"You still don't recognize me," he asserts in turn.

"I do not, not in the least."

He takes off his hat. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Look, I have some kind of... something growing on me. I got into a fight with some kind of plant guy a few towns over."

"Yes, yes, allow me to inspect you." I guide him to one of the single occupant rooms on the side of my lab, closing the door behind us.

He looks like he's about to kill me. Fortunately, my security detail screens for weapons at the door, and Emily has had a lot of experience making scanners.

He sits on top of the examination bed, and starts to unbutton his tan overcoat, followed by the black dress shirt beneath. I can't imagine it's comfortable. My suit isn't climate controlled either, and if it weren't for taking a specific tonic every week or so, I'd be in the same boat. Once, I ran out of the tobacco the cooling potion calls for while Emily was out of town, and suffered through walking to the corner store and back. I almost died, in retrospect, considering how dizzy I was by the time I got back. I literally stripped naked and stood in front of the refrigerator for half an hour.

The Investigator pulls open the button-down, revealing a bizarre plant mass half-burrowed into his skin. It's almost like flower bulb...

unnamed infectious plant, any fertilizer + any sports drink + copper

"I see. Has it grown?" I ask.

"A little, and more every day."

So there's no immediate time constraint. Good, because my power has never asked me for fertilizer before.

"Very well, return with the following reagent, and I shall cleanse the dastardly dandelion from your body." I take out a simple spiral notepad from an outer pocket of my coat, write "fertilizer" on it, and hand it to him.

He looks at it, then back at me. I know the exact look of angered determination by now. He steps off the exam table and takes a swing at me, which I dodge and follow up by hooking his leg with my cane, tripping him backwards and making his head clatter against the weight scale. I point the cane at his neck, not actually intending to actually jab it into him. More to make a point.

"This is holy ground, Investigator, not some pugilist ring. My methods must seem peculiar, but am I not a peculiar sort? Retrieve the reagent, or do not return. Now begone."

I move the pointed hook from his neck, spinning it around a few times, before pointedly tapping it on the ground and leaving the room. My HUD shows him leaving, as I sit back down to Ishfaq.

"Beaker, I heard a bang from the room. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. He had a... little fall onto the weight scale."

"Oh. If he's not coordinated, why did you let him leave here unattended?"

My modulator turns my sigh into an unintelligible, electronically scrambled sound. "Because he tried to punch me, and I tripped him."

His brow furrows behind the blue domino mask. "Is... that going to be common?"

"No, almost certainly not. I just need to work on my bedside manner. He has some weird plant growing out of him, and I told him I needed fertilizer."

He covers his mouth to keep from laughing.

"Yeah... not my finest moment." I laugh through the modulator. Though distorted, at least it comes out recognizably as a laugh.

Another full hour passes without a single person entering, so our time consists largely of me ordering sterilized food online for delivery to my dummy apartment, and Ishfaq playing solitaire on the computer.

When the doors open again, surprisingly, it's the Investigator. He walks to the desk, shaking a small bag of fertilizer like they were dog treats. I stand back up, and wordlessly take the bag to my lab.

I truly, genuinely, love the lab. They followed my vision perfectly, from the arrangement of shelves to the exact type of storage containers I preferred using. The room is rectangular, with shelves of ingredients stored in either glass jars or opaque containers, all with bold text labels to allow for easier finding.

I set the bag down on my table. The workspace is oversized for my own sanity, since I can quickly run out of space for whatever I'm working on when doing multiple projects, and gather the blue sports drink bottle and copper wire. With care, I pour the sky-colored drink into a graduated plastic vial, breaking off a segment of the copper wiring next, and finally adding a small spoonful of the fertilizer. I leave it to brew on its own, as I take the bag of fertilizer with me.

I stick a label to a new white bucket, writing down 'Fertilizer' in permanent marker before dropping the bag in. I place the bucket between some already acquired ingredients, namely "Feathers - Pigeon" and "Fiberglass"

In total, I have somewhere around 120 ingredients at my disposal, even a live ant farm that doubles as a desk ornament and a few jars of pickled dog and cat organs taken from local shelters. I'm told Ishfaq didn't have much resistance after offering a substantial donation to the shelter itself.

