This is basically a crack/au continuation of this http://tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/94.html . I decided to try my hand at horror, and I was hoping that starting to post chapters here would help motivate me to finish it. It is centered on an OC, and most of it takes place 'behind the lines' of the League. If it's too OC for /fanfic, by all means, my dear mods, move it to RP. I'm just hoping, mostly, for some critique, and that others might still enjoy my writing. Also, a thank you to Applecup for helping me find a title. ____________ 'Respawn'. That was what they called it. 'It' seemed like nothing more than a supply room, with a cold tile floor, and a fairly boring tile ceiling. The tiles seemed to shift, move, and waver, but it was the bright lights that Fleischer finally closed his eyes against. He forced them open again when he heard someone enter the room – heard footsteps approaching him. It hardly mattered, though; the figures – three of them – were entirely too blurry to make out their faces. He could only assume that the one that kneeled next to him was a Medic, given the blurry white blob that seemed to occupy the space from his neck down, in the vague shape of a lab coat. The other Medic said something, but the words were lost in the low, pulsing thrum that seemed to be coming from inside of Fleischer's own skull. The sound of the three figures talking amongst each other was entirely too much – as were the lights, and that incessant buzzing, and he finally just closed his eyes again, trying to drown everything out. When Fleischer opened his eyes again, the lights were just as bright – but the tiles on the ceiling looked different, and considerably more familiar. He blinked his eyes a few times, and tried to sit up so that he could get a look around the room. He couldn't quite manage it, though, and when he tried again, he realized that he was being met with considerable resistance. He tried again – tried to lift his hands to feel what was on his chest. His arms hadn't moved more than a few inches off the – the bed? – before he felt a tug at his wrists. He was strapped down. /"It's for your safety,"/ a voice said in short, clipped German. Its owner caused Fleischer to start by rather suddenly looming over the bed. The other Medic was older – maybe sixty – graying more than a little at the temples, and looking entirely too pleased with himself. /"You kept thrashing around in your sleep,"/ he continued, frowning slightly. /"How are you feeling?"/ Fleischer had to think about that for a long moment. He was exhausted, for one – and dizzy, and maybe a little nauseous. There was a deep, dull ache in his chest, and in his knee, right where the bullets had… …right where the bullets had hit. Fleischer tried to place a hand on his chest – to feel for blood, or some kind of wound. His arm just wound up jerking against the strap cuffed to his wrist, though, which caused that pulsing thrum to return full-force. The thrumming was soon joined by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to turn his body so he could sit up. Turning his head did afford Fleischer a view of the IV line in his arm, which his eyes quickly followed to the stand next to the bed. "Herr!" the other Medic started, sounding almost more amused than worried, /"please calm down, you are going to injure yourself. I doubt the League will want you damaged when they come to pick you up."/ The idea of his employers 'picking him up' was bad enough for Fleischer, but it was a touch – a caress – against the side of his face from the older Medic that truly set him off. His thrashing started anew, but the straps over his body and around his ankles and wrists didn't afford him enough movement to build the momentum he would need to break free. His panic-stricken mind didn't know that, though, and wound up telling his sore, exhausted body to fight harder. Fleischer was vaguely aware of the other Medic saying something, and very aware of the man removing a loaded syringe from one of the pockets on his lab coat. He didn't want to think about ([i]couldn't[\i] think about) why his older counterpart was carrying such a thing around in his pocket, but the needle being drawn closer to his IV line did nothing for his confidence. The sight, in fact, only drove Fleischer to thrash harder, twisting in his restraints, chest heaving, and heart pounding. He was quite certain that he was protesting quite loudly – could feel his lips moving – but the sound was drowned out by that thrum, and the loud beating in his ears. His pleas were ignored, though, and he soon saw the needle slide home into the IV line's injection port. He gave one final effort, a hard pull against the straps, as the plunger was depressed. It wasn't an effort that could be sustained. Fleischer's limbs suddenly felt even more ineffectual against his restraints. His arms and legs were slow to respond, and his brain was becoming equally sluggish in even trying to command them. The thrumming remained, rapidly drowning out the sound of his pounding heart and gasping breaths, and growing into a low, almost pleasant buzz. His limbs felt incredibly heavy, and his eyelids followed suit. Fleischer was distantly aware of being lifted and moved – of the ceiling tiles passing by overhead. There were muffled voices – yelling – and a blue light that prickled over his skin. He wasn't sure at what point his vision wound up going entirely black.
I'm going to get two or three chapters posted here, the first few are kinda short, and I want to at least get the ball rolling. ________ "It is absolutely imperative that we test his cognitive functions." The voice was male, distant, and quite adamant. Fleischer wasn't entirely sure, in the dark, whether it belonged to someone, or if he was just dreaming it. His uncertainty, however, didn't stop it from speaking. "Without a baseline, we can't be certain of the effects the alterations will have on mental condition – we don't want a team of vegetables." Fleischer finally managed to force his eyes open, and found himself staring up at another set of ceiling tiles. His body was slow to respond, but he did steal a glance around the room. It was another hospital room – but, too new and too small to be his familiar infirmary. His was the only bed present – and, he was strapped down to it. "Ah, you're awake," the voice spoke, again. The Medic's attention was quickly drawn to its source – another doctor. The man wasn't in a League Medic uniform, though – just a regular lab coat with the company logo embroidered on the lapels. He didn't look very intimidating – he was thin, and silver-haired, and leaning slightly against a cane, though he almost looked as though he was a little too young to need one. "Where am I..?" Fleischer asked, finally daring to speak, and relieved to hear that his voice sounded the way it should. The older man pulled up a chair, and hesitated a moment before sitting down. "At a League medical facility," he started, picking up a clipboard with a patient file on it – though Fleischer couldn't quite make out the lettering. "My name is Doctor Isaac Davis– but, the question is, who are you?" "Nicklaus Fleischer," the younger man replied, after a small moment of hesitation, and a few nervous glances around the room. "Doctor Nicklaus Fleischer, isn't it?" Isaac replied, raising an eyebrow and smiling, just a little. "Give yourself a little credit – Heidelberg is not an easy school to get into, let alone to graduate from with honors. You are obviously a very intelligent man…" the older man trailed off, flipping a few pages in the file before adding, "and very… resourceful." Fleischer remained silent, which made the sound of the other doctor clicking his pen to write a note seem overly loud, and sharp. He had a million questions, but was afraid to voice them. He wasn't even sure where he would start. "Tell me, Doctor Fleischer," Isaac started, breaking the rather tense silence, "what is the last thing you remember before waking up here?" "BLU infirmary," the Medic said with some hesitation, "at Well." Isaac nodded and gave a small, thoughtful hum before making another note in his file. It was a frustratingly neutral reaction. "And, before that?" That was a question that painted much more vivid memories in Fleischer's mind – and triggered a much more visceral response. He tensed up without even realizing, and his heart beat a little faster. He was shocked, really, that it was beating at all. "I… was shot," he finally replied, his voice considerably quieter than it had been before. "I thought… I thought I was dying." "You did die," the older man said, adjusting his glasses a little. He paused, only continuing when he realized that Fleischer was stunned into silence. "I can understand your confusion," he stated, offering a small, indulgent smile. "The large majority of the mercenaries were not informed about our fledgling Respawn system. We didn't want people thinking they were suddenly invincible when we weren't entirely sure that the devices would work." The Medic, at that, just had a hundred other questions spring into his mind. He could understand the logic regarding not telling anyone about such a device until the company was sure it would work. How could such a device even exist, though? The healing powers of a Medigun were a miracle of science, yes – but, even they couldn't raise the dead… could they? "I can tell that you want to know more," Isaac said with a nod, and a small smile – one that could, under other circumstances, almost be considered warm. "We'll get to that. In fact, you will get to be very well-acquainted indeed with the system's inner workings. For the moment, though," he continued, before Fleischer could interject, "we should get you something to eat. It's been a few years since your last meal, and I'm sure you're very hungry." Fleischer was dumbstruck. A few years? Did it always take that long? How many years? He didn't get the chance to voice his questions, though – his mind kept tripping over them. Before he knew it, Isaac had walked out, along with his answers, and the door was shut behind.
One more for tonight. _________ Meals at the League medical facility were usually fairly simple – easy to digest, and not terribly flavorful. It was food, though… and, it was filling. Fleischer had not been expecting steak. Not 'hospital steak', but, an honest-to-God prime cut. It was delicious, too – the best he could ever remember having. He had scarcely believed his eyes when the nurse walked in with it, and said with a sweet, demure smile that it was for him. As much as he tried to hide it, however, he was not pleased when Isaac walked in behind her – and, he felt his heart sink a little when the nurse was politely dismissed. The Medic liked talking with her – or simply listening to her talk. She had a sort of reassuring presence, and seemed, in all honesty to be far too innocent to be associated with someone like Davis. Davis made Fleischer nervous. He tensed up as soon as Isaac sat across from him. The man offered a smile that would have seemed friendly if it wasn't for the fact that Fleischer's mind found something slightly, unnervingly off about it. Then again, something seemed 'off' about Isaac, in general. It was after stealing a few glances to his meal that the Medic finally, hesitantly said, "I… appreciate the gesture, Herr – but, what is the occasion?" Isaac just smiled again, almost the sort of expression a man might give his favorite grandchild – almost. "You are," he replied. "You've made a remarkably fast recovery; years stuck in the Respawn system, and your faculties are all intact. Your physical health is ideal, too." That was something Fleischer had gathered, given all of the tissue samples the medical staff had been taking. At least they had finally unstrapped him. Someone had finally caught on that he was more willing to cooperate if he wasn't tied down flat to the bed. He was never left unrestrained when Isaac was in the room, though. The older man didn't trust him – the feeling was mutual. Isaac had said he was unpredictable, and the Medic couldn't really blame him for coming to such a conclusion – not after what had happened at Well. They weren't at Well, though, and, not for the first time, Fleischer was simply grateful to be alive, as much as he knew he didn't deserve it. Not after what he had done to his team. It wasn't the first time in his life that disaster had followed a lapse of his stringent self-control, and he could understand why Isaac feared it would happen again. He feared it would happen again. A pull on the cuff around his wrist as he moved to lift his fork served as a quick reminder to Fleischer of the position he was in. It was awkward, at best, having to bend forward in his chair to meet his fork halfway – and the other doctor's eyes never left him. "I apologize for the restraints," Davis started, sounding almost genuinely regretful. "Usually they offer a little more freedom, but, they weren't quite designed with someone of your height in mind. Fleischer frowned slightly at that, as he stuck his fork into the last remaining bit of steak. He found that hard to believe – that an advanced League medical facility wouldn't have restraints that would fit him properly. He knew he wasn't a small man – at least head and shoulders taller than the older doctor. Their heavy weapons specialist at Well had been ever so slightly taller, though, and much more stoutly built. Fleischer said nothing about it, though – just swallowed the last bite of his meal, and pushed his empty plate to the side, out of the way. "When was the last time you had a steak, Doctor Fleischer?" The Medic hesitated for a moment before replying, "during the war." He knew better than to think that anyone at this level of the League wouldn't know about his former employment. "And you were, what, forty-two? When you were shot, I mean," Davis noted. "So, at least twenty-three years, right?" Fleischer nodded at that. It still seemed surreal to him – that he had been stuck having the data that composed 'him' reconstructed for thirteen years, and looked the same age that he had on the day he'd been shot. He didn't want to contemplate the nature of Respawn, and his data, and 'him' too much, because he knew it would only lead to some sort of existential meltdown. "Most people would have killed for your looks during the war, Doctor Fleischer," Isaac continued. "But, you already know that." Yes, he did. He was practically the picture of Aryan perfection – something that he had been constantly reminded of. His so-called 'perfection' had been a never-ending source of frustration and undesired attention. And, yes, people had killed for 'his looks' – had killed to try and replicate them in labs, and 'labs', across occupied Europe. He knew that first-hand. "What a terrible waste of human life," the older doctor went on. "Such a silly thing, worrying about hair and eye color. Imagine what sort of progress – real progress – could have been made if the Reich had actually focused on truly improving the human body, if the Reich had used their resources for something of consequence." "By 'resources'," Fleischer started, furrowing his brow, and trying to keep himself from outright scowling, "I trust you mean 'prisoners'." Isaac gave a little nod at that. "If they were bound, ultimately, for death, they at least could have been given the respect of helping to make a genuine contribution to science – of not having the remainder of their lives wasted," he stated, with what seemed to be a genuine, if slight, sadness in his tone. "Passing off cruelty for cruelty's sake as science is… monstrous. As a doctor – as a real doctor – I'm sure it must have been very difficult for you." The Medic remained very quiet at that – found himself staring somewhat distantly at the table. It had been beyond difficult. It had been hard to live with himself and, frankly, he wasn't sure how he had even managed that. "The Reich, Respawn, a Soviet labor camp. You're a survivor," Davis stated matter-of-factly. A smile of admiration formed on his face, as he made a note on his clipboard – he never seemed to be without the thing. "That's why you're here." The possible implications of that statement made Fleischer go very tense. He had been asking himself for the past several weeks why he was there – why the League was keeping him around after he'd created such a spectacular mess at Well. He knew better than to believe that they were keeping him healthy out of the goodness of their hearts. Isaac, for the moment, gave no indication that it was otherwise, even gave a small, casual smile. "Anyway," he started, "it's good to see you're recovering. The timing with which you entered the Respawn system was extraordinary – it's no wonder it took such a toll on you." He trailed off for a moment, and started to stand up once it was clear that the Medic had nothing to say in return. "It's getting late," the older man started, pressing a button by the door to call the nurse in. "It wouldn't take a doctor to tell that you're exhausted, not that I can blame you. I suggest you get some rest," he added, offering only another small, cordial smile before seeing himself out of the room, and letting the nurse in. Fleischer admitted quietly, and only to himself, that it was a relief to see her. He even managed just a little smile as she walked over, along with a quiet greeting. "Hello, Doctor Fleischer," she replied, smiling in return. She offered a quiet thanks as her patient lifted his arms – as much as he could, anyway – so she wouldn't have to lean over to undo his restraints. Fleischer breathed a sigh of relief when they were off, and rubbed just a little at the skin over his wrists, where the padded leather had been secured. His efforts didn't amount to much, though – the woman still had to kneel down to undo the restraints that secured his ankles to the bolted-down legs of the chair's metal frame. "I can get that," Fleischer insisted. He was already sitting down, after all – as awkward as it would be to try and lean over and reach his ankles with the table in the way. "It's alright, Doctor Fleischer," the nurse insisted, stepping back once the Medic was unrestrained, to give him some room to stand up and stretch his legs. "You really should get some sleep, though, Doctor," she continued, gathering up the empty plate and cutlery. "Is the bed uncomfortable? I can get you an extra pillow or blanket, if you'd like." The Medic just shook his head a little at that. A hospital bed was a lot more comfortable than a lot of the places he logically could have woken up, in. "It's just fine," he stated. He'd been having trouble sleeping, but, he had the feeling it had little to do with the bed. "Alright," the nurse replied with a little smile, before starting towards the exit. "Just ring me on the call button if you need anything, Doctor. And, try to get some sleep, okay?" she added before quietly walking out. The lock, once the door was shut, clicked behind her. Fleischer just wound up breathing a small, frustrated sigh. He was tired, not that that came as a surprise. Brushing his teeth seemed to take a lot more energy than it should have, and he was quite certain that he nodded off at least once in the shower. By the time he was dried off and dressed, he was ready to collapse into bed. He felt exhausted, and comfortably heavy, and, really, it was entirely too much effort to keep his eyes open.
I just finished reading your last fic and this one and I am absolutely astounded. This is bloody freaking amazing work! I love your Medic, he’s got a very interesting back story. You deserve way more reviews here.
Wouldn't this go into Roleplay & Original Characters? A blonde Medic with a name is definitely more of an OC than just a Medic.
>>5 Bad Medicine has always posted her OC fics on the fanfic boards for years, and as far as I recall there is no complaint to them being there. (Also, she mentioned it was OC centered in the author notes at the beginning) People don't complain about Pyro fics not being put in the RPG boards even though most of them are essentially OCs, so the consensus seems to be that OCs are acceptable in the fic boards. Due to the RPG boards being imageboards, I don't think text intensive fics should go there anyway because of text limits, etc. So no, this doesn't need to go there.
>>6 Mmkay. Not sure how I missed the "OC-centered" comment at the start, but thank you for the clarification.
