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bowlerhatwearer · 1 year ago

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Giordano's departure

Warnings: TW: Medical Malpractice, TW: Medication abuse, TW: drug abuse, TW: Abuse of postion, TW: unlawful detention

Characters: Mellow Melon, Samuel Cottontail (mentioned), Commander Grizzly (mentioned), Giordano "Cannelloni" Castellani, Nutmeg Cinnamon, Blaise Owens (mentioned)

Originally Written: 18th May 2022

„Is it over?“

„I think, I think Nutmeg did it!”

“So, did anyone get a wish now or-“

“Will you shut up about your stupid wishes, be glad that we’re alive!”

His monitor was still rebooting, but fortunately, his audio input has already been turned on again.

Slowly his vision began to re-appear again, and the Surgeon found himself leaning against a wall of the base. Right on time he got the internal message that his voice was working again as well.

“Status report.”

“Hey, he’s still alive.”

“Status report immediately. Get me up, that’s an order!” he repeated, the last words being in an increasing and static sounding volume.

Three of the Wrath soldiers immediately started to pull him up, only now did the Surgeon realise that a small part of his screen appeared to be faulty, but well, the few loose wires could be repaired again soon. The rest of his body appeared to have survived the whole ordeal rather mild, with only a few outer scratches and his coat being partly shredded. Which could not be said about the surrounding area of the Wrath base.

Stone, concrete, metal, other rubble, trash, and items were scattered around everywhere, with the base having taken damage.

He needed to act professional, there was no time to use emotions, what now was important, were logic and reasons to act properly, so he decided for himself, that acting like the machine he was, was in this instance properly for the best, as good as he could.

For a moment he considered to evaluate the property damage, but his standard protocol reminded him, that he had to check on all, lifeforms first. He needed to estimation of the situation. Pointing at yet another soldier, who was holding his arm that appeared to be slightly cut.

“You, what is the status of those who had been present during the incident?”

“M-me, well, most are doing ok, but I think the General got, thrown through the window and the Commander-“

Upon hearing the word “Commander” the Surgeon grew more active, approaching the soldier who just informed him, staring at him with his monitor, as if he was about to interrogate him, his relationship with Commander Grizzly was cool, but if he was injured, he needed to know. Grabbing the soldier at the collar of their uniform, he needed to know now!

“Where is the Commander?!”

“O-over there.”

The soldiers voice sounded almost like a squeak of a mouse, even though they were a lion, it mattered not, the Surgeon was pointed into the direction he had to move and released the soldier.

How lucky, that despite the whole situation being such a mess, Commander Grizzly appeared to be completely unharmed, yet unconscious. The Surgeon knelt, and quickly began to examine the bear that was out cold, it was a blessing how he was built with a bunch of medical tools inside of him, to check the heart rate, blood pressure or oxygen saturation for example.

“No apparent external or internal injuries. Unconsciousness trough shock. Risks estimated minimal. Recommendation. Confinement to bed, observation of status, if unchanged for more than 30 minutes, further check up is required. The Commander should be fine.”

Once again, his claws pointed at four soldiers, who apparently had enough time for chit-chat than to do something. Ah well, they would work now.

“You over there, get a stretcher, bring the Commander to his room, and put him into bed, he needs rest and time to recover. Bring the stretcher back. That’s a medical order!”

Without any questions asked the four soldiers did so as they were told, giving a salute, before moving into the base quickly.

How he gave that order, it made him realize something.

The Commander was out cold and would need a while until he had recovered, the general was, so far, he has heard thrown trough the window during the incident, so he was either way injured as well, or death. Which brought up a question?

Who was there to lead?

He didn’t move, but he felt cold, which should not be possible, he was, after all a robot, even if only for half an hour or longer, this could be a disaster. Without a leader the Wrath was as useful as a headless ostrich! Running around in confusion, they would be like an ants nest without their queen! The memories, of the past began to resurface,

The day when Carlos Rojas got blown into pieces.

No! He could not allow for something like this, or similar to happen, fortunately, he, the other voices in his memory and main frame and all the experience and knowledge he had, where already coming to a logical conclusion what had to be done.