I take the now green anti-plant concoction from my desk, and bring it over to the exam room. Nodding once to the man within, I withdraw a syringe from my coat, making the Investigator squirm a bit.

"Ahh, have you a fear of inoculation? Your honesty is paramount."

He averts his eyes before muttering "no" under his breath.

"I see." I return the syringe to my coat. Injection is usually the best method for my cures, but they still work, albeit slower, when taken orally or with direct application. I hold out the potion to him. "I will now pour this down your throat."

"I thought you-"

"I am the physician, and unless you claim to know my capacity better than myself, you will follow instructions as I give them."

With a grimace, he drinks the liquid as I administer it. Sure enough, I see the strange bulb on his side slowly wilting away, leaving an admittedly ugly divot-shaped scar.

He runs a finger across the new scar, more curious than bothered. "Just like that?"

"Indeed. I haven't the heart to charge the first victim of my eccentricities. Spread the word on my behalf, and we shall consider this concluded."

He pokes at the scar a bit, before shaking his head, and looking at me again. "Whatever. Fuck you, still, but I feel completely fine now. So... thanks." He pushes past me, leaving the clinic after a final middle finger to me.

After a moment to collect my thoughts, I walk back into the seemingly empty lobby. "Ugh, what an asshole, I-"

I stop. My HUD didn't detect them, but there are three people in identical sets of full body armor. It's matte, jet black, with sharp protrusions that overlap at the joints giving them an almost feathered appearance.

When I say full body armor, I mean full body armor, like something out of a sci-fi show. It's thick, looks durable, and even has a helmet.

Of the three black-clad people, the one on my right has decorated their armor with hundreds of small yellow and white dots of paint, mimicking the night sky. I can see individual constellations across the armor, even, though I don't know enough astronomy to say if they're accurately placed.

The one on the left has opted for a water rippling pattern in blue, centered at the stomach and spreading in increasingly thin circles across his armor until it stops just above the knees and just below the helmet.

In the middle, though, was someone with completely unadorned armor. Pure black, no frills.

The one with the constellation pattern removes her helmet. "Calling patients 'assholes' on your first day, doc?"

The most noticeably thing about her face is a scar that twists like an 's' sideways across her forehead. Besides that, her amber-colored skin is completely unblemished, beyond the wear and tear of a few decades and the expression of a soldier.

"Yes, well, had I known I was not alone, I would have chosen my particular epithets more considerately." These three give off a certain aura of 'don't need weapons to snap me in half with zero effort'.

"I'm Shu. This," she gestures at the one with the rippling patterned armor, "is Sondersong. I assume you know the rest."

I absolutely do not know the rest. "Please elaborate, I am newly arrived."

"Two weeks hanging around Kudzu turf, and you don't know the Nightjars? What, do you live in a bubble or something?" There's a knowing smirk on her face. My heart starts to pound. How many people know about me?

"Ahh, err, I admit to-"

She stops me with only a look. "Relax. We know, I'm fucking with you. Don't worry, it's just us three and Kingfisher, as far as our intel goes."

She didn't include Rogue Wave, Fritillary, Highway, or Whippersnapper, though. Which means her information isn't perfect.

"Is.. there some way I may aid you?"

"Yeah. Overseer, that's our boss directly next to me, wanted to know what exactly your power is. We already figured out the dispower, unless you got absolutely fucked and the immune system thing is unrelated."

"How..." I have a sudden surge of adrenaline as my fight or flight reflex kicking in, but I only respond with freezing.

"It's Sondersong's thing. You want to explain?"

With a deep sigh, Sondersong takes off his helmet.

I'm starting to realize my initial impression of the gangs in Dudek was wrong. There really is no racial separation here, other than the skinheads and the smaller gangs. Not that Sondersong himself really affects my opinion, considering that his skin is a neon shade of yellowish-green, or maybe greenish-yellow. It's uncannily like a tennis ball. There's no variation in it, either, his lips, eyelids, ears, and so on are all the exact same color.