>>4 You are too kind. I'm actually working on a complete rewrite of First Do No Harm and Comorbidity, since I wound up getting both characters more fleshed out. I may or may not post them here when I'm done, but, I'm glad you like the current iteration, nonetheless. >>6 I was actually wondering whether or not that was going to be a problem, and would also like to thank you for the clarification. This isn't even a third of what I have typed (and, it's not done yet)so, I figured it'd be best not to clog up /roleplay with it Regardless, I'm thrilled to see that someone's enjoying it, because it's sure as hell been fun to write! _____________________ It was quiet – quiet, warm, and comfortable – a far cry from the hospital bed that Fleischer last remembered lying on. When he finally pried his eyes open, he confirmed that he was in a bed, and, not even a hospital bed. He was immediately treated to a piercing headache, though, and pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing. There was no tug – no resistance from restraints, and that in and of itself was at least some reassurance. No restraints, a regular bed, and – and a regular room? Fleischer sat up quickly – and immediately regretted it. He gave a small, uncomfortable groan, and covered his face with his hands as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Once the world had stopped tilting and lurching, at least a little, he forced his eyes open again to get a proper look at the room. It was about as far removed from the other places that Fleischer had woken up in as it could possibly get. There were no ceiling tiles, or stark white walls, and the floor was covered in laminate wood – there was even a couch and a television set and, beyond a half-open door, a bathroom. It looked more like an apartment than a hospital room, and it did little, if anything, to put the Medic at ease. He finally thought to look himself over, as well, and threw the bedcovers aside so that he could do so. The doctor was at least slightly relieved to see that he was dressed, albeit in a plain white cotton shirt and pants. He wasn't surprised to see that his uniform was gone. He was surprised, however, to see that he still appeared to be in one piece. That didn't stop him from half-stumbling out of bed to check in the bathroom mirror, though. Nothing was different. Fleischer looked exactly as he had remembered himself. There didn't seem to be even a single hair out of place, and that was part of what bothered him; everything appeared to be normal. There had to be something, though – something he couldn't see, and he palpated his abdomen, and breathed slowly in and out, and tested all of his joints, and could find nothing added, or misplaced, or gone. The Medic finally breathed a small sigh of relief, at that, and decided to start inspecting the room, instead. It was well-furnished – aside from the couch, television, and bed, there was a wardrobe, a small table, a desk, and even a night stand with a little lamp on it. They were quickly ignored, however, in favor of what appeared to be the exit. There was nothing on the door to indicate that it could be opened from the inside, though – no handle, no knob, not even a card swipe – just an intercom set into the wall to the side of it. Fleischer hesitated a moment before reaching for the device, and his finger hadn't quite pushed the button before it crackled to life, causing him to start just a little. He was not surprised, however, to hear Isaac's voice come through. "Doctor Fleischer," it started, cordial, as always. "It's good to see you're finally awake. Would you step back away from the door, please?" As much as Fleischer would have liked to stay close to the door – to make a break for it when it opened – he knew that wasn't a viable option. Escape wasn't likely when he didn't know where he was, never mind having nowhere to run to. He stepped back several feet, then – far enough to make a quick run or leap to the door difficult, at best. "Thank you," Isaac said, before the intercom crackled, and went out. It wasn't long before the door opened with a hiss to reveal the man, himself – accompanied by a pair of armed guards. The muscle remained just outside of the room, with another door – closed – behind them. The fact that there was, at the very least, an airlock between the 'apartment' and freedom was not very comforting. Doctor Davis seemed, naturally, unbothered by any of this. He looked rather casual given the circumstances, leaning slightly against his cane and offering a little smile. His expression, however, quickly melted into something considerably more serious, and even apologetic. "I'm sorry we didn't inform you before moving you here," he started. "You were sleeping like the dead, though, and I thought it might be a nice change of pace for you to wake up somewhere nicer." Under more ordinary circumstances, it would have been a nice place to stay. The room was plenty big, and well-furnished, and even had a window to let a little extra light in. The window had no way of being opened, though, and the light filtering through the frosted glass wasn't quite right, somehow – and, the only exit from the room lay beyond an airlock. It was nothing more than an exceptionally nice prison cell. "You were out for almost thirty-six hours," Isaac said, once it was clear that no input from the Medic was forthcoming. "I'm sure you are very hungry. Is there anything you'd like to eat? The cook staff here are quite talented." Fleischer was silent for a long moment. Insisting he wasn't hungry would be an outright lie, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be able to leave and get something to eat on his own. "I can't say I have any particular preference, Herr," he started, "other than 'somezhing edible'." That drew a small, amused chuckle from the older man. "Do you like sauerbraten? From what I understand, it's considered something of a delicacy in Germany." "It is…" Fleischer replied with a small, thoughtful frown. The meat was supposed to be marinated for days, though – not for a few minutes before it was cooked and served. "And, I do. I would… appreciate that, Herr," as much as he suspected it would be rather bland, given the short notice with which it was going to be prepared. It was food, though – and, it at least seemed to be an effort at something that would be familiar to him. Isaac nodded quietly in reply. "I'll see to it that your dinner gets here, soon, Doctor Fleischer. Is there anything else you need?" Fleischer could think of a lot of things – most of them being one variation or another on, 'some answers'. He had the feeling, however, that if he did receive any, they would be evasive or vague at best. "Nein," he finally replied in a rather subdued tone. Doctor Davis regarded him for a moment, somewhat dubiously, before giving a little nod. "Nurse Hayes will be along with your dinner, then, in a little while – and to administer an exam." That didn't surprise the Medic very much. Exams had been extremely regular since his arrival at the League facility. The explanation that he was being checked for any kind of slow-onset degradation from his Respawn seemed legitimate enough, but, that didn't mean Fleischer had to like it. He just nodded, though, and returned a quiet farewell that was offered to him by Isaac just before the man, and his guards, disappeared back through the airlock. It was the airlock, perhaps, that disturbed Fleischer the most. In the hospital room, he had at least been able to see out into a hallway when the door was opened. It wasn't exactly like he had attacked anyone, or made an attempt to escape, either. He couldn't help but wonder what had transpired in the last supposed thirty-six hours that merited increased security. On the matter of security, there was also the issue of cameras – and searching for them offered Fleischer something to distract himself with. It was difficult to look under and behind things, however, when every piece of furniture, barring the desk chair, was bolted to the floor. The lamp was even attached to the surface of the nightstand, somehow. He couldn't even find screws on the plates over the light switches that could be removed, or even worked loose. He scoured the room for what seemed like an hour, but, it was hard to be certain without a clock. The Medic was still in the middle of his search, in fact, when the intercom crackled to life so that Nurse Hayes could announce her arrival. The nurse, as always, smiled at him as she walked in and, as always, was not accompanied by any guards. "Hello, Doctor Fleischer," she greeted, before setting the tray she was carrying on the table in front of the couch. "There was a dinner today for some of the head medical staff – we asked the cooks to make sure there was extra," she stated with a little smile. A dinner planned in advance would certainly give whoever was making the meal plenty of time to properly prepare it. That would explain, then, why the sauerbraten looked and smelled so good, and, when the Medic finally sat down and had a bite, why it tasted so good, as well. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he started eating, which he couldn't help but feel a little guilty for, with Nurse Hayes sitting and waiting for him. It only made him feel slightly better when she insisted that it was fine and, really, he should take his time. Fleischer, nevertheless, wound up eating a little faster than he usually would have. As nice as his nurse was, he wanted his exam to be over with as quickly as possible. Nurse Hayes did not, fortunately, have a tendency to draw out exams. Fleischer couldn't help but notice, however, that her hands felt warmer than he remembered. "Everything looks good," the nurse said with a little smile, draping her stethoscope back over her shoulders. "Is there anything you need, Doctor Fleischer?" she asked. There was nothing, however, that Fleischer could think of – no valid excuse to ask her to stay just a little longer. She probably, after all, had other patients to get to. "Uh… no… thank you," he finally replied. "Alright, doctor," Hayes said, smiling a little once again as she picked up the empty tray. "If you do need anything, just use the intercom. And," she continued, "make sure to get plenty of rest. It's getting late, and you're still recovering." Fleischer nodded in reply, and offered a quiet farewell as the nurse took her leave. A glance to the window revealed that it was getting dark outside, as odd as the remaining daylight looked. He couldn't even pin down what, exactly, was so odd about it. He tried not to think about it too much as he slipped into the bathroom, and he couldn't help but be more than a little surprised that he could actually lock the bathroom door. He realized, of course, that the lock was probably only for his peace of mind – there would be nothing, he was sure, to keep his 'benefactors' from opening the door if they wanted. The thought that there were very probably cameras watching was something that the Medic tried to push far from his conscious mind as he stripped. It took considerably longer than he wanted, too, because his fingertips felt a little tender, and it almost hurt to grasp anything very firmly. Removing his clothes, then, was a somewhat delicate affair. As obsessively clean and tidy as Fleischer was, however, he felt little joy in stepping into a shower. He took solace in the fact, then, that he had a whole private bathroom to himself. It was better than having to share a row of stalls with a whole team, and it was, of course, immensely preferable to the open community showers in the labor camp. The thought of the latter made him shudder, and lead to him even starting a little when the cold water hit. Thankfully, the water warmed up in a hurry, and the warmth was enough to get Fleischer to start to relax, even if only a little. He washed quickly, and thoroughly, and suddenly realized that once he was done he had just wound up standing under the warm spray. He quickly snapped the water off, and grabbed a towel. He didn't even try to pretend that he wasn't in a hurry to get dried off and dressed. There was no more light coming through the window by the time Fleischer finally emerged from the bathroom, and the bed was looking awfully inviting. He made one last sweep of the room, though, trying to spot any sign of a camera, or a listening device. It was a fruitless search, though, and he finally decided to turn out the lights and retire to bed. The Medic hardly fell asleep when his head hit the pillow, though. His body was tired, but his mind refused to sleep. There was a lot to think about, and very little of it, if any, was very comforting. It seemed obvious, really, that he wasn't just being kept and monitored for his health, and it was to the daunting question of 'why?' that he finally dozed off.
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Could I get a mod to delete '9', please? I fucked up the italics somewhere pretty badly.
Thank you, Cat. NOW, the show may go on. __________________ Even without the aid of an alarm clock, Fleischer still wound up waking at the crack of dawn. It seemed like the crack of dawn, at least – the light from the window was dim, and very slowly getting brighter. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize that his fingers were no longer just tender, but downright ached. He wrung his hands for a little while before finally turning on the bedside lamp to get a proper look at them. Everything looked fine, though, which made the pain when he pressed on and behind his fingernails even more worrisome. There were no bruises, and he couldn't imagine what he could have done to injure his fingers. Fleischer finally had to concede that no answers were forthcoming, and try to go about his day. Making the day any sort of 'normal' was difficult. He brushed his teeth and shaved (and quietly lamented the fact that, no, of course they wouldn't give him a much-preferred straight razor) before exercising and taking a brief shower. When he emerged from the shower, breakfast was waiting on the table in front of the couch. The Medic stole a quick look around the room to confirm that no, in fact, nobody else was there. Someone had been there very recently, though, because breakfast was still hot. Breakfast was good, too – bacon, and scrambled eggs, and toast, and Fleischer just wished that it didn't aggravate the pain in his fingers so much to hold the blunt-tined fork he'd been given. Eating took more time than he would have liked, but it was nice, nonetheless, to have a full belly. Killing time was very clearly going to be an issue. Fleischer had never particularly cared for television but he tried, at least, to watch the news. He had been gone for so long, through, that he could scarcely make heads or tails of any of it, and wound up just shutting it off. There was at least some reading he could do – the desk drawers were stuffed with what looked like every issue of The Lancet that had come out since he'd been shot. The downtime was still so unusual, though. He was used to working – used to the notion that downtime was something earned by working. The fact that there was no work he could do, however, was of little comfort. There was nothing of use that he could do while stuck in that room, and Fleischer couldn't imagine that the League would keep anyone around unless they could prove useful. The question of what capacity the League saw him useful in was becoming increasingly worrying. It was a question that Fleischer was afraid to ask when Doctor Davis returned to the room at lunchtime, accompanied by his pair of guards. "I hope," the older doctor started, once his patient was seated on the edge of the bed, "that you are feeling well?" That was a question that gave Fleischer pause. He had the feeling that voicing dissatisfaction with his accommodations would not end well. "My fingers are a little sore," he quietly admitted, having to consciously resist the urge to wring his hands. Isaac leaned a little closer, then, peering at the Medic's hands and, upon seeing nothing visibly wrong, asked, "only when you move them?" "Moving does make it worse," Fleischer replied. There was a constant ache, though, even when he was still. After a brief inspection, Doctor Davis insisted that nothing appeared to be wrong with Fleischer's hands – that the muscles, tendons, and bones all seemed to be in order. "It could very well be psychosomatic," he stated. "After all, you were in the Respawn system for a very long time, and we still don't know all of the ramifications of that. We'll keep an eye on it," he said with a little smile, before releasing the younger man's hands. "And, if any other concerns arise, you're always free to use the intercom." Without any other issues to raise (that he was willing to raise), Fleischer was left on his own, with a bowl of beef stew for lunch. If nothing else, he was being well-fed, and even that raised some level of suspicion. It wasn't the hospital food he'd been given during the first leg of his stay, and as much as hospital food wasn't that pleasing to the palate, it was nutritionally sound. He suspected that he was being fed better for the same reason that there was a lock on the bathroom door – peace of mind. By the time dinner – and his daily exam – rolled around, Fleischer was trying his best to move his fingers as little as possible. He couldn't bring himself to be upset at Nurse Hayes for the pain that was elicited as she flexed his fingers, one by one, especially with the sympathetic look on her face. "I'm sorry, Doctor Fleischer," she started, "but, there's nothing I can see wrong with your hands. I can get you a mild painkiller if you'd like, though? It might help," she added with a rueful smile. "No!" the Medic replied in a hurry, clearing his throat rather awkwardly (realizing how dry it felt, in the process), before giving a much more calm, "no, thank you. It's not that bad," yet. "If you're sure," Hayes said after a moment of hesitation, a worried expression forming on her face. "We just want to make sure you're comfortable, doctor. If you change your mind, just let someone know." Fleischer was not eager to take any medication that anyone at this facility offered him. His fingers hurt, yes, but painkillers would probably make him drowsy, and uncoordinated. He wanted to be able to protect himself if he needed to – or at least cling to the illusion that he could defend himself against the League staff. Fleischer's exam, the nurse assured him, showed that everything was completely normal, beyond the fact that his throat seemed a little irritated. He waited until Hayes was gone, however, before he filled a glass of water to drink. He wasn't surprised, really – he had been talking to the nurse for some time, and he hadn't wanted to pour a glass in the middle of a conversation. He finished off the glass before getting in the shower. Once he was cleaned up, the Medic found himself leaning back against the wall while the water ran down his skin. He was not surprised, either, by the way the humid heat seemed to ease away the pain in his hands. It was only when he realized that he was just standing there using up the water that he finally got out, and dried off. Fleischer would have liked to know what time it was when he finally climbed into bed. Regardless of the time, however, he was tired, which didn't help to quiet his mind so he could sleep in the slightest. He was very nearly, finally, comfortably asleep when he started coughing. Was he getting sick? That was just what he needed – more unwanted attention from the medical staff. It was a great relief to Fleischer, then, when a glass of water proved to be enough to soothe his throat so he could get to sleep.