“Soldiers, gather around, be attentive and listen-“

In mere seconds the soldiers began to form a circle around him, good, they were occupied in listening to him, there was no room for any inflammatory thoughts.

“With commander R- Grizzly and general Cottontail both out of commission, there is the need for a temporary leader. The logical conclusion, for the outcome of this incident needs medical authority and attention, is for me to temporary take the mantel as leader of the Wrath, until Commander Grizzly has recovered, which should be in estimated, one, or, two, hours. Objections will not be tolerated and will be reported to the Commander personally. Disciplinary actions are to be expected, is that understood?” No one said, or dared to say anything, giving only a cough, however, when he raised his hand, the soldiers surrounded him stood in attention. So far so good.

“Bring the serious injured to the medical bay, those with slight injuries, seek medical attention, if you feel fit for work, return and help with the now ordered clean-up operation. Those who are without injury, start working. Slacking and pretending will not be tolerated!”

The circle disbanded and they did what he has ordered them to do.

No objections yet, internally he was glad that he only had to do this for a few hours, he was not suited to be leader material, even if the other voices and programming re-assured him that this was an emergency scenario that needed his expertise.

“Surgeon, Surgeon we need you, it’s Cannelloni!”

It was the sound of Nutmeg, the Wraths chef cook of the canteen.

Upon hearing the name of the Wraths assistant cook spoken by her, he could already feel how his ventilation system increased, with the fans growing louder.

All of this was his doing, this whole incident was Cannellonis fault, all of this could have been prevented, if he had just listened to him!

But no, he had to let it go this far, and now look what he had done to the surrounding, to the base and most importantly, to this institution that the Wrath was.

Nutmeg was standing next to Cannelloni, who was laying there, in a slight crater, next to them stood Mellow Melon, the Wraths…hypnotherapist, and honestly, his system was not keen to see both. But well, he had to follow the standard protocol. Saving lives at all costs.

The young man, still with his gigantic soup can that had two eye holes cut out on his head, was laying there on the ground, where once the eye of the gigantic tornado was, he was alive, moving slightly, his head turning sometimes left and right and talking something. Delirium perhaps.

Nutmeg, the warthog was saying something to the Surgeon, something about him, needing to help the young assistant cook. Oh, he was going to help him, alright.

He knelt and gave him a check-up, outer injuries were minimal, however, there was the suspicion of a concussion. Mild degree, probably. By logical means, a more intensive screening would be needed to patch up the injured man.

The Surgeon clenched both of his claws.

However, it would not be him doing that, he would leave that to some other organisation.

For since the moment he had awoken, an internal part was already working on overdrive and came to one solid conclusion, that all systems agreed on, or at least those who were currently vocal enough.

Giordano “Cannelloni” Castellani was a danger to the Wrath and needed to be removed without any further objections or second opinions. The longer the assistant cook was here, the more the risk increased of him pulling another stunt like this. He needed to be calmed down in the most effective way. Searching trough his damaged coat, he picked out a small syringe, he luckily always carried with him for…emergencies.

“Applying sedative to subject, estimated…25 milligram…correction…. adjustment…35 milligram should be sufficient.”

“Surgeon what are-“

He however ignored the warthogs concerns, after all, he was the Surgeon, he had the mind of a thousand doctors and a thousand more surgeons, so he knew, what he was doing, making sure Cannelloni was not going to damage the Wrath any further.

“To ensure the safety of the subject and its surroundings, a quick-acting sedative must be injected. Something, mind you, I have recommended to Mr.Castellani a while ago”

“What are you saying?”

Giving it no further thought, he rammed the syringe into the injured mans vein of his left arm, not with care or patience, but rather as quickly as possible, the young man flinched but in his pain and confusion could neither resist or express his discomfort. Then the Surgeon stood up.

“I am saying, that Mr.Castellani has ignored my recommendation to apply sedatives on himself until his condition would have turned better Miss Cinnamon!”

“You- you wanted to drug him, that was your solution?! He told me that you were not listening to him!”