"Whenever I see someone, I can tell instantly if they have a power or not. I also get a unique sensation as well, kind of like... a memory of a smell, I guess, that's attached to each person. I saw you before while driving past a hospital a couple months ago, did a little digging, and found your name attached to the hospital. From there, I just stalked you for a while."

skin discoloration dispower, rubber + charcoal + salt + water

I tap my foot a couple times, thinking. "Good. I was waiting with bated breath to be stalked by someone I've never been acquainted with. I assume learning more about my good self is the payment for your silence?"

He nods. "Got it in one."

I look over Shu as well, focusing on her face as she look at me with concern.

severe knee cartilage loss, crux + ash wood + any wood ash + any non-ash wood

"Pfft." I can't help but let out a brief chuckle. It was an unexpectedly funny combination of reagents.

Sondersong looks a little pissed that I laughed, Shu mostly looks confused. I have no idea what Overseer is thinking.

"Very well. Accompany me, that I may demonstrate my alchemical processes." I beckon them to my lab. I really don't like the idea of showing off the specifics of what I do, but I don't have much choice. I may be able to twist this to my advantage, though...

The lab door opens automatically for me, as I stand next to it to hold it open for the three Nightjars. They take a moment to look around, curiously.

"Please refrain from handling the reagents. My ability is complex in nature, but in broad summation, it allows me to immediately diagnose anything physically abnormal with a person's body, and then provides a series of reagents with which I can create a cure. As an example, Shu, would you like having cartilage in your knees again?"

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, I'm like eighty-twenty on you bullshitting us, but I'd like to see what happens."

"Indeed. To explain my laughter, I had previously been amused by the exact collection of your cure's components. Let me see..."

The lab isn't built for four people. It's built for one, and only one. Squeezing around the heavily armored people is a bit of a challenge, but I eventually gather the ingredients. "Wood ash, ash wood, non-ash wood, and crux."

"Woah. I'm not taking crux. That'll fuck you up." She defensively steps towards the door, like I'm going to suddenly force her to snort it.

"Hush. All reagents are fully dissolved into the solution. Observe with your own eyes, if you will." I carefully add in each ingredient until my mind says I've added enough, and then watch the others as the solid slowly meld together into a red elixir.

"There. Now, if you would, I can either pour this down your throat, or inject you. You cannot administer it yourself or it will denature, and fill your stomach with the reagents."

Shu skeptically watches me. "I'm sure you only act crazy. Because you obviously know the Nightjars can and will ruin your life before killing you if this so much as gives me a runny nose."

"Obviously. Now, injection or oral administration?"

"I'm not letting you drip it down my throat like a dying pet. I'd prefer being stabbed." First person to prefer injections, I note. Interesting.

"Stabbing it shall be, madame." In one hand, I take the syringe, draw in the potion, and wait for her approval. With a nod from her, I take an alcohol wipe and swab her only exposed skin besides her head: her neck. With that, I very carefully pierce her skin while avoiding anything too delicate, and press the plunger until it's empty. The tension is excruciating as we wait.

She starts to look visibly annoyed with me, as I take a step back. Then she takes a step forward. And a step back. And then forward with her other leg, before bending them slightly.

"Fuck... seriously? You? The goofy-ass character-"

"Yes. Me. Further, my concoctions can diminish dispowers, though temporarily. The span is unknown to my mind, but typically between a few hours and a few weeks. I mean no disrespect, Sir Sondersong, but if you would-"

"Yeah, yeah. Try it, not like I want to look like this. Why the hell not?" He still doubts me. Why does everyone doubt me?

I assemble Sondersong's potion, which fortunately uses very common ingredients I can send Ishfaq out for more of later. He's working the same hours, but with an actual break for lunch that he isn't expected to work through. I refuse to treat him poorly.

The potion is yellowish-green, which I can only chalk up to coincidence, as I take a syringe.

"Nope. I'd rather drink it," he says, eyeing the needle.

"For dispowers, the administration route will affect its longevity."

"Don't care. This won't work anyway. I've seen three supposed healers who could-"

I ignore him as I approach. He's a half foot taller than me, so I put a hand on his shoulder so he lowers himself down. Its incredibly awkward, but I reason it's his own fault for making me do this in my lab. I pour it into his mouth, and start putting away my containers of reagents.

He taps his foot, like he's waiting for something to happen, as Shu stares at the neon color breaking apart into small islands before fading completely, leaving only his pale tone behind. Judging by the lack of tan, I assume he wears the helmet and armor everywhere.