That last one was a pretty short chapter, so, I'm going to give you another - for the time being, at least. ______________________ Despite not having an alarm clock, Fleischer woke up at the crack of dawn – not on his own, but, because of a coughing fit. Being jerked so unpleasantly and unexpectedly from his sleep left him very briefly panicked. Panic quickly gave way to irritation when he realized that his throat was dry, and his tongue kept wanting to stick to the roof of his mouth. A tall glass of water quickly fixed that. The Medic knew he wasn't going to be getting back to sleep, and light was starting to shine through the window. He decided, then to get his exercise out of the way. Even that had to be taken slow, though – his fingers still ached, and his skin almost felt uncomfortably tight when he bent his body just so. By the time he was done, his skin actually itched a little, and he was eager, on some level, to get in the shower – after he'd had another glass of water. The hot water was a relief; it made his skin stop itching, and eased that faint, uncomfortable tightness. It occurred to him that perhaps the humidity in his 'apartment' might just be very low – too low. It was something worth bringing up with Hayes, or Davis, at least, especially if it didn't improve. Thoughts of humidity, however, were eventually supplanted in Fleischer's mind with thoughts of breakfast. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was. He let out a sigh and, hell, he could practically smell breakfast. Steak and eggs, he thought as he dried himself off, sounded good – sounded very good, even. Once he was dried off and dressed, Fleischer stepped out of the bathroom, and was unsurprised to see a plate of breakfast waiting for him on the table. He realized, however, that the reason he had 'smelled' breakfast – the reason he had suddenly thought of steak and eggs – was because steak and eggs were exactly what was on the plate, still fresh enough that there was a little steam trailing up from them. For a moment he pondered if, perchance, he had just imagined smelling breakfast, but, no – he could smell it even then, and it only got stronger the closer he stepped to the table. By the time he sat down, the scent of scrambled eggs and steak was nearly overpowering in a rather wonderful way. Fleischer suddenly, in fact, found himself hungry enough to forget how odd the circumstances were, and simply start eating his food. The Medic couldn't help but notice, however, the pain that chewing his food sent through his teeth and jaw. It was faint enough that it didn't stop him from finishing his meal, but present enough that it couldn't be ignored. Even brushing his teeth afterward wasn't exactly pleasant – his gums felt as tender as his fingers did, and there was nothing he could see in the mirror that would explain why. Perhaps it was just stress. The mind could do fairly unpleasant things to the body if it was stressed, Fleischer knew, and his stay at the League facility had been nothing if not stressful. It was a possible explanation, at least, as to why nothing appeared to be visibly wrong. The humidity was something Fleischer was willing to bring up to Doctor Davis. He was glad that he had a half-full glass of water left from eating the lunch he'd been brought, because talking to the man made him more than a little thirsty. When the subject was raised, however, Isaac insisted that the humidity was right where it should be – but he added, with a little smile, that he would have the technicians double-check to be sure. Fleischer was relieved that the issue was supposedly going to be looked into, but he was even more relieved when Doctor Davis and his guards left. It also gave him the chance to lock himself in the bathroom and get back in the shower. His skin had started to itch, again – had started to feel tight – and the water brought near instant relief. It felt easier to move, and even easier to breathe in the humid air trapped by the shower curtain. The Medic even felt more alert, somehow. It seemed almost like he could hear individual drops of water splat on the shower floor, and see the little droplets that were flung out by the impact. Was he so relaxed that he could actually bother to notice? No. No, that couldn't be it. Fleischer had always had good vision – twenty-ten, even – and it had never faltered or gotten fuzzy in any way in the past just because he'd fallen into some particularly tumultuous time. The more he watched the droplets hit, in fact – the more he looked around the shower in general – the more it became apparent that his vision was actually clearer than it had been before. It was very faint, yes, but it was enough for him to notice. He kept quiet about it when Nurse Hayes brought his dinner, though. In truth, the food was very distracting. It was just chicken and noodles, but it smelled amazing, and it tasted amazing, and it was gone far sooner than Fleischer would have liked. It still left his teeth and jaw hurting, though. "It must have been awfully good, Doctor Fleischer," the nurse stated. "Would you like a second helping?" "Um…" Fleischer stammered, more than a little embarrassed by the fact that he had eaten so quickly. "No, thank you," he finally replied, offering just a faint smile. "It was good, though." They went ahead then, predictably, with the daily exam. Everything went fine and normal (other than the fact that the nurse's hands seemed warmer still, today), until the Medic's temperature was taken. Once the thermometer was removed from under his tongue, he noticed that the nurse looked at the reading for just a little longer than she ever had, before. He tried to get a look at the thing, and realized that the mercury looked a little low – but, he couldn't quite make out the numbers before the thermometer was given a few good hard shakes. "Sorry," Hayes said with a little, sheepish smile. "I must not have shaken it enough the first time. Let's try it again." The thermometer placed back under Fleischer's tongue, and he made a conscious effort to get a decent glance at it when it was removed. It was quickly turned so that the nurse could read the tiny numbers, but, the Medic had just enough time to catch a glimpse; the mercury was right where it had been the first time – thirty-five degrees centigrade. "That's better," the woman said as she put the thermometer away, despite it having given a reading that stood on the border of hypothermia. "Everything looks normal, Doctor Fleischer. Do you still not want any painkillers for your hands, or are they feeling better?" Fleischer was silent for a long, tense moment. "I'm fine," he lied, forcing a little smile. He was sure that it wasn't as convincing as all of hers had been. "It's getting late, Doctor Fleischer," Hayes said, gathering up her things before standing up to leave. "Get plenty of rest, okay?" She didn't walk back out through the door before offering another little smile. It looked as though it came to her so easily. Fleischer was not pleased by the fact that he probably knew why – lying seemed to come a lot more easily to those who did it often. Or, perhaps, it came more easily to those who were unbothered by doing it. He knew for a fact, though, that he was more relieved to see Hayes leave than he had ever been before, and he suddenly felt all the more isolated for it. The Medic's thoughts quickly turned to the thermometer as he, once again, locked himself in the bathroom. Thirty-five degrees centigrade was, what, ninety-five Fahrenheit at best? That was not a healthy core temperature. He didn't feel very sluggish, though – wasn't even shivering. None of the normal human reactions to hypothermia were there. It did explain why the nurse's hands felt so much warmer, little comfort as that was. The shower, however, was a comfort. It made Fleischer's skin feel normal, again, and it made his mouth and throat feel a great deal less dry. It even, once again, started to ease the pain in his fingers, which made cleaning himself a lot less unpleasant than it would have been. It was only once he started to scrub himself down that he noticed something else amiss – fine blond hairs on the washcloth. He quickly ran his fingers over his scalp before he noticed how short the strands on the cloth were. When he looked down, the source become obvious; the hair on his chest had been fairly sparse as it was, but, now, it suddenly seemed to be falling out. It wasn't just his chest, either – it was everywhere from the neck down. The water running down Fleischer's body seemed to be enough to dislodge some of the strands, and even light scrubbing was enough to remove everything else. The doctor ran his fingers through the hair on his head, again, and was at least marginally relieved when none of it came loose. It still didn't explain what was washing down the drain, though. As hard as he tried, it was impossible not to think about it – to think about everything, and he wound up lying awake in bed considerably longer than he wanted to. He wasn't able to succumb to sleep at all, until his mind had finally exhausted itself.
Oh jeez I can't watch yet I can't look away.
Please for the love of all that is good and Medic, please continue. I will beg.
>>13 >>14 Thanks, you two. It's always nice to know that someone enjoys my writing - it makes it a lot easier to continue. I do have several other chapters already written, but, I'm going to make some attempt to space out posting them here.
More? Hooray!
Okay, I said I'd space these chapters out, but, it's been a day, right? And, shit's starting to get real. __________ Fleischer had little desire to get out of bed. His entire body ached. His head was throbbing, and it felt like someone had wedged broken glass under his fingernails. His gums didn't feel much better. Hell, his mouth hurt in general, even beyond being almost painfully dry. The man's skin didn't feel much better. It was dry, and itched, and felt almost painfully tight. There was also something cool and damp and slightly sticky against the side of Fleischer's face, and he suddenly noticed the sharp copper taste and smell of blood. He lifted his head just enough to confirm that there was a large, dark red blotch on the pillow, and he could feel more of it drying under his nose. It was that feeling that caused Fleischer to finally muster the will to roll out of bed, wincing as he did so, to drag himself to the shower. He couldn't help but notice as he passed the window that it was still dark out – and that the frosted texture on the glass was unusually sharp. He shook his head a little at that, and the resulting wave of nausea made him immediately regret it. That ill, dizzy feeling soon passed, though, allowing Fleischer to continue to the bathroom, locking the door behind. The Medic practically sobbed in relief when the water hit his skin. He all but collapsed, just sitting on the shower floor, and letting the hot water run down his body. The spray washed the blood off of his face, causing the water to run slightly red as it circled the drain. Even when it was clear again, though, Fleischer could still detect a faded taste and smell of copper. Fleischer tried to ignore it – tried not to think of much of anything. It was impossible to ignore the pain, though. His head was pounding, and the rest of his body didn't feel much better. The sharp ache in his fingers was almost enough to make him scream. He didn't want to scream, though, and wound up compromising and finally breaking down into tears, instead. The water was his only comfort. It looked, and sounded, and even smelled nice. It was warm, and gentle, and soothing. Fleischer distantly realized that he was more comfortable there than he had been in bed a few moments before. He was also exhausted, and it was to the feeling of warm water running over his skin that he finally slumped forward and all but passed out. It didn't seem to be very long, however, before Fleischer woke up. He could still feel water flowing over his skin, though it was cooler than it had been before. It took him a moment to notice that he was lying on his side, though, curled up a little to make his body fit in the relatively small space. Somewhere beyond the shower curtain – beyond the bathroom door – he could smell food. It didn't smell like breakfast food, though, and Fleischer just wound up wondering how long he'd been out. There was no telling the passage of time. There was no clock, and the light shining through the window was almost certainly artificial, which meant it could be dimmed or brightened on a whim. Enough time had passed, however, that Fleischer could bear the pain his body was in enough to leave the shower and get dressed. He wasn't surprised to see that his bloodied pillow had been taken away and replaced. He was also slightly surprised, though the scent should have given it away, that there was another prime cut of steak on the plate that was resting on the table. It was almost excruciating to hold a knife and fork, and almost as bad to chew. It tasted delicious, though, and Fleischer had been so hungry. Fleischer was nearly done with his food – was biting down on the last piece of steak – when he heard a crunch, and felt something in his mouth give out. More than a little startled, he wound up spitting out the last bite of steak, and heard something hard strike the plate, as well. There was a sharp taste of blood in the doctor's mouth, and he soon saw the cause lying on the plate… …a tooth. Or, the remains of a tooth, at least. Fleischer's hand was more than a little shaky as he picked it up to get a better look. It had been a canine at one point, but the tooth was hollowed out, somehow, and there was nothing to suggest that the root had broken off so much as dissolved away. It almost looked like a life-like cap that had been meant to fit over something else. He all but rushed to the bathroom to look in the mirror and try to see what had happened. His upper right canine was gone. There was something in its place – the emerging crown of another canine that would have looked completely normal were it not for the fact that it tapered to a single sharp point. He pressed his tongue against one of his molars, and it didn't take any great deal of force to snap it free. The Medic jumped a little at the feeling – at the brief pain, and the sudden taste of blood. It was like the canine, though – an emerging tooth, almost identical to its original barring cusps that ended in sharp points. They weren't as long or as pointed as the first tooth, but they were still certainly cause for alarm. Fleischer quickly turned on the sink to rinse the blood out of his mouth, and when he spit he heard what he was sure was another tooth clink its way down the drain. The thought of what was happening, and not knowing what was happening, made his heart race, and made him more than a little sick. He retreated to the shower, and turned on the hot water as fast as he could manage. Grabbing the lever made pain shoot through his fingers, and the feeling of a fingernail catching on the curtain as he pulled it shut finally made him scream. It almost felt as though the nail had been bent back, or maybe torn loose entirely. A few drops of blood – darker than they should have been – stained the water dripping from Fleischer's fingertips, and he was too afraid of what he would see to lift his hand and look. Instead, he just sank to the floor, sobbing helplessly, and hurting all over, and trying, and failing, to remain conscious as he felt his body start to grow heavy.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh dear. Oh dear. What is happening. Freak out time. Poor Fleischer. ...More.
>>18 You'll know what's up in due time.... ...in due time. Short update, comin' through. _____________________________ Fleischer could hear and feel a familiar thrumming when he finally cracked his eyes open, again. The light was entirely too bright, and he let out a small groan as he closed them, again. He could hear things – people talking, and feet shuffling on the floor, and the sound of metal clanking against metal. He forced his eyes back open and made another small, unhappy sound when he felt a sharp tug on one of his fingers. "Did that hurt?" a voice – Davis? – asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Fleischer tiredly shook his head in return. It hadn't hurt, no – it had just been a little jarring. He spent a moment looking around what little of the room he could see. He didn't recognize any of it, other than Isaac's slightly wavering form leaning over him. He tried to address the older man, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and something was keeping him from bringing his teeth together. "Don't try to talk," Isaac said, resting a hand gently on the younger man's shoulder. "You'll hurt yourself. We don't want that," he added, giving a little smile. Fleischer shook his head at that, and groaned again when he felt another quick tug. He gave a small sigh of relief, however, when he felt something warm, and soft, and damp being wrapped around his hand. The rest of his body was uncomfortably cool, though, and it wasn't a moment after he shivered that another blanket was placed over him. He tried to mumble a 'thank you', but couldn't quite manage it. Doctor Davis just smiled faintly in return. "Don't worry about it," he insisted. "They were coming in rather rapidly – it's no wonder you were in so much pain. We're just trying to make you comfortable. You'll feel a lot better when we're done. It's going to be awhile, though, so it might be best for you to go back to sleep while you wait." Yes, that would probably be a good idea. Fleischer felt tired – very tired – but, a part of him wanted to know what was going on. His eyes followed Isaac as he turned and said – said something to someone just out of view. He couldn't make out the words, though, and he couldn't really try to, either; he suddenly felt far too tired to care, and closed his eyes, again.
I am crying. That last update was torture, it was so good- and so short. You're tearin' me to pieces. Please continue forever. I could live off of this story. ...haha, that sounds creepy. But please do update soon. I'm really loving this.
>>20 It's always nice to know someone's reading... and, perhaps, that I can still make people squirm a bit when I want. Things only get worse, I promise. __________ The lights were far too bright. They were painfully bright, even, and Fleischer had to close his eyes not even a second after he'd opened them. He heard what seemed to be voices – or one voice, at least. It took him awhile to finally start to focus in on the sound. "Doctor Fleischer?" It was Davis – or, it sounded like him, at least. "Doctor Fleischer, can you hear me?" Fleischer gave a small, unhappy groan in reply. He felt exhausted, and sore, and when he tried to flex his jaw, he could also feel what might be wads of gauze wedged between his back teeth. He must have made a displeased sound or face, because the rather subtle action got Isaac's attention. "Sorry about that," the older man said. "We didn't want you to bite your tongue while you were out. Could you open your eyes, please?" There was a long pause before the Medic complied. Even then, he winced a little at the light. His eyes, however, adjusted surprisingly quickly when he actually kept them open. His vision was, in fact, even sharper than it had been when he had passed out in the shower. He could make out tiny droplets of water in the air – raining down on him, in fact. It felt nice on his skin. He could gather from the feeling of where water was not on skin, however, that he had at least been afforded a pair of boxers. Fleischer tried to speak – to ask where he was, and what had happened. The gauze, however, muffled his voice. Some movement did draw his attention to the older doctor, seated next to where he was lying. "Here, let me get that," Davis said with a faint smile. He grabbed a pair of long, thin metal tweezers, and it was only after a bit of coaxing that he got the Medic to grudgingly open his mouth enough for him to use them. If nothing else, Fleischer was grateful that the older doctor was at least very careful in pulling the gauze free. He gave a little cough, and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and immediately noticed that his tongue felt… odd. The backs of his teeth felt normal, at least, until he moved his tongue enough to feel the sharp points they tapered to. "I hope," Isaac started, making a brief note on his clipboard, "that you are feeling better?" Fleischer said nothing, trying, and failing, to sit up. His wrists and ankles were bound to the table. It was a shame, really – all he wanted to do was curl up and hide. He was tired, and sore, and hungry, and he didn't know what was going on. He was terrified. "I apologize for your current accommodations," the older doctor said. "Alterations are being made to your room. I trust you will find it a lot more comfortable once they are finished. Your-" "Let me go," Fleischer interrupted. His voice was a great deal shakier than he'd hoped, and speaking made his throat hurt. Davis's own voice was remarkably calm and patient as he said, "please, Doctor Fleischer, let me finish. Your body is in a very delicate state right now, and you need to be closely monitored, especially the functioning of your internal organs." Fleischer tried to look down at himself, but a strap over his forehead prevented it. He weakly tried to pull against it, anyway – he couldn't, after all, turn his eyes enough to get a good look. "Don't worry, Doctor Fleischer," Isaac started, smiling again. "Thus far any cosmetic changes are minor. Once you're stabilized, we can start fine-tuning, and any changes in physical appearance can be, at the very least, greatly reduced." He paused for a moment, glancing away from the Medic just long enough to take another note on his clipboard. "Being stuck in here is rather unpleasant business, I know," he continued. "Usually we'd keep you sedated, but, your body is rather sensitive to drugs at this time. Hopefully it won't take much longer, though – I could put on a record for you, if you'd like." "What did you do to me?" Fleischer asked, his voice little more than a panicked whisper. Tears stung at his eyes and they were blinked away by – by something – not his eyelids. They were clear, and blinked the wrong direction, and he was sure he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a few blood vessels. They – whatever they were – vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Doctor Davis just gave another warm, relaxed smile. He was tense, though – tense and excited. It was barely enough to notice, but, there nonetheless. "We are improving you, Doctor Fleischer. There was nothing wrong with you, by any means. Quite the opposite, you are a remarkably healthy and resilient individual; a survivor, like I said." Fleischer said nothing. His mind was racing and so, if the beeping of a nearby EKG was any indication, was his heart. He forced himself to breathe a little slower, as difficult as that was. All he was capable of doing, however, was waiting for Isaac to continue. He did continue, too, his voice still at least mostly calm. "The human body is so frail as it is, and I'm afraid that genetics didn't deal me a winning hand," he said, gesturing to his leg with a somewhat sad half-smile. "We'd be extinct without our big brains," Isaac stated. "What else do we have? We have no sharp teeth, or claws, or venom. Our strength and even our senses are paltry in comparison to many of the lower life forms. We're finally in a position to make some improvements – something more controlled and more immediate than selective breeding could ever manage." Silence was all that Fleischer offered in return. He still didn't fully understand what his reason was for being there. Oh, there were a number of extremely unpleasant implications, but there wasn't any single one that he could focus on or pin down – and he wasn't sure he wanted to. "You have made remarkable progress," Isaac stated with no small measure of pride – pride that seemed to be directed at the Medic. "I know things are very difficult now, but, you've long since survived what we've estimated to be the riskiest part of the procedure." "What do you mean?" Fleischer finally asked, as much as it made his throat ache to talk. "The infusion," Isaac said. "Between a course of drugs and a few minor alterations to your Respawn data, your immune system was quite thoroughly suppressed. Don't worry, we had it working again very promptly – after making a few changes. It would have been very inconvenient for us and very unpleasant for you if your body had tried to reject itself." "'Itself'..?" Fleischer finally managed, his voice wavering. Not a graft, or a transplant, but, 'itself'. The older man gave a small, indulgent smile at that. "Yes, itself. I'm not a butcher, Doctor Fleischer – cutting and stitching and replacing is so inexact. The goals of transplants and grafts are lofty, and admirable, but, they aren't meant to last. They never fully integrate into a new body; they are a placeholder for something better." The Medic continued to say nothing. The truth was he could barely even think, let alone speak. He just closed his eyes tightly, again, and tried to hold back another sob, and wound up starting, just a little, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "We'll be taking blood samples from time to time," Isaac stated. "The trend, as of now, is that you are slowly stabilizing. Once it's prudent to do so, we will return you to your room. Hopefully, it will only be a couple of hours or so." The older man paused for a moment before adding, "I know it would be difficult for you to do so, but I would still recommend getting some sleep. You need it." Fleischer knew he needed sleep – and, badly. He could barely doze off most nights and – and how many of those times where he'd slipped off quickly had he just been drugged? They couldn't have possibly just gotten him from the shower to – to wherever he was now – without drugging him, could they? He wanted to know, and he didn't. He knew he needed to sleep – wanted to get some rest – but, it wasn't safe to do so. Then again, when would it be safe? The only answer Fleischer could come up with was 'never'. The League wouldn't let him go free. He had been confined to his room. Nobody would even explain what exactly was being done to him, or why. He was helpless – utterly helpless to do anything other than sit and stew and wait in confusion and terror. Any choices he was offered were honored, but insignificant. Any modicum of trust he'd desperately felt for anyone had been misplaced. He almost wondered if, perhaps, he was still dead, and this was some sort of special, karmic hell. Fleischer tried, finally, to at least get a look around the room. The strap over his forehead, however, ensured that he was only afforded a view of the lights, and the ceiling tile. He could hear people talking – only small talk, though, nothing that would reveal what was going on. There was also the steady, if accelerated, beeping of the EKG, and pages turning as someone flipped through a book, or files, or something. The sound of a door opening and someone entering the room gained Fleischer's immediate attention. The man – and he knew that's what the visitor was, somehow – exchanged a quick greeting with Isaac. They didn't say much of consequence before they both started to approach the table, one of them carrying something heavy that jangled a little as they walked. Whatever it was, it was placed on some surface not far from his head, which quickly had Fleischer's heart going faster, again. Isaac stepped into view, but his guest remained out of sight. The object the man had brought with him must have been a case, given the sound of metal latches being opened. "Doctor Fleischer," Isaac started, a warm, genial smile forming on his face, "this is Doctor Kelly. He's our resident ophthalmologist – he's going to run just a few brief tests to assess your vision. I realize you're in a somewhat awkward position for this, but, I know you'll perform to the best of your abilities, so, the results shouldn't be too skewed." Doctor Kelly was nervous. Fleischer could tell before the man even stepped into view. When he did, though, it was immediately apparent that Kelly was considerably younger than Isaac was, and the man spent what felt like a very long moment just staring down at him. Isaac gave the man a somewhat pointed look, for that. "Doctor, if you would be so kind," he said, his voice calm, and quiet, and, somehow, demanding. It did snap the ophthalmologist out of his less-than-professional focus on Fleischer. "Right," he said, "sorry. It is going to be a little awkward like this," he continued, glancing to Isaac, just out of sight, "with him in this position, I mean. I can't do a full exam, but, a basic assessment should be of at least some help." The all-too-familiar eye charts were brought out and stuck to the overhead lights. The lights were dimmed for the time being, at least, so that Fleischer could stand to look in their general direction for any length of time. It was standard fare – rows of numbers and letters in decreasing size from top to bottom. They were all painfully easy to read. Even the smallest rows were sharp and clear enough that each digit was simple to distinguish. Doctor Kelly kept looking at him, though – staring in what seemed to be nervous fascination. "His results have improved fifty percent since his entry exam," he stated, apparently addressing Isaac, rather than his patient – despite where he was still looking. He picked up an ophthalmoscope, then, and leaned in far too close for Fleischer's liking. Then again, eye exams always wound up with another doctor far too close for the man's liking. It didn't help that the light seemed so much brighter than it usually did. "Pupil response is normal…" Kelly said, trailing off a moment and frowning, just a little, before adding, "I think. I can't make out any blood vessels – but, I can't get a good angle with the light, the tapetum lucidum keeps blocking my view." Fleischer frowned at that. That particular piece of anatomy didn't exist in humans. Either Kelly was a very bad eye doctor, or far more had changed than his teeth and nails. He was still frowning just a little when Kelly moved to his other eye and, really, the man was still far, far too close for his liking, and he was obviously nervous and the whole situation, really, was putting the Medic on edge. Doctor Kelly must not have been able to get a good look, because he wound up using his gloved thumb and forefinger to try to gently pry his eyelids open a little further. No sooner had that contact been made than that transparent thing slid over Fleischer's eye. It seemed to startle both men equally, though. "Ah… a functional nictitating membrane," the man said, with equal parts fascination and surprise. He took a moment to apparently study it before adding, "could you open it? It's going to obstruct my view a little, otherwise." There was a part of Fleischer that would have delighted in closing his eyes altogether just to spite the man. He thought better of it, though – he was strapped to a table and, really, there was nothing keeping either of the other doctors from just making him open his eyes. Try as he might, though, he found it very difficult to get that membrane to move, at all. Doctor Kelly gave a thoughtful hum at that. "I'm going to have to move it – don't worry, I'll be very careful." No sooner had the gloved tip of a finger lightly touched against that transparent eyelid than Fleischer bared his teeth and let out a low, rattling growl. It was an almost entirely inhuman sound – one that caused the other doctor to jerk his hand back with a little gasp. Fleischer could tell it had frightened the man – it had frightened him, too. "Just give him a moment," Isaac said, still off somewhere, out of sight. "There's no need to rush." It did take a few moments for Fleischer to calm down just a little – enough, at least, for his eye to be looked at. He couldn't help but notice that Doctor Kelly was a lot more tentative about it than he had been the last time. He had mixed feelings about the exam being over, though. Doctor Kelly felt nonthreatening in a way that Isaac couldn't seem to manage. Fleischer could actually feel himself tense up just a little when the man left. "I am sorry about that," Isaac said, stepping back into view with his ever-present clipboard in his hands, and a small, apologetic smile on his face. "Doctor Kelly is very good, but, his timing tends to be a little sporadic on occasion. Now, is there anything we can get you that would help you sleep? The saline drip seems to be keeping you hydrated, but, there must be something else…" Fleischer knew what would have helped him sleep – an ounce of safety, or even the hope of safety. He wound up just turning his eyes away from the older man, at least as much as he could. He wanted nothing to do with him – nothing to do with any of this, whatever 'this' was. "We could get you some music to listen to." Isaac suggested. "We can get a record player – some headphones. Something quiet, maybe, like Mozart, or Chopin?" "Chopin," Fleischer finally said in reply, giving a hard swallow after he did so. Chopin was his favorite – had been for as long as he could remember. He didn't like the idea of not being able to hear what was going on around him – but, he also didn't like the idea of being able to hear what was going on around him. He quickly reminded himself that it didn't matter – that he was only allowed to hear or see anything at the pleasure of his captors. Then again, he was only allowed to even eat at their mercy. Isaac offered a warm smile – an expression completely opposite of his patient's rather dark thoughts. "Nurse Hayes will see to it that you're taken care of, then," he said, before once again stepping out of view. Hayes wasn't long, either. She was soon standing next to the table with a pair of headphones. They were a lot less bulky than the ones Fleischer remembered having at Well for radio communications. Hayes was careful about putting them on, making sure they were adjusted properly, and smiling faintly the whole time. There was still something disarming about that smile, as much as Fleischer hated to admit it. He said nothing, though – only offered a little nod when Hayes lifted one of the earpieces just enough to ask if he was comfortable. The nod was a lie, of course, as much as he desperately wanted it to be the truth. There was also a very stubborn part of him that refused to be easily swayed into sleeping. He was too tired to listen to it for very long, though. Sleeping was so much easier.
Oh my underagelike-squeeing gosh. I was reading this and thinking, “Okay, well this doesn’t seem too bad.†As I continued my brain was racing, “He’s decaying from the inside out? Tenta- no wait. That’s impossible. Is it? It IS.â€
I feel the absolute need to gush over this story every time you update. It just makes me endlessly happy. Please continue. Your updating schedule is glorious, too.
Thanks again for the kind words. I would also appreciate any critique anyone might have. The chan used to be famous for it, and, it's my goal to improve. By the way, don't get too used to the updating schedule, I'm going to run out of pre-typed stuff, soon. __________ There were few things that felt quite as nice as the luxury of a warm bath. It was quiet, and peaceful, and one of the few places where Fleischer could ever truly feel himself relax. He didn't remember getting in – but, that made a little sense, if he had been tired enough to actually fall asleep in the bath. The water was still warm, though. That was a pleasant change, really. Usually if he fell asleep in a bath (and, it didn't happen often) he wound up waking because the water had gone cold. He quickly tried to remember whether or not he had put Lukas to bed before he had gotten in the bath. Lukas was gone, though. That was a rather cold jolt back to reality – to the present – and Fleischer quickly snapped his eyes open. The bath, at least, was real – real, and something he hadn't been afforded since the war had ended. Space, after all, had been at a premium both at Well and, of course, at the labor camp. That was a thought that just made him feel a little more ill than he had, already. The realization of where he was and what had happened came crashing down on him, and it made his stomach turn. He had just enough time to lean over the side of the tub, over the toilet, before he started to retch. It seemed to hurt infinitely worse on an empty stomach. All there was to produce was bile, but his body gave a few more shuddering heaves before giving up. Fleischer wanted nothing more than to just collapse back into the hot water, but, he forced the rest of himself out of the bath so he could go to the sink, and rinse his mouth out. It was difficult – he was still shaking a little, and when he spit, he couldn't help but be reminded of the fact that a tooth had wound up going down the drain last time. That was an image he tried to push out of his mind. He tried, instead, to just focus on rinsing the taste of bile out of his mouth. Once the taste was gone – mostly gone – Fleischer rinsed his face off, and looked up, and very nearly retched again. He stared into the mirror for a very long time, in disbelief that the face he was seeing was his own. It looked almost the same, but, his teeth came to sharp points, and his canines looked a little longer than they should. His eyes were worse, though. The pupils were entirely wrong, not circles, but oblong, horizontal lines. The rest almost looked normal, until he leaned closer. The whites of his eyes were a pale, almost silvery blue, and only served as a backdrop for a multitude of uneven dots that were almost the blue, and almost in the position, that his irises had been. He raised a hand to touch his face, to find out if what he was seeing was real, and quickly froze. Claws. There were claws on his hands – or, at least, that was the only word he could find to describe them. They were almost where his nails should have been, and they only stuck out maybe half an inch past each finger, but, they were pointed, and sharp, and very slightly curved, and entirely wrong. /"Please, no…"/ Fleischer whispered in his native tongue. /"Please, no. Please, no. Please, no,"/ he repeated, backing up until his back hit the cold tile wall. He flinched and even cried out at the sudden, unpleasant sensation, and his legs very nearly gave out beneath him. The Medic stood there for a long moment, trying to look anywhere but the mirror, before draining the bath, and leaving the room to put some clothes on. His skin was still damp, and his clothes soon were, too and, really, he couldn't bring himself to care. The feeling just didn't irritate him the way it should have. There was food on the table – fried fish, still steaming hot. Fleischer wasn't hungry, though. Just the thought of eating made him sick. His body needed a meal, he knew – but, he just couldn't stomach the thought of what might be in it. He couldn't eat. It wasn't safe. It wasn't safe to drink the water, either, or probably even breathe. Everything he needed to live was potentially drugged. Fleischer could feel his heart racing, and his chest heaving, and hopelessness quickly turned to rage. He grabbed the desk chair – the only piece of furniture that wasn't bolted down – and slammed it into the window. There was a loud crack on the first swing, and the second broke a leg off of the wooden chair. The window didn't give, didn't chip or crack, and that just infuriated Fleischer even more. He kept swinging, as hard as he could manage and, one by one, the rest of the legs broke off of the chair. He raised his hands to swing again, but wound up stopping, and just letting them fall back to his sides. It was almost painfully quiet. The only sounds were that of the quiet ventilation, and his own ragged breathing. Fleischer gave a hard swallow, and all but collapsed onto the edge of the bed. He sat silently, staring at the broken remains of the chair, and fearfully wondering what had caused him to so suddenly and so profoundly lose control. What was the point? Of course the window wouldn't break – they wouldn't have allowed him to have something he could break it with, after all. He did have the feeling, however, that the chair would soon be replaced. He did not know, however, whether they were going to allow him to remain conscious or unrestrained if or when they did so. Fleischer wound up just staring back at the window – at the frosted glass, and the light shining through it. There was something there, in those warm, bright beams – motes of something that shimmered faintly – something familiar that seemed to vanish as soon as he noticed it. Surely it couldn't be dust – the place had been kept spotlessly clean, as any medical facility should be. He squinted his eyes (tried not to think about how they looked) and saw those little motes of shimmering something, again, but only for a brief instant. It was almost as though the harder he looked, the harder it was to see those glittering particles. Fleischer gave the broken chair a small, frustrated kick, before all but collapsing to sit on the edge of the bed. Something would happen, he knew. Someone would enter the room, or he would be drugged, or God knew what else. It was the waiting that was killing him – knowing that something was going to happen, but, not knowing when. The absence of a clock of any kind did not help matters. He knew he wasn't going to eat his fish, though. Fleischer stared at the plate for a few long moments. He was hungry, but, he wanted to at least feel like he could be in control of something. The fish had long since gone cold when the intercom finally crackled to life and Nurse Hayes walked in, accompanied by a pair of guards. The guards, however, seemed to be there to replace the chair, and remove its broken counterpart. Hayes, on the other hand, offered Fleischer a small, remarkably convincing smile. "How are you feeling, Doctor Fleischer?" She was given no response. Fleischer kept his eyes on the floor, and didn't even offer her a 'hello'. As terrified as he was of being alone – as alone as he felt – he had to stop himself from squirming uncomfortably in the mere presence of one of Isaac's lackeys. "Doctor Fleischer," she continued, her voice still calm, and sweet, "why didn't you eat your dinner? You must be hungry." There was, once again, no response. Fleischer realized he was being somewhat rude by not answering the nurse's question, but, the response should have been fairly obvious. He knew his body needed the food, but, he felt sick from the stress – and, it was something he could control. It was something he could refuse, for the time being, at least. "It's gotten cold," Hayes noted, sounding entirely innocent. "I can get you something fresh and hot. You really do need to eat." "No," Fleischer hissed, an entirely inhuman sound that managed to startle even him. It seemed to startle the nurse, too. She still had that sweet smile on her face, but, there was something about her posture, and – and something else – that told her patient that she had been surprised, and in a somewhat frightened way. He also couldn't help but notice that, despite the chair having been replaced, the guards were still there. He was surrounded. The realization sent a chill through Fleischer, and drew a low, quiet, inhuman growl from deep in his chest. It made the guards nervous, too – which made their captive feel just the smallest sense of satisfaction. In truth, it frightened Fleischer, as well. His anatomy had been changed – had been fundamentally altered. He could do things and had things that a human being shouldn't. Was he even a human being, anymore? "I'll have something nice and hot brought in for you, Doctor Fleischer," the nurse said, still smiling, as she picked up the still-full plate of fish. She didn't say another word before turning and leaving, flanked by the guards. The airlock closed behind them.