"So... did it work?" he asks, grimacing at Shu. She nods aggressively, causing Sondersong to nearly knock me over to look for a mirror in the exam rooms. I quickly follow him to make sure he doesn't make a mess, but thankfully he just stands in front of a rectangular full body mirror in one of the exam rooms while looking at his face in awe. He takes off his gloves, and stares at his hands for a moment as well, before returning to his face.

"If your skepticisms have been assuaged, then our arrangement is concluded." I say, leaning against the wall outside the room.

Shu is still flexing her knees up and down, while Sondersong progressively disrobes as I close the door behind him.

They aren't leaving right away, it seems. "And you, Sir Overseer? Anything I can do for you?"

He shakes his head. Damn. I was hoping to hear his voice, at least. Actually...

"How can I help you?" I sign. My ASL is rusty, but probably good enough to communicate with. Probably.

Still, he shakes his head. I guess he simply doesn't want to speak.

I return to the front, waiting patiently for the Nightjar folks to finish their little party. Eventually, the three of them move as a group back to me, as Sondersong tries his best to stop crying, eventually opting to shove his helmet back on instead.

Shu shifts from side to side a bit, still a bit bouncy on her knees. "So..."

I stay silent. I can tell they've reassessed my value. I wonder if they'll take a different approach.

She puts her own helmet back on, as if to hide eye contact. "Is... all of this public information?"

"Use discretion with the dispower cures. The reagents required for these tinctures vary wildly, scaling with the dispower's severity. To cure my own would require an amount of californium, moon dust, the horn of an extinct animal, part of a critically endangered bat species, my own eye, and at the heart of an infant human slain with radium."

I take a minute for them to understand what I've said. And maybe to feel a bit worried.

"Obviously, this does not appeal to me, but it may to the less savory element. There, I have exchanged all the information I can, and have even provided two of you with a service to sweeten your overflowing pot. Now leave my surgery, feckless malefactors. I have no further business with you."

Shu tries to stop me as I turn to leave, but I intentionally ignore her to stomp back to my lab. I don't have any real anger towards them. In fact, I completely understand their perspective, and it makes a lot of sense. However, making them think they've harassed a very useful independent asset could be good for me down the line, though.

After a few minutes of mostly just looking at my phone, I go back to the lobby. Unexpectedly, the Nightjars are still there. With a genuine annoyance at them not leaving when asked, I return to them and stab my cane into the tile ground an inch of two in front of me, holding the handle with both hands. "Have you no ears? I said begone!"

Shu's face being hidden by the helmet makes this harder. "Okay... We got off on the wrong foot here. Don't just blow us off, though. This is your clinic, and we respect that, but we'd like to have a more constructive relationship."

"What, by intimidating me further? Bah. This is neutral ground, Nightjars."

She turns her helmet back to Overseer, who nods once. She agains faces me, both our expressions hidden by our respective visors.

"Kingfisher's power is that he can listen in on anyone he's met. Overseer has one but isn't going to reveal it. Ji-Won, that's Kamakiri's boss, can alter the texture of non-living objects, including making them invisible, mostly using it on a gun. Zola doesn't have one. We have international connections, so if you need anything specific, consider us importers."

She takes a long breath. "Beaker. On behalf of the Nightjars, we apologize. We've met more than a few fakers over the years. In fact, I didn't even think coming here was worth our time. We were wrong. Very wrong."

Hearing their apology confirms my suspicion: healing abilities like mine are even rarer than I thought. "Mmm. I do encounter charlatans, shams, and mountebanks myself. Very well, Nightjars, consider our bridge unburned. With gratitude, I invite your return at your pleasure." I respectfully bow.

Shu nods slowly, before leaving with the others. Finally. I dramatically stumble over to the front desk, planting my chin on it with my beak nearly touching Ishfaq, sighing dramatically enough into the modulator to make it clearly sound like a sigh. He smiles behind the surgical mask, rolling his eyes and playfully pushing my mask's beak back a bit like I'm a dog begging for food. I can't help but smile myself. "You know, Ishfaq, this might actually work."

"I think it will. I have faith in you, Beaker."