Even though you said that your updating will slow down in the future, and even though that depressed me greatly, I would honestly wait patiently for any form of update from this story- I really love it. Brilliant update!
Brilliant. Absolutely... brilliant. Going to go ahead and beg for an update here. Yes, yes, I'll wait patiently. Formulating my own ideas in the meantime. But at the same time... please?
>>25 >>26 Well, it's nice to see that I at least have a couple of enthusiastic readers. I have a lot more typed, but, for the moment I'll just post this short segment. _______________________ Fleischer hadn't eaten – had refused to eat – for nearly three days. He felt all of the unpleasant effects of it, too; the painful gnawing in his stomach, the near-constant feeling of lethargy, headaches. He wondered, sometimes, if hunger was the cause of it all, or if some of it was being caused by internal changes to his anatomy. The former Medic's outward appearance, at least, had not changed any further – not that he could see, at least. It was the thought of unseen changes to his organs that worried him the most. His captors must have been worried, or curious, as well, judging by the faint scent of something in the air. Fleischer tracked it to one of the vents, and given the slightly bitter smell in the air pouring out he knew exactly what was happening. He quickly moved away from the vent – retreated to the bathroom and locked the door behind. It would only delay the inevitable, he knew, but, it was something. It was some small defiance, as much as, in the end, it would fail. Fleischer remained where he was, curled up in a bath tub, shivering despite the warm water, as he waited for the sedative gas to reach him. It didn't take long for that slightly bitter scent to reach him – and then to grow stronger. It was childish, he knew, but, he tried to hold his breath. He couldn't do it forever, though, and his first desperate gasp for air doomed him. His lips and fingers started to go numb, and a tingling sensation washed over his skin. "Nein," he murmured, curling up into as tight a ball as he could manage. "Nein, nein, nein." His voice grew weaker with each word until it trailed off completely. He didn't have the strength to speak. His entire body felt heavy – loose, in a word. He tried to catch himself as he fell back, and he only just felt his fingers brush over the edge of the tub before everything went black. There were still things happening, though. Occasionally, Fleischer would hear, or smell, or feel, or even see something; brief flashes of tiles passing overhead, a light, entirely too bright, shining down on him. There were visions – rhythmic beeping, and the bright light, and the smell of antiseptic. There was a sharp pain, and the brief flash of an unfamiliar face. They were over so quickly that Fleischer couldn't even tell whether or not they were real. They didn't seem like dreams, though – those brief flashes. They seemed far too real; that face, the beeping, the lights, the feeling of the skin on his abdomen being slowly, carefully parted. They all faded in and out. Fleischer felt like he was in a dark room with a single light, and someone kept turning it on and off, and it was never quite bright enough to get a view of his surroundings. That didn't last, though. Eventually the light in Fleischer's head turned back on – albeit dimly. It stayed on, though. It was enough for him to see the bright lights overhead, and to realize, slowly, that he was back on an operating table. He felt like he was in one piece. That was when the pain started. It was a deep, dull ache, at first. Fleischer's awareness sharpened as the pain did. He could make out the blurry image of the operating room, and the white blobs of lab coats, and the beeping of the EKG growing more and more erratic. He could feel his chest heaving, and something was stuck down his throat, and he tried futilely to cough it out. There were voices – quick, and sharp, and nervous. Fleischer saw and felt the beam of a Medigun being trained on him. There was an immediate reaction – a sharp twisting pain in his belly. There was something else very wrong, as well; it felt like things were moving, as though his guts were full of lethargic snakes. He couldn't piece any sentences together, but, Fleischer did keep hearing the words, "too fast," sometimes by familiar voices, and sometimes by people unknown. The pain was rapidly getting worse, and Fleischer, despite the futility of his situation, at least tried to thrash and fight against his restraints in an agonized panic. "…too fast." They were the last words, the last anything, that he heard before everything faded away, soft, and calm, and white.
No. Medic. You must make it. Or I will just sit here languishing at my computer like an idiot. Yeah. So I really like that last part. I feel like I can't critique because I can't write to begin with and also, I get wrapped up and can't stop with your work. One major thing is you tend to get run on sentences. I find you using 'and' then 'but' in the same sentence. It's also with commas, I have a feeling you're using a bit too many of them. So just grammar sentence structure.
>>28 Thank you for point the comma thing out to me. On occasion I have paused to think about the comma really needs to go there. As for run-on sentences, I'm always afraid of making them too short, and I admit I keep forgetting that sentences look much shorter on my word processor than they do on the chan. Thank you for the crits! There might be further run-ons and 'too much comma' in the already-typed segments, but, I will definitely keep the crits in mind for the as of yet unwritten parts. ______________________ White. Everything was so peaceful – the nothingness was peaceful. It was short-lived though. That white became very real and very harsh, then black, again, as Fleischer squeezed his eyes shut against the too-bright lights. Each desperate, heaving breath was accompanied by a sound very much like a whine. Fleischer's tongue kept wanting to stick to the roof of his mouth, and his throat was dry and sore.. There was also the pain – the ache that existed everywhere, completely inescapable. An attempt to stand up was quickly halted. Fleischer's legs didn't feel right – didn't respond – and any effort to move them resulted in unfamiliar pushes and pulls against his waist. He finally forced his eyes open long enough to look down, and see what was wrong with his legs… …they were gone. There was something there, though – writhing, and squirming, and moving more frantically the more panicked he became. Tentacles. Bright yellow tentacles, mottled with dark, almost purple blotches. It was the rings that stuck out the most, though – blue, and almost seeming to glow and shimmer in the light. Fleischer couldn't manage a "nein," as the doors to the Respawn room opened, and Isaac stepped in with his bodyguards. All he could do, much to his shame, was break down into hoarse sobs, tightly closing his eyes, again. Even with his eyes closed, he knew that the men were drawing closer. He could hear their cautious footsteps on the tiles, and – and he could sense their nervousness. He wasn't sure how, but, he knew they were tense – and it made Fleischer even more tightly wound. The more tightly wound he became, the more those – those tentacles moved; they curled, and slithered, and their suckers gripped tightly to whichever patch of floor or wall they came into contact with, first. Unable to stand up, unable to move from his corner, Fleischer did finally open his eyes, again. The guards, four in all, had drawn much closer. Two of them were closer than the others, holding tranquilizer pistols, and trying (and failing) not to gawk at the sight before them. Fleischer's own gaze was drawn briefly downward, again – at the place around his waist where slimy, bright yellow flesh faded into mostly human skin – at the blue rings that seemed to shimmer, and even shift, larger and smaller, seemingly of their own accord. Those rings became very bright, indeed when one of the guards took a step closer, and raised his pistol. It wasn't just the rings that reacted to Fleischer's terror, though. One of those boneless limbs struck out, and wrapped around the guard's legs. The man fired, of course, and Fleischer gave a sharp hiss at the sting in his side where the dart stuck. The sting also triggered the suckers of that grasping tentacle to grip down tightly on the guard's legs. Fleischer could distinctly feel what must have been the texture of the fabric covering the guard's legs. It wasn't long before a few coils of tentacle were wrapped around the limbs, and pulled even tighter. Fleischer was trying to fight the effects of the sedatives, but he could feel himself growing weak. There was a satisfying crack, though – the sound of one of the guard's legs breaking, before the man's colleagues finally managed to pry the clinging tentacle away. The drugs worked quickly – far faster than Fleischer ever would have expected. He felt himself starting to slump back, and tried to catch himself. The sharp tips of his claws just dragged uselessly down the tiles on the wall, and he was left lying on his side in a graceless heap. He could see two of the guards leave – the one with the broken leg, and his comrade, helping to steady him. There were still the other two guards, though, along with Isaac. The clicking of the man's pen to write a note on his ever-present clipboard would have been infuriating if Fleischer's mind hadn't felt so warm and cloudy. Fleischer couldn't find it within himself to resist or even want to resist as he was lifted up, and he couldn't remember when the gurney had been rolled into Respawn. He could feel something, though – odd sensations below his waist as his not-legs were lifted and gathered up so they wouldn't drag on the floor. Lights passed by overhead, and there was a pleasant, low hum that seemed to undulate, and occasionally pause – talking? The rows of lights were soon replaced by one, bright enough to make Fleischer squeeze his eyes shut. He gave a half-hearted groan of displeasure, both at the light and the fact that his tongue kept wanting to stick to the roof of his mouth. Someone must have asked him something, changes in the pitch and tone of that pleasant thrum – and, he must have replied. He could feel his lips moving, but, he couldn't quite make out the words. His unintelligible request was granted, though. His head was propped up, and he felt something cool and wet pass over his lips, and between his teeth, and he greedily swallowed every drop. Fleischer could feel his chest rise and fall in a sigh of relief, and his throat stopped feeling quite so tight. Something else was slipped past his lips, though, and wedged between his teeth, and he coughed and almost gagged when he felt something decidedly less soothing than water being pushed down his throat. There was that thrumming, again. It very nearly sounded like voices. Fleischer couldn't make out what they were saying, but, it seemed as though they were talking to him. The voices were calming, and almost succeeded in distracting him from a pinch in the crook of his elbow. The voices – everything – soon faded away.
You're killing me. This is an amazing story, and even though >>26 said that you had some run-on sentences (and I do agree) I felt that they help with the 'feel' of the story. I think it adds to the hurry- the rush of information that both Fleischer and the reader are forced to endure. As always- amazing updates. This story makes me happy. I also find it to be a little unsettling- in a good way, I assure you.
>>30 Thank you, anon. And, you're absolutely right. Run-on sentences, and the occasional short-clipped paragraphs are a stylistic thing for me. I absolutely hate pulling the "It's my ~style~" card after lambasting it so many times, myself, but... it's my style. There, I said it - please don't grab the pitchforks and torches, haha... What I like to shoot for in most of my fics is mood. I want the reader to feel as relaxed, or tense, or frantic as the narrator does, so, I write him/her as such. Still, there are errors in there, I know - so, please, crit away, channers!
Longer chapter, incoming! ___________ The voices were back. They started out quiet, and almost soothing, but they very quickly gained a volume and clarity that couldn't be ignored. "Good morning, Doctor Fleischer," not voices – one voice… Isaac's… and, through the intercom, given the faint static. Fleischer only gave an inarticulate groan in reply. He had had the most vivid, terrible nightmare, and he was exhausted. His muscles were slow to respond, and he must have slept at some odd angle because his legs felt odd. Perhaps it was because he had fallen asleep in the bathtub, again. He had been doing that a lot, lately – but, his skin had gotten so sensitive to the dry air, and it positively itched if he let it get too dehydrated. "Doctor Fleischer," the voice returned, gently insistent. "I want you to look down. Do it slowly, and, please try to remain calm. We can fix this." Look down? Fix what? A sense of dread started to well up in the man, and he couldn't ignore a cold prickling up the back of his neck. He forced his eyes back open, and slowly looked down. Tentacles. It hadn't been a nightmare – not a figment of his imagination, at least. No. Maybe he was still asleep – still caught in some horrible dream. It felt real, though – the tug and push and pull of the boneless limbs as they moved, and the feeling of lukewarm water sliding over slime-coated skin. The blond realized that he had been holding his breath, and the moment he did, it felt like he couldn't breathe. "Doctor Fleischer, please calm down," the intercom crackled. The command, gentle though it was, was ignored. Fleischer found himself breathing faster, gasping and gulping, and his heart started racing impossibly fast. Even his heartbeat felt wrong – there were too many beats, and some of them felt like they were coming from the wrong place, and he had tentacles, and everything was wrong. He very suddenly felt very sick when he saw the tentacles, again – bright yellow, with their shimmering blue rings, creeping up the tile wall, and draped over the edge of the bathtub. His eyes snapped shut, and he was left trying to swallow back the bile, and just breathe. Even that didn't feel right, though; it caused a faint pulling at his sides, along his ribs, and his mouth and throat were dry, and, he just kept breathing faster. It was only as the edges of his vision started to dim that he felt a small hand gently touch his shoulder. It still startled him a little – just enough to get him to snap his eyes open and try to see who was there. "Doctor Fleischer?" Nurse Hayes said. She sounded concerned, and was even kneeling next to the bathtub. There was something in her voice, and her posture; she was nervous. Fleischer only stared at her, his breathing gradually slowing down to something approaching normal. That is, he stared until he remembered his eyes. He quickly looked away – turned his attention to a patch of tile wall not occupied by a tentacle. "Doctor Fleischer, it's okay," the nurse insisted. There was a nigh-imperceptible shake in her voice, and in her touch, but, there was something sincere in her words. The Medic's breathing did finally calm, and it was only then that he could force himself to turn his head and look at the woman. He couldn't imagine that he looked any less a monster than he had before the tentacles.. To Hayes's credit, though, she didn't back away. She offered a small, sympathetic smile, even, along with a gentle squeeze to her patient's shoulder. "It's okay," she repeated, with that little smile back on her face. "Doctor Davis is already working on how to get you back to normal." Fleischer couldn't help but wonder if by 'normal', Isaac meant the state he had been in before – before whatever it was that they had done – or after. He had the sinking feeling that it was the latter. Why undo all of their 'work', after all. "This was… an accident," Hayes started to explain. "Doctor Davis didn't mean for this to happen. Something went wrong, and he's going to do his best to fix it. Alright?" she added, offering yet another little smile. That smile – every word – it was all sincere. Fleischer just knew it somehow, and he couldn't explain how he knew, but, he did. "Please," he started, and, the word felt odd on his tongue. "Change me back," he pleaded, having pushed any remaining shred of dignity back, for the moment. Tears started to well in his eyes, and those transparent lids quickly blinked them away. "Please…" "Doctor Fleischer…" the nurse trailed off for a moment, and seemed to bite back a sigh. "Doctor Davis is the one in charge," she continued, managing a faint smile. "He's working on changing you back – though, it may take awhile." How long was 'awhile'? Days? Weeks? What if it was impossible? What if he was stuck – stuck as a freak of nature – nothing more than a scientific curiosity, something that shouldn't even exist? Fleischer gave a hard swallow, and finally lost his battle to keep tears from falling from his eyes, blinked away by a piece of anatomy that a human being shouldn't even have. The action prompted another gentle squeeze on the shoulder by Nurse Hayes, along with another little smile. "It's going to be alright," she said, the way a mother might talk to a child who'd skinned their knee. "Doctor Davis said he's hoping it will only take a few days to get this sorted out." It was a lie. Fleischer could tell by the tone of the nurse's voice, and the subtle changes in her expression, and – and something else. It was probably a lie with the best of intentions, but, it did little to comfort the Medic. He felt like he was going to break down into sobs, again, and he didn't need Hayes there to see it. "Please," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, and more than a little shaky. "Please, just… just go." The nurse finally did let out a small sigh at that. She seemed disappointed – and maybe just slightly hurt. "I'll be back later with something for you to eat," she said, offering a faint smile before standing, and turning to leave. Fleischer couldn't help but feel a little guilty – but, he didn't try to stop the nurse as she left. She'd be back later – she'd said so, even. He was quietly glad that she had left, though; it meant she wasn't around to see him finally break down into sobs. He was struck by the occasional hiccup, which was painful enough without the sharp, tightening sensation he felt down his sides, along his ribs, with each one. He let himself sink into the tub as much as he could, given the tight space, and tried his best not to pay any attention to the tentacles. It was a fruitless endeavor – they kept moving, and he could feel them, and he wished they would just stop. The boneless limbs seemed to respond to the thought, growing very suddenly still – until Fleischer could no longer concentrate on telling them to remain unmoving, anymore. It seemed like hours had passed by the time Fleischer had finally discovered how to get his tentacles (as much as he didn't like to think of them as 'his') to move when and how he wanted them – sort of. Their color had even changed, fading to a dull yellow-brown with a few dark splotches. The rings had squeezed shut, and their bright, iridescent blue was nowhere to be seen. Sinking further into the tub had finally explained why the blond's sides felt so strange – gills. Submerging them had caused them (nigh-imperceptible slits, when above the surface) to open, and gently fan the water. Fleischer hadn't been particularly pleased when he'd caught sight of them – caught site of the dark, delicate-looking tissue attached to the undersides of the flaps of skin. Gills weren't something that humans had. Humans didn't have claws, or sharp teeth, or tentacles, either. The intercom suddenly crackled to life, signaling Nurse Hayes' return. "Doctor Fleischer?" she said as she stepped into the main room. She placed something – a tray, maybe – on the table in front of the couch. It sounded like a tray, at least; and, it smelled like there was food on it. Fleischer didn't answer, though. The food smelled good, but, he wasn't hungry. "Doctor Fleischer? I'm coming in," she added, her voice still gentle. Fleischer could tell she was nervous before she even opened the door – he could tell she was nervous even without being able to see her through the shower curtain. His tentacles, apparently picking up on some subconscious desire to hide, pulled up and behind that curtain, squeezing into the bathtub as best they could. Given the lack of bones, they were able to pack into the relatively small space with surprising ease. "Doctor Fleischer," the nurse said, again, standing just outside of the curtain, but not opening it, just yet. "You need to eat something, doctor. You must be hungry, it's been over three days." "I am not hungry," Fleischer retorted, trying to ignore the fact that his tentacles were growing brighter, again. Hayes, somehow, managed to stay – or at least sound – upbeat. "I brought you weisswurst with some bread and mustard, doctor. It's very good – still hot, too." The only response from Fleischer was silence. His stomach tightened rather painfully at the thought of good food – of how hungry his body was, no matter how much he tried to deny it. He felt weak, and exhausted, and, for the moment, still defiant enough to repeat, "I'm not hungry." "Doctor Fleischer…." Hayes said in a sympathetic tone. "They're not going to let you go without eating for much longer." No, they wouldn't. They wanted their precious specimen alive. Fleischer knew they would be more than willing to just shove a tube down his throat and make him eat, if it came to that. He couldn't bring himself to care, though. For the moment, he could exercise some sort of control, no matter how fleeting. "No thank you," he said, making some small attempt to be polite, in the face of what he knew would be disappointment from Nurse Hayes. He could sense that disappointment, too – the moment that her mood deflated. With every inhale, he could tell that she was worried, and still just a little nervous – and, why wouldn't she be? She gave only a small, somewhat defeated sigh in return. "I'll bring your dinner in and leave it on the counter," she said, before quietly walking out. She returned, of course – soft footfalls quickly followed by the sound of the tray being placed near the sink. "Please eat, Doctor Fleischer," she said, before finally turning to leave. Fleischer didn't stop her, and it wasn't long before he heard the sound of the airlock opening, and then closing, again. He was left in the bathroom with only his meal, and being in the same room made the aroma almost overpowering. The smell made his stomach twist, reminding him again of just how hungry he was. He didn't budge, though. He wasn't sure he could make it out of the tub and to his dinner even if he did want to, for all his tentacles were cooperating. Fleischer was determined to remain defiant, though – for as long as he could, at least. Hayes was right, though – they weren't going to leave him alone forever. One additional day of fasting after Fleischer's refused meal of weisswurst was all that his 'caretakers' were willing to put up with. He was greeted, soon enough, not with the scent of food – but, the bitter smell of anesthetic .
I've decided to try to give myself a name - a name just for this story so I can properly reply to it. I mean, I'm like, a few of the anons in here, but...er - anyways... It's gorgeous, wonderful - Nothing short of absolutely outstandingly amazing. Your writing style is stunning in that I really feel 'sucked in' and placed in Fleischer's position. Incredible, really, I love your writing, and I adore this story. I can't write worth anything, so I'm sorry I can't offer up any critique outside basic editing, like when you used 'site' instead of 'sight' (caught site of the dark, delicate-looking tissue attached to the undersides of the flaps of skin. ) - but that didn't deter much from the story, so... I'll stop rambling. You're wonderful, this story is wonderful - please continue.
The captcha was 'modirc Engel,'. I am highly amused by this. >>33 You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I'm posting on the chan for crit and comments. I want to get better, and the chan was always such a good place for insightful comments and critiques. Also, here comes a long update! ______________________________ Floating felt so nice – that feeling of being warm, and weightless. It was one of the more pleasant dreams Fleischer had had as of late. Or was it another vision? It felt so real, lying on his back in the water, with his legs… not legs…. His eyes snapped open, and he winced at the bright lights overhead. He was awake, but, apparently hadn't just imagined floating. The pillow his head was resting on was comfortable, at least, but that didn't change the fact that he had tentacles instead of legs. And, those boneless limbs, it seemed, were floating free in the warm water – a small pool. The pillow rested on the edge of the pool, and Fleischer dared not move his head, in fear of sinking into the water and drowning. He knew he had gills, but not whether they functioned, and he didn't particularly feel like putting them to the test. His tentacles, it seemed, were doing some unconscious testing of their own – stretching out, and just barely unable to reach the other, deeper side of the pool, some twelve feet away. Fleischer hated that sight – hated the feeling, the push and pull of the muscular limbs pushing and pulling against his body in a way that his legs wouldn't have. They felt bizarre – far too many limbs, each seeming to move without any sort of command, idly gripping the surfaces in the pool, exploring, curling through the water. He could feel the way the water brushed over them. It felt almost nothing like the resistance to movement that the water would have provided his legs. Then again, his legs had been jointed, and not covered in slime. He couldn't help but nearly scowl at that. He didn't want to look at the things, or even think about the fact that they were there. Fleischer finally turned over, onto his front, so that he could take a look at his new surroundings. The room was almost nothing like the 'apartment' he had been in. His desk, at least, had been brought in, complete with record player, and pushed back against one of the walls. There wasn't any other furniture, though, barring a pair of chairs and a small table placed a few feet away from the edge of the pool. The pool itself was, naturally, the room's centerpiece. Fleischer didn't like the look of things at all. The walls were painted a soothing cream color, and the floor tiles were a light tan instead of stark white. There were a number of frosted glass windows set into the walls, letting in their warm, artificial sunlight. It still didn't feel cozy, though – it felt clinical. Things had definitely not changed for the better. He also couldn't help but notice that he no longer felt quite so hungry. If anything, he felt as though he'd eaten a full meal. The very thought of the fact that he had been force-fed caused a low, quiet growl to rumble in his chest. It was a sound he quickly silenced. It had seemed so automatic, though – like some new instinct. A new instinct. That could only mean that his brain had been altered, as well, and Fleischer didn't like the thought of that in the slightest. He wasn't surprised, though. His senses had been heightened, and a change in the structure and chemistry of his brain had no doubt been required for that. That was what terrified Fleischer the most – not the tentacles, not the teeth, or the claws – the fact that Davis could alter his brain. The man could alter the very way he thought, and behaved. He felt like nothing so much as a pawn, being moved around the genetic chessboard at Isaac's whim. He idly smoothed his hair down, a force of habit made more difficult by the addition of claws. Fleischer gave a faint hiss when one of those claws caught the slightly pointed tip of an ear – another new change. At least he hadn't managed to draw any blood. Each moment that passed had Fleischer sinking further and further into hopelessness. He finally just fell forward against his pillow, at least trying to hide the fact that he had tears welling in his eyes once more. He couldn't quite make himself pretend that those transparent third eyelids weren't there, blinking away the extra moisture. He had, at least, very nearly fallen asleep when the airlock opened with a hiss. Fleischer didn't lift his head right away – he wasn't even sure he had the energy. He could hear the footfalls, though; one person, too light to be Davis. Fleischer didn't budge, though, not even when he smelled food through the slightly damp fabric of the pillow. He could hear the tray, as well, as it was placed on the table. "Good morning, Doctor Fleischer," Hayes greeted, no doubt offering a cheerful smile. The Medic did lift his head at that – just a little – just enough to see that, yes, that small, sweet smile was on his nurse's face – and, that she was hiding something behind her back. He narrowed his eyes a little, and tried to lift himself up a little further, having to use his arms on the ledge of the pool as support. The meal – baked fish – went almost completely ignored by Fleischer, in favor of trying to see what the nurse was hiding. "I found out that some of your things were still in storage," Hayes said, his smile brightening just a little. "I did a little looking around and… I found something I thought you might want." Fleischer's attention was fixed on the nurse at that point. He could smell something – something that sparked a feeling of familiarity, and comfort. His eyes were riveted on the well-loved stuffed bear that was placed on the table, next to his tray. "Beschützer…" he murmured, the food entirely forgotten at that point. He didn't remember sending any sort of command to his tentacles, but, apparently wanting to move closer to the table was enough to coordinate them to the task. His body was damp, and he hesitated a moment to make sure his hands were dry before gently picking the stuffed toy up. A little bit of dampness, he hoped, wouldn't ruin it, and he finally hugged it close to his chest as fresh tears welled up in his eyes. "Was it yours..?" the nurse asked gently after a few moments, quietly having a seat in one of the chairs. Fleischer said nothing, at first, just hugging onto Beschützer – onto an object of steadfast comfort. "It was my son's," he finally said. It was all he had left of the boy. He and his mother had fled from a broken home, and he had no idea where they were or, given the passage of time, if they were even still alive. Regardless, Sofia and Lukas were far out of reach, and the thought was enough that he could no longer hold back a sniffle, or keep the tears from rolling down his cheeks. It was all Fleischer could do to not break down into sobs, and he started just a little when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," Hayes said. Her posture, her expression, and her scent all pointed to the statement being genuine. She even left her chair to kneel next to the edge of the pool. Fleischer didn't think twice about leaning forward, and felt some small sense of relief when Hayes let him rest his head against her shoulder. He finally broke down into sobs when he felt an arm curl around him, and a hand rest on his back. There was a silent discomfort in the back of his mind at the thought of the nurse seeing and feeling the scars that covered his back. It was, however, a rather petty worry compared to the fact that he didn't seem to be the slightest bit human from the waist down. It was only after a very long moment of just holding onto her patient that Hayes spoke. "Doctor Fleischer, your food is getting cold," she stated gently. "Please eat. There's nothing in it, I promise." The Medic could tell she was being honest – could sense it – and gave another sniffle and a small nod before finally pulling back, and giving a little nod. Hayes looked relieved, and offered another small smile before pulling back, as well. She pulled one of the chairs around, closer to Fleischer. Fleischer, however, was having considerable difficulty even lifting himself out of the pool. He hesitated a long moment before offering the stuffed toy to Hayes so she could place it on the table, before using his hands to try and pull himself up. He managed, clumsily, to get himself out of the pool, and offered his nurse a quiet, rather embarrassed 'thank you' when she helped pull him up onto one of the chairs. Once he was seated, he couldn't help but notice that his tentacles, once again, seemed to have a mind of their own. They explored the floor tiles, and a few of them even curled lightly against the legs of the table or the chair. Fleischer's face went rather pink, and he offered an apology, when one of the limbs decided to curl lightly around one of the nurse's ankles. "It's okay," Hayes insisted, offering a little smile. It took just a little bit of coaxing, but, she did manage to gently unwind the limb, letting it curl around one of the chair's legs, instead. "The fish is very good, Doctor Fleischer. I had some of it, myself, earlier." It certainly smelled good. It smelled delicious, even – enough to make Fleischer realize that he craved what was on his plate. He was glad to see that he had been afforded cutlery – some small sign that he wasn't viewed as an animal; not yet, at least. Granted, it was awkward at best trying to hold onto a fork with claws at the tips of his fingers. He also felt awkward, once again, eating in front of Hayes when she didn't have a meal of her own. "It's fine, Doctor Fleischer," she stated. "I ate my own meal just before coming in." Eating was difficult. Between his claws and his teeth (trying not to show those sharp points) Fleischer was at least somewhat awkward in just getting the food from the plate to his mouth. Once the food was in his mouth, he was reminded that there was something wrong with his tongue – that it was too prehensile, and too tapered at the end. He was almost glad that he didn't know for sure what it looked like. The food was safe to eat, at least. Fleischer wasn't entirely sure how he knew – it just tasted – it just smelled… right. It wasn't long before every flake had been eaten, either. "Doctor Davis requested that I perform a brief exam," Hayes stated, once her patient had finished his food. She offered a small, sympathetic smile. "It shouldn't take very long, I promise." Fleischer knew that Isaac was more than a little thorough. If the man was settling for a brief exam, now, that was just a sign that he had probably performed considerably more invasive exams before moving him to his new room. It would explain all of the visions he had had – the bright lights, the blurred figures, the distant feeling of cutting. He couldn't help but shiver at the memory. "Is everything alright?" Hayes asked, apparently having noticed the motion. It was a ridiculous question – but, it was one that any good physician would have asked of their patient. "I'm fine," Fleischer insisted, wincing just a little when he realized that the nurse had, at some point, put on a pair of latex gloves. She had said it would only be a brief exam – but, he suddenly found himself hoping she would stay just a little longer, if only just to talk. The exam was short, though – a brief check for any outward signs of degradation. Fleischer did his best to cooperate with his nurse as she checked his eyes, and teeth, ears, and the place where smooth, slimy flesh started to blend into human skin. She listened to his heart – his hearts. There were three in all, and Fleischer wasn't sure that he wanted to know if Hayes had seen them, herself, or not. She felt along his ribs, too, and wound up eliciting a quick, sharp, involuntary growl, and the appearance of bright blue rings, when she touched the man's tightly-closed gills. Hayes started at the sound, and quickly pulled her hands away. "Sorry," she murmured, suddenly looking and smelling of fear. Fleischer offered a quiet, very embarrassed apology in return. His gills were more sensitive than he had realized – even closed. He hadn't meant to frighten Hayes, though. He had been more surprised than anything. "It's okay," she insisted, offering another smile. The fear scent was still there – but, at least it was fading. "Maybe… if you submerge them? I only need to see them open – that way I wouldn't have to touch." Fleischer gave a small, sheepish nod in reply and managed, with a little help from Hayes, to unwind his tentacles from the table and chair, and slip back into the shallow end of his pool. As soon as he was chest-deep in the water – as soon as those slits were submerged – his gills opened just enough to lightly, lazily fan the water. Hayes knelt next to the pool and leaned forward just enough to get a look at the dark, feathery, red-purple tissue that was exposed every time the man's gills opened. She made a note on his file, and gave a small nod. "Alright, one last thing," she said. "If I could just see one of your tentacles." Fleischer couldn't help but noticed that she hadn't paused before saying the word. She hadn't hesitated – hadn't stuttered, as though she was talking about something freakish and abnormal. He was quietly very relieved for that. It meant she still saw him as a human being or, at the very least, a person. The tentacles were a problem, though. More specifically, getting them to cooperate was a problem. It was hard for Fleischer to command limbs that he still didn't see as his – that he still didn't fully accept were part of his own body. It took a great deal of concentration to finally lift one of the appendages out of the water, and into the nurse's reach. She was very careful, too, not so much grasping the limb so much as cradling the end of it in one hand. Hayes did gently run her thumb over a few of the suckers, and was quickly apologized to when a few of them insisted on clinging lightly to her hand. It wasn't long before she was giving a small chuckle as the suction cups liberated her glove from her hand. "It's alright," the nurse assured Fleischer, before he had the chance to apologize. "They have quite the grip. And, they seem to have a mind of their own." That was no joke. Fleischer managed, at the very least, to get that tentacle to cooperate for the rest of the exam. His lower half even faded back to that dull yellow-brown – no more blue rings. He felt a little calmer than he did when the nurse wasn't around. Hayes, if she was aware, didn't say anything. She just offered a little smile as she finished up the exam. "Everything appears to be just fine," she stated with a little nod. 'Just fine.' Fleischer had gills, and sharp teeth, and mutated eyes, and claws, and tentacles, and he was 'just fine'. The choice of words was, no doubt, an attempt to soften the blow – a nice way of saying that he wasn't physically coming apart. Mentally, on the other hand… "Doctor Fleischer," the nurse started, thankfully interrupting her patient's unpleasant train of thought. "Is there anything I can get you? I could put a record on, or get a book from the desk." It was an offer for something to do, at least – something to do that wasn't simply sitting, and stewing, and slowly going mad. "Chopin, if you please," Fleischer finally said, giving a little nod, "and a copy of Faust, if there is one." Hayes gave a nod in reply, standing up, and placing Beschützer near the edge of the pool before starting to walk away. The stuffed bear was almost immediately the center of Fleischer's attention. He wanted to hug it close, but, he was soaked, and afraid to damage it. He could only look, for the moment, then – look and remember. Beschützer had been the only thing left of his son when Fleischer had returned home that Christmas Eve. 'That Christmas Eve' had been decades ago. It was still sharp in the doctor's mind, though – the crunch of snow under his boots, the clouded sky, the way his breath had fogged in the cold air. He had known he was returning to a broken home, but… but, he hadn't realized just how badly his uncle had made it in his absence. Fleischer, not for the first time, found himself spiraling into a flurry of what-ifs. What if he had fought back against Gunar sooner? What if he had packed Sofia and Lukas up, and simply gone before his uncle had hit the boy? What if he had had the strength to do something to stand up to Gunar before it had been too late? It had been too late, though. It was too late – Sofia was gone. Lukas was gone. Only a stuffed, well-loved vestige remained.
This is so good, poor Fleischer.
>>35 Thank you! I think I'm going to start spacing my chapters out more, though. I want to give more people a chance to read what's already up before I dump another deluge of text on here.
Big fan of Comorbidity and Bad Medicine, extremely happy to see you continue writing. Question about Sofia: I thought Fleischer didn't like her? And even though it's not likely to ever happen, I'm curious to know how the remainder of BLU team's doing during Fleischer's 13 year absence.
>>37 Thanks for reading! And, I actually wound up starting a reboot of Fleischer's history so he's better characterized and more developed and interesting. I'm not posting it to the chan because there's no TF2 content in it, it's all back-story. You can find it here, though. http://figment.com/books/258723-Bedside-Manner
>>38 Glorious.
Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Captcha, I'm sorry, but I can't type the Greek alphabet.
>>39 >>40 Flattery will get you everywhere. _________ Fleischer's meal was drugged. He hadn't even taken the first bite of his stew, but, he could tell by the faint, bitter smell that it was drugged. It had been the first time he'd caught wind of that bitter scent since he had been moved to the pool three days before, and this time it was not Nurse Hayes, but Doctor Davis that sat across the table from him, flanked by two guards. Beschützer, displaced by a meal, and the two men on the chairs, was resting on the desk across the room. Fleischer had moved it there the moment he had heard Davis over the intercom – he didn't want the man near it. "Doctor Fleischer," Isaac started, "you haven't even picked up your spoon." The man sounded concerned and, given his posture, his expression, and his scent, it was at least a half-truth. "I'm not hungry," Fleischer quickly replied. Or, at least, he wasn't hungry for sedatives, and a trip to the operating room; he was still haunted by the visions from a few days back. He didn't need any fresh ones. Just having heard Isaac over the intercom had been enough to make his tentacles go yellow, and now, 'sitting' across from the man, those bright blue rings had revealed themselves, as well. The sound of Davis clicking his pen to make a note on his patient file was enough to draw a low, quiet growl from Fleischer. Davis looked up briefly when he heard the sound, and his guards both placed their hands on the holsters of their tranquilizer pistols. The older doctor, however, went right back to writing what was apparently only a short note. "Doctor Fleischer," he started once more, looking away from his clipboard and back to his patient. "It is imperative that we conduct an exam in order for us to repair you." 'Repair.' Not 'mend', or 'heal', or 'treat'…. but, 'repair', as though he was nothing more than a toy for Davis to play with. Fleischer gave another, louder growl at that. It was an unconscious action, but one he did not consciously try to stop or soften. One of the guards drew his pistol, and Davis quickly, quietly, ordered him to put it away. "Doctor Fleischer," he continued, "these examinations are absolutely necessary, and it is for your benefit that we provide sedation. I don't want things to be unnecessarily unpleasant for you," he added, offering a small smile. The smile was 'off', as it always was – just like the words were 'off', and Davis, as a whole, was 'off'. Something dark and primal quickly welled up in Fleischer and, before he could stop himself, he had all but lunged across the table to grab Davis by the arms, knocking the bowl of stew onto the tiled floor in the process. At the same time, a few of his tentacles whipped forward under the table to grab hold of the older man's legs. The guards didn't give their captive the chance to do any real harm, though. Two darts were fired, and both of them pierced into the man's chest. Fleischer felt the effects almost immediately – two sharp stings followed by a difficulty in keeping any kind of grip on Davis. It wasn't long before he released the man entirely, and had slumped back into his chair. The room was beginning to warp and blur, and he could only just make sense of a voice. "We need to get him out of here, quickly," Davis stated – was it Davis? "Two darts might be too much." Everything after that faded into a low, intermittent buzz – voices that could be heard, but not understood, and a pleasant, slowly pulsating hum. The sound was broken only briefly by a quiet clank, and Fleischer rather suddenly realized that he was being moved, and placed on… on something. The lights passed overhead, once more, only to eventually be blotted out by a single, much brighter one overhead. There were more voices, then – more buzzing. A few light touches were followed by intermittent, faded beeping sounds. There was a distant sort of pain – a pinch – before everything went warm, and calm, and black.
....captcha had the word 'specimens' in it. How fitting. I couldn't stand to leave this all alone with such a short update - have some more! ______________________________ Doctor Davis had tripled his guard since the attack. Six armed guards flanked the old doctor as he took a seat across the table from Fleischer. Usually, the sound of Chopin would have been playing in the background, but, the record player had been confiscated as punishment for attacking Davis a second time. He had nearly broken the man in half. "Doctor Fleischer," Isaac started, placing his ever-present clipboard on the table. "It seems that we are making headway on getting you fixed up." The man smiled – that same, proud smile he nearly always gave his 'patient'. "As I'm sure you can imagine, your Respawn code is very complex, but, we're narrowing down the problem data that cause…" he trailed off, gesturing lightly to Fleischer, "this." Fleischer didn't detect any inherent disgust in Isaac's tone. It was clear, however, that the man saw him as a scientific curiosity – as something that had gone fascinatingly wrong. "Why are you doing this?" he questioned, barely able to suppress a low growl. It had slowly become more and more difficult to be polite – it took increasingly more concentration. Doctor Davis chuckled. The question clearly amused him. "Doctor Fleischer, we went over this weeks ago," he said. "We're improving you – we are making a stronger, faster, more able human being. And, what better place to start than someone who was already strong, fast, and able?" Davis's patient barely heard the 'compliment.' His attention was on the cattle prods that some of the guards carried on their belts. Apparently their punitive measures were branching out. Fleischer's sensitivity to drugs had nearly put him through one Respawn cycle, already. Granted, he had apparently been in the operating room – from what he remembered, anyway… from what he wished he could forget. "Turn me back!" The words, accompanied by a rattling growl, spilled unbidden from Fleischer's lips. The way the guards tensed up and reached for their prods wasn't lost on him, and he remained in his seat – for the moment, at least. "We're working on it, Doctor Fleischer," Isaac said, far too casually. "Nein!" Fleischer snapped in return. "Turn me back to the way I was!," he demanded. "The way I was before you dragged me here from Well!" Even Davis tensed up a little at Fleischer's reaction – though he seemed relieved that the man hadn't lunged across the table, again. "That would be even more difficult than what we are already trying to accomplish, Doctor Fleischer," he stated, matter-of-factly, frowning slightly when he received another growl in return. "Now," he started, again, "there are a few other League scientists that have expressed a great deal of interest in you regarding separate projects. Interest in you as you are now, that is." Fleischer could see where this was going, and he didn't like it in the slightest. His hearts, all three of them, were hammering in his chest, and every last muscle in his body felt painfully tense. "I hope you will behave yourself," Davis started, again, "when they come in to see you. Some of them may want to take photographs, or do a brief examination. Any attempts to kill, attack, or otherwise hinder them will be fruitless, as they are all in the Respawn system. You will also be punished. Do you understand?" The younger doctor gave a quiet, defeated nod at that. He wondered if Nurse Hayes' absence over the past week was some sort of punishment, too. The nurse was the only living source of comfort he had come across in his prison. "Good," Isaac stated, giving a much more curt nod in reply. "I will be supervising them, of course. Most of them I trust well enough, but, I would rather not chance any of them getting too… enthusiastic. We will return shortly," he added, before grabbing his cane and standing up. Fleischer was relieved when Isaac and his 'protection' had left. It gave him some illusion of privacy. It meant he could make his way over to the desk (and, 'walking' was still a very awkward affair, at beast), and to Beschützer. He didn't care if there were cameras watching, and, he didn't care if his tentacles were starting to get uncomfortably dry, he simply picked the stuffed bear up and held it tightly to his chest. It didn't quite succeed in keeping tears from welling in his eyes, though, and it wasn't long before he had broken into sobs. It was only several minutes later, after the intercom had crackled to life, again, that Fleischer reluctantly left Beschützer on the desk, and returned to his pool. He slipped into the deep end so he could completely submerge himself, holding his breath for the few seconds it took to rehydrate his skin, and hide the tear streaks on his face. When he surfaced, again, Isaac and his guards were walking in through the airlock – along with nearly a dozen other League scientists, including another Medic, in their white coats. Most of Davis's guests were obviously curious, and only stepped closer when he insisted that they would be safe. The Medic, on the other hand – a stern-looking woman with graying hair – remained behind, looking more displeased than anything else. Fleischer wasn't quite sure what to make of her, but his attention was quickly drawn to Davis and his other colleagues. Almost all of them had files with them, attached to clipboards, and the familiar clicking of pens as Davis answered their questions was almost enough to make the man's patient go mad. The female Medic remained behind the others, taking a few notes of her own, and looking more and more disapproving with each passing minute. She was quickly forgotten, however, when Fleischer was briefly blinded by the flash of a camera. It startled him enough to elicit a faint growl that had some of the scientists backing away from the edge of the pool. It was the first camera flash of many. It was too much – too much light, too much talking, too many scents, too much noise. The last straw was one of the men not so much asking to see one of Fleischer's tentacles as simply grabbing one that had curled over the ledge of the pool. A warning from Davis was too late to keep his colleague from being yanked into the pool by three more of the boneless limbs. The man fought back, of course, which meant that both he and Fleischer were quickly submerged. The thrashing of arms and legs, and the muffled screams from the scientist only caused the tentacles around him to tighten. Without even consciously thinking about it, Fleischer lunged forward through the water, and his sharp teeth sank easily into his victim's shoulder. It was only after the man had gone limp that Fleischer realized something. He was breathing – he was breathing the water as easily as though he was breathing air. It felt cold, and wet, and heavy in his throat, and he realized that his gills were lazily opening and closing with each breath. He wasn't given much time to think about it, though, before the scientist tangled up in his tentacles disappeared, picked up by the Respawn system. Fleischer remained submerged – crawled to the furthest, deepest corner of his pool to put any amount of distance that he could between himself and the panicked scientists. The one he killed had left his scents in the water – blood and panic. They were scents that kept Fleischer tense, and hiding, and wishing that the alarmed, noisy people up above would just leave. Eventually the voices were winnowed down to two – Isaac, and a woman – probably the female Medic. A few moments later, everything went quiet. It was only after the silence had fallen that Fleischer finally risked sticking his head out of the pool. All of the people were gone. Their scents remained – the scents of fear, and antiseptic, and, below it all, them. There were other things missing, too. The desk, along with all its books, was missing… and, "Beschützer…" All that remained was the table and its two chairs. Fleischer rushed, albeit very clumsily, to where the desk, and the bear, had been. They were gone. It was gone. "Nein," he murmured to himself. "Nein, nein, nein," it was gone – it was gone, it had been taken, and, to where? The man started a little when he heard the crackle of the intercom coming to life. "Your things will be returned," Isaac's voice began, "when you've proven that you can behave yourself. I admit that Doctor Kent was more… 'handsy'… than I had approved, but your reaction was unacceptable." It had all happened so quickly, though. Fleischer hadn't even thought about it – hadn't had the time to think, his body had simply reacted. "Please…" how pathetic , reduced to begging over a stuffed toy. It was Beschützer, though, and Fleischer would have done nearly anything to get it back. There was a long period of silence before Davis finally spoke, again. "I believe we have your code repaired," he stated. "Myself and the technicians are going to go over it a few more times. In two days, we will put you through a Respawn cycle, and see if the code alterations work. If you can behave that long, then you will get your things back." Fleischer didn't say anything for several moments. 'If you can behave'. He wasn't entirely sure of whether he would be able to be on his best behavior, especially if Davis decided to wheel his colleagues in, again. The changes that the man had wrought had brought something animalistic, and primal, and reactive from the back Fleischer's mind – and, he couldn't always control it. "Alright," the Medic finally replied, rather meekly. The best he could do, at the rate things were going, was try.
Aah, absolutely wonderful. I was having such a rough day today, and it made me endlessly happy to see that you updated with such a lovely chapter. Again though, you leave off at a wicked cliffhanger. Meeaaannn.
Flattery most certainly DOES get us everywhere. In that case: The brilliance has been continued! Rejoice! Oh... it's funny - until now... well, perhaps it's my own slightly-twisted psychology, but I haven't really pitied Fleischer until just now. I mean, it's all been sort of... I don't know. Alright. Yes, he has tentacles (tentamedic = equally brilliant), but that's supposedly fixable, so it's not as traumatic as it could be. But for some reason, the loss of Beschützer struck a chord in me that Fleischer's sprouting tentacles simply did not. The abundance of tentaspy fics appears to be dehumanizing me. That being said: On with the brilliance!
>>43 >>44 Sorry guys, I'm afraid this chapter continues a trend of me being mean. _______________________ Two days seemed to go by almost painfully slow. Two days of quiet – of no record player, and no books, and no Beschützer. All that Fleischer had to do was circle in his little pool – to pace, and to stew over everything that had happened, and was going to happen. He was going to die. Not permanently, perhaps – but, when the gurney was wheeled into the room, flanked by Davis and his six guards, he knew exactly where he was going. He knew exactly what was going to happen. He also knew what would happen if he didn't cooperate. Fleischer pulled himself out of the pool. His tentacles splayed across the floor, as much as he tried to get them to exert some downward force so he could 'stand'. His legs, when he had them, had aided in making him quite tall. He wasn't used to people looking down on him – not physically, at least. Two of the guards stepped forward to help him up. They received a growl in response, and quickly backed away. Fleischer still had some small shred of pride, and he wanted to keep it, even if it amounted to all but clawing his way up onto the gurney. He at least had enough control over his tentacles that he could wind them around the gurney's supports, instead of letting them drag the floor. "It will be quick," Doctor Davis said, walking next to the stretcher as it was wheeled into the airlock. "I'm sure you're aware of what potassium chloride does when injected into a human body. If I recall the reports correctly, that was your drug of choice in your syringe gun." Yes, Fleischer knew exactly what potassium chloride did to a human body. He had used it a number of times on and off the field of battle to snuff out the lives of his fellow man. He had never imagined he'd be on the receiving end. Perhaps, he thought, not for the first time, this really was some sort of karmic hell. He cooperated, though. He remained lying on his back, sharply aware of the white lights and the tiles passing overhead. For the very first time, Fleischer got a good look at the operating room as they entered it. It was only just outside the airlock, probably for easy access. The very thought made him shudder. The room was nothing but stark white tiles and gleaming stainless steel. It was completely immaculate. There were X-rays up on the light boards and. One plate showed a skull with teeth that that were far too sharp. Another showed a pelvis that almost could have been human, but wasn't quite right. Fleischer knew they were his, and quickly looked away, not wanting to see the other plates – not wanting to see what he'd become. Instead, he focused on forcing his tentacles to release the gurney, so he could be moved to the operating table. It felt freezing cold against his back, but that wasn't the only reason he shivered. He couldn't stop himself from trembling as the guards started to fasten the leather restraints over his upper body. There was no point in resisting. If he resisted they would shoot him, and he would Respawn. If he didn't resist, they would give him the potassium chloride and he would Respawn. Fleischer laid there quietly, his hearts pounding, and his tentacles (unable to be strapped down, much to Davis's fascination and disappointment) curling tightly around the supports of the table. Fleischer jumped a little when Davis offered him a little pat on the shoulder. It was a sick sort of comfort, the Medic thought, for a patient the man was about to kill. He couldn't turn his head to see, but, he could hear the quiet sound of a syringe being uncapped, and the needle piercing the membrane over the top of a vial. He did catch just a brief glimpse of the syringe as Davis approached him. The syringe had been filled to the brim, and the needle was at least ten centimeters long. That was no shock, given its contents. The leads of an EKG were carefully positioned on Fleischer's body. He wasn't surprised at how quickly his heart – his hearts – were beating, and how fast, in turn, the machine was beeping. The chill of alcohol being wiped over his chest made Fleischer shiver all the more; it seemed a pointless gesture – protecting against infection when he was going to die, anyway. "Breathe in deeply and hold it, please," Davis said. It was an easy enough command to follow. Fleischer was practically holding his breath, already. He grimaced when he felt the needle sink into his chest. It went far deeper, slipping between his ribs before piercing his heart – his main heart. The stab of the needle was almost unbearable. The pain as the syringe's contents were injected, though, was enough to make Fleischer feel as though every muscle in his body was tightening. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and down his left arm. He gritted his teeth and let out an agonized, inarticulate groan. The beeps of the EKG began to blend into a high-pitched screech. The sound was unbearable. The pain was unbearable. The bright light overhead was unbearable. Fleischer's hearts were faltering, and he could feel every erratic, struggling beat. It wasn't long before the bright lights faded, consumed by calm, merciful black.
I was NOT expecting an update today. Oh my gosh, this particular chapter had me all tense. I imagine that's the way you intended for it to be read - you're absolutely fantastic with 'controlling' the emotions of your audience, Bad Medicine. Do continue.
Oh wow. I cannot ramble about the brilliance of this any longer. I have been reduced to... wow. Just plain wow. That's really the only word that works here. This is... this is excellent. This made my day. And yet... wow. You have a talent.
Incoming chapter. By the way, just so you folks know, the story's finished - I'm just taking my sweet time posting. _______________________ Fleischer sat quietly on the desk chair in his 'apartment' with a painfully neutral expression on his face. He opened his mouth when Davis told him to, and didn't resist as his upper lip was pushed back for a proper inspection of his teeth. They were still mostly human, barring the sharp points that adorned their cusps. "Mouth looks good," Doctor Davis said, clicking his pen to take a note. Fleischer had grown to hate that sound. The click of the pen seemed to be sharper each time. He didn't bother looking at the notes that Davis was taking. He had seen himself in the mirror – he had seen the sharp points, and the almost purple color his gums, and tongue, and the inside of his mouth in general had gained. He had seen the faintly blue tinge his lips had taken on, as though he was some kind of drowning victim. At least he had been able to actually stand in front of the mirror on his own two feet. At least he didn't have gills, or tentacles. His eyes were the same, though – strange, almost alien, really. They were, of course, checked by the older doctor, as well. Those third eyelids blinked, naturally, when the light was first shined into Fleischer's eyes. "Pupil response is normal," Davis said, clicking his pen to take another note. "Tapetum lucidum still present – reflecting blue," he added speaking his notes aloud as he jotted them down. Fleischer swore that he twitched, or maybe even flinched a little with each click of that pen. He didn't say a word about it. He simply followed Davis's commands. Things were easier that way. He remained silent as the older doctor listened to his hearts. Fleischer wondered if he had not been good enough to get all of his things back. His desk had been waiting for him when he was returned to his 'apartment', along with its books and journals. The record player was there, too, along with a selection of classical music. He had not, however, seen his son's bear. He hadn't seen it, but, he could smell it. He could smell where it had been placed on the desk just a few weeks before. It was a scent that taunted him. He hadn't seen Nurse Hayes, either – not since the day he'd pulled Doctor Kent into the pool and bitten him. The pen clicked again. "Hearts sound strong and steady," Doctor Davis said, "as does your breathing." He smiled, then – smiled like a parent who had just learned that their child had received high marks on their homework. "Let's have a look at your hands." Fleischer couldn't help but fidget just a little at that. He didn't like looking at his hands. He didn't like seeing the short, sharp claws that tipped his fingers. He raised his hands anyway, offering them up for Isaac to see. The pen clicked again. "They're starting to get just a little too long," Davis murmured as he jotted down another note. "I'll send someone in later today to file them down, a little. Now, your feet." The order was followed silently. Fleischer lifted up one foot, then the other, to be inspected. His toes, unlike his fingers, had not developed claws. Apparently that was satisfactory. The pen clicked again. Davis smiled at Fleischer once more, that same proud, almost patronizing smile. "Everything checks out, Nicklaus." Not 'Doctor Fleischer'. It had happened slowly – and it had started with Fleischer's Respawn three weeks before. It had been 'Doctor', at first, and then 'Mister', and now… The pen clicked again. "Do not growl at me, Nicklaus," Davis said, almost casually, not even looking up from his notes. "That isn't polite." Had he growled? Fleischer didn't remember. His body looked mostly normal, but, his brain remained altered, at least slightly. There were still urges and instincts – things that manipulated his actions beyond his conscious control. They were frightening. "Sorry," Fleischer murmured, his tone just as flat and lifeless as his expression. The pen clicked again. This time, it was clamped back onto the older man's clipboard. "That will be all, then," Davis said, offering a little nod. "We'll be drawing blood again, tomorrow, as well as a new venom sample. Your dinner will be along in just a couple of hours." Fleischer felt a small sense of relief when the older man and his guards had left. He wasn't looking forward to dinner. Not consciously, at least. His meals had grown increasingly raw. Lunch had been a fresh, gutted fish. There was a part of his brain that had craved it – that had bypassed table manners, and the use of cutlery. He had devoured everything but the bones. Davis had told him his digestive system could handle it. "There's quite an advantage," the older man had assured him. "You can eat these things without getting sick. You don't have to spend the time or energy to cook anything." Less energy pulled from a base's power grid, a better ability to survive on what could be found if what was supplied ran out. Fleischer didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about much of anything, really. Davis's plans for him kept rolling around in his head, though – plans that stretched at least months into the future. "We'll have to do intensive studies. We'll be recording data for months! Years, maybe!" He'd even clicked his pen, again, and Fleischer flinched at the sound, imagined though it was. He collapsed into his bed. At least the sheets didn't stick to and dry out his skin the way they had, before. He didn't care, though. It was getting hard for Fleischer to care about much of anything. He had gone through almost every book and journal in the desk. He had listened to the records a dozen times. He had felt no joy in doing so, either. It was difficult to find any joy in a life that wasn't his own. It might as well have belonged to Davis, at least – the old doctor could control what happened to his 'patient', and when. He controlled his living space, and his food supply, and the very genetic makeup of his body. Doctor Davis had also made Beschützer disappear, and Fleischer had no idea when or if the man intended to give it back. In the absence of the bear, Fleischer hugged his pillow tightly to his chest. It was a poor substitute, but, it was the best he could do. We pulled the covers over himself and tried to go to sleep. He had no idea what time it was, but, the artificial light that usually shone through the frosted window had gone dark which meant it was time to sleep, according to his captors. Fleischer wanted to sleep so badly. He wanted to fade into that warm, calm nothing, but it seemed as though Davis controlled even his dreams. Fleischer had been haunted by blurred and warped visions of the operating room, and voices he usually couldn't make any sense of. They had started to appear even when he was awake. The backs of his eyelids were like a movie screen, playing back the sights, and fear, and pain whenever he allowed them to stay closed for too long. Fleischer's nose caught the bitter scent of anesthetic in the air, slowly growing thicker. He didn't resist it. There was no point in resisting. He could only hold his breath for so long, and the guards would be in to collect him once the air had cleared. The pillow was hugged just a little closer to Fleischer's chest. He didn't fight the anesthetic. It at least afforded him a temporary sense of calm, as though everything was right with the world. It was fleeting, he knew. It would usher him to the visions of the operating room and back, again. There was no stopping it, though – so, he simply let it take him.
Man, he's getting put through the wringer. But to what end?
I just realized that I read this fanfic every night before I go to bed. It's quite literally my favourite on the chan, and in general, too. I really wish I could offer up better compliments. I freakin' love this story.
>>49 Oh, you'll see... you'll see... >>50 It's really nice to know that I've at least got a couple of people interested in this thing. I would love it if more people were willing to leave critique - that's what used to make the chan great, and I want to continue to improve my writing. Alas.... this is the end. ______________________________________ Fleischer slowly blinked his eyes. It was hard to force them open – to wake from his drugged sleep. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been dragged to the operating room in the last several weeks. He didn't want to, either. His days had been set into a routine that never seemed to change. Wake up, exercise, take a shower, eat breakfast, and brush his teeth. The days were starting to blend together, and he was utterly helpless to stop them. Even his meals were starting to lose variety – raw or barely-cooked meat. Fleischer had surrendered his meals to the part of his brain that craved the way they were being served. Fleischer had received a blank journal from Doctor Davis a few weeks ago, to 'write his thoughts in.' It was entirely possible that it was the younger doctor's only solace. Writing and sketching on its pages were a reminder that he could still think, and had served as a useful, if fleeting distraction from the position he was in. He sat up, and thumbed slowly through its pages – through his worries, and his confessions. He had admitted to countless sins through ink and paper, all written meticulously in his mother tongue. Fleischer had sometimes, upon waking, caught the scent of someone else on his journal. Davis's scent was there, of course. It was light, though, as though he had barely handled it. There was another scent, though; the unfamiliar scent of someone who had doubtlessly gone through each page. There was surely nothing worth noting in the journal's pages that the League didn't already know about. Fleischer knew they were aware of his 'employment' by the Reich. They probably knew exactly what his rank had been, and which camp he had been stationed at. Fleischer had spilled much more personal matters onto its pages, though. He'd had such a clear dream as a child; growing up to be a great doctor, like his grandfather. He'd dreamed of healing the sick and mending the injured. Instead he'd let a frightened horse back a hops-laden cart over his father and grandfather. He'd let them die, and he'd let his uncle take over his life. He'd let the man cow him into the joining the Reich. He hadn't been there to stop the man from hitting his son, and driving Lukas and Sofia away. He had dreamed of improving the human condition, and instead he'd worked in a prestigious hospital under a government that ordered sterilizations, and euthanasia. He had dreamed of saving lives, and instead, he'd murdered his uncle – but, only after he had allowed himself to be pushed into the Nazi Party by the man. Fleischer had seen the worst that human beings had to offer their fellow man, and he had taken part in it. He had prolonged the suffering of countless German citizens in that camp, and he had spent long days quarrying stone side-by-side with starving men in the brutal winters of Stalingrad. He had jumped at the job offer from the League – it would mean three square meals a day, a roof over his head, and even a salary. Fleischer hadn't been able to bring himself to complain about his treatment from the League since his fateful Respawn. He had destroyed their hold at the Well base – of course they weren't going to return him to field duty. Perhaps, he thought, not for the first time, he was finally getting what he deserved. His dreams had drawn to an end long ago, and he didn't have the will to cling to the last remaining shreds any longer. He would live on, though. He would live on to be poked, and prodded, and thoroughly studied. Davis's proclamation that the genetic changes would likely increase his lifespan brought Fleischer no glee. He suddenly paused and looked down, only to realize that he had been idly writing as he had daydreamed. God, please forgive me. God, please forgive me. God, please forgive me. Nearly the entire page had been filled. The script had grown larger and more frantic as it moved from top to bottom. Fleischer stared at it for several minutes before closing the journal, and haphazardly tossing it back onto the desk. Usually he would start his morning exercises, but, he couldn't will himself to stand, or even to move. He finally started a little when he heard the sound of the airlock opening. Nobody ever came through the airlock without announcing themselves… …except, apparently, Nurse Hayes. Not just Nurse Hayes, either. "Beschützer…" Fleischer said, suddenly feeling frozen in place as he watched the nurse walk closer. "Good morning, Doctor Fleischer," she greeted, offering a small smile. She had a seat on the couch, and placed a covered tray – and the bear – on the coffee table. Hayes patted the cushion next to her. Fleischer hesitated a moment before finally closing the distance. He hadn't seen Hayes in months, and was almost as afraid to scare her away as he had been when he'd had tentacles. He finally took a seat next to her, and barely stopped himself from snatching up Beschützer. "I brought you some dinner, Doctor Fleischer." Hayes removed the lid from the tray, revealing a meal of well-marinated sauerbraten. It was the first cooked meal he'd seen in well over three months. Given the bittersweet smile on the nurse's face, he had the feeling it would also be his last. "Thank you," Fleischer finally whispered, unable to stop tears from welling in his eyes. For once, he did not offer an apology as he began to eat his meal, savoring every bite. It tasted just as wonderful as it smelled. It was gone all too quickly, though, and Hayes was thanked again as she handed over Beschützer. Fleischer hugged the bear close, and couldn't stop himself from sniffling. He didn't have the energy to sob, though. He didn't flinch, or draw away when he saw Nurse Hayes slip a pair of capped syringes out from her sleeve. "The Respawn system is offline today, for maintenance," she said, softly, offering another bittersweet smile as she uncapped one of the syringes. "Isaac and his staff are at a meeting." Fleischer managed another quiet, "thank you," before sniffling, again. He hugged Beschützer close to his chest with one arm, and offered the other to Hayes. He didn't flinch when the needle pierced the vein, nor when the plunger was depressed. The syringe, small though it was, had been filled to the top. Its contents were soon emptied into the Medic's bloodstream. Hayes offered him another small, gentle smile as she withdrew the needle, and pressed a cotton ball against the crook of Fleischer's elbow just long enough to stop the bleeding. Her patient's arm was soon freed up to wrap back around the bear. Fleischer didn't bother to try and guess what kind of drug was in the first syringe – or in the second, still capped and waiting on the table. His eyelids felt heavy, and so did the rest of him. He murmured a quiet thanks as Nurse Hayes drew him closer, so his head could rest on her shoulder. Things felt better that way – him hugging Beschützer, and the nurse hugging him. Fleischer could find nothing to worry about, no matter how hard he tried. His breathing was growing slow, and so was the beating of his hearts. It was of no consequence, though. Everything was peaceful in a way he'd never felt, before. Everything was warm, and white, and beautiful… "Rest well, Doctor Fleischer." One last, bittersweet smile pulled at Nurse Hayes' features as Fleischer's body went limp against hers with a slow, shuddering sigh.
Oh wow. Again, just... wow. So sad. And yet so... perfect. I have no critique to give, Bad Medicine. There is nothing I see that you could do better. Others might have other opinions, but really, I can sum this up with only one word: Brilliant. Never was one for bittersweet endings - I'm a sucker for the 'and they all lived happily ever after', myself... but this was too perfect. This is, without a doubt, my favorite story on the Chan. Thank you.
What a gorgeous end. I'm still crying a little. I can't help but try to tie this in to the story, "Johnny Got His Gun." I wish this were the ending to that book - however this is so much happier. The story as a whole is pure brilliance. I really enjoyed the implied passage of time between certain chapters, or certain events, where you as the reader naturally come up with your own thoughts and ideas to 'fill' the space. I also could really see this fic becoming a movie - it was written spectacularly well. A proper ending - perhaps not the 'happiest', but any other ending would have been utterly unfittingly happy. Thank you SO much for not having a 'happily ever after' ending (as stated by >>52 ) Honestly, this is my favourite fanfic. I swear to goodness that I will share this with every person I come into contact with. Thank you endlessly, Bad Medicine, for writing this.
>>53 Exactly. Happily ever after would just have been... not right for this story. As it is, it just couldn't get any more perfect. I could perfectly envision every moment as it happens, and the emotions of the characters are spot-on. The emotions induced in the reader, well... that was an even greater success.
That second syringe...was it for Hayes herself? Or did I somehow skip its use/purpose? Very amazing story, though.
Thanks again, guys. It's always good to know someone's reading, it helps give me the motivation to write. >>55 The first syringe was an overdose of sodium thiopental, which is a rapidly-acting anesthetic. The second syringe was potassium chloride, which stops the heart completely. From what I understand, potassium chloride injection is extremely painful, which is why they use a massive dose of sodium thiopental during executions to render the inmate unconscious for a 'humane' death.
I found myself rereading this over and over... and crying a bit more each time. This was just perfect. Hm... so I can watch Fleischer turn into a tentamedic and deal with all of the horror that comes with that, without batting an eye. But the moment Beschützer comes into play, I burst into tears. Go figure. But really, hat's off to you, Bad Medicine. Thank you.
I followed along, enjoying every minute of it, and I'm echoing the chorus of this being a good ending, and that being a better way to end it than a fake happy one. The body horror was done with a lot of skill, and I can tell you took your time to parse out everything - kudos for that. I absolutely loved how you made sure to talk about Fleischer's interactions with his changing body, and how that shifted his perception of the environment around him. Not a lot of tentacle writers mention that aspect of the changed state, and I was thrilled to see it here. Do you have an archive or central location for all your fic? I ask because you've written quite a bit, and I'd like to know a good place to start.
Aaaah! It's nice to feel the love! And, it's nice to know I've apparently improved! >>58 I have a tumblr (or t u m b l r if that word filter is still activated) where I store my fics. You'r have to start at the very back, though. Here's a link - just remove the asterisks! Just a warning, the further back you go, the worse the writing gets, and I'm planning on rebooting First Do No Harm and Comorbidity with much improved characterization. http://prescriptionfics.t*u*m*b*l*r.com/