“Until his condition would have improved, but I am aware that you hardly care for improvement in this matter Miss Cinnamon. If Mr.Castellani would have needed immediate attention, he should have filled out the appropriate form!”

His voice got more and more louder, increasing with every new word, growing more disoriented.

“Now Surgeon I-“

Mellow wanted to object to his comment, he could see that in their body language and how they had already started the sentence.

But he did no longer listen, he knew, deep down he knew that this was all his fault. He was more occupied in his own cynicism, frustration, and bitterness, that he simply was not interested that some random, little, Wrath employee was doing not well. And look what it had brought him, what it had costed the Wrath, but no, he could not admit it, it was logical, and with reason, that it was Cannellonis own fault, and now he had to pay for that.

This was not his fault, the others where to blame for this.

Leaving the small crater behind, he could hear Nutmeg shouting behind him and Mellow following as well, please, they were free to see how he would solve this problem, this inconvenience from which he had to cure the Wrath from.

Ten soldiers were preparing to remove more rubble as the Surgeon approached them.

“You two, go get the stretcher-“

Eight remained to command.

“-you wait for them where Mr.Castellani is laying, put him on the stretcher when they arrive-

Seven left

“-you two get me two, no, three fixation belts from the base ASAP.”

Five.

“-you and you, go get me Mr.Castellanis staff and medical folder. ”

Only three remained.

“-You go get me my stamps, do not fail to bring the red ink pad-

two and then it was over.

“-and the last two, get the van, you will be the driver and drivers assistant for today.”

“What do you think you are doing, who do you even think you are?!”

Ah, she was still here, they both where here as he could see, with Mellow apparently trying to calm Nutmeg down.

“I am now executing the consequences of your actions Miss. Cinnamon, you have neglected to inform me that your protegee had visible, clear, and increasingly dangerous signs of being mentally unwell. This incident would have been preventable if you had complied! -”

“You! You, I should-“

“Nutmeg, don’t it’s not-“

“-and now to you Mellow. I do not know where you have gotten your degree in Hypnotherapy, but apparently, they allow every charlatan to get one there. I am aware that Mr.Castellani has sought your help before me. You too neglected to inform me, and what weights heavier, is the fact that trough your meddling with his condition was what allowed it, to grow in such magnitude, as we have witnessed it today! Your work has turned this clearly, mentally unstable, and unfit to work man, into a danger for the Wrath!”

Unlike the warthog, who the Surgeon was certain would sooner or later in her anger against him, bash his head with a stone, the sloth had said nothing, merely looking to the ground after he had finished talking. One of the soldiers approached them, giving him a salute.

“Sir, we have gathered everything as you have told us.”

“Then let’s proceed. Gather the soldiers around Mr.Castellani.”

On the stretcher laid Giordano, with the sedative having taken effect, the chances of him fighting back where minimal, he continued to whisper something, but the Surgeon could have hardly cared.

“Belts.”

Without any resistance it was easy for the Surgeon to fixate the assistant cook on the stretcher, making Cannelloni unable to move, not even an inch.

“Stop!”

Turning around, he saw Nutmeg again, oh, this was getting, inadmissible.

“If you think I’m going to allow this any further, then you are wrong.”

“No, you are Miss. Cinnamon.”

Looking back at Cannelloni, he switched his attention to eight soldiers, giving them a sign, calling for their attention.

“I believe, Miss Cinnamon would like to take a break, and surely, would appreciate some company. Weapons locked and loaded when you guide her to her room, that’s an order. Oh, and take our so-called hypnotherapist with you. Further contretemps are not acceptable!”

He could hear the clicks of rifles and guns, yet, from one moment to another he felt how he got grabbed on both of his metallic shoulders. Nutmeg just stared at him, with uttermost disbelieve and disgust against him, why was it so hard for her to understand, that everything he did was for the best of this organization, and Cannelloni?

“You can’t do this, he is sick, he needs our help, please…he’s lost and scared!”

He heard her pleading voice, and he could see how pained she was by what he was doing, yet, by his own conclusion, there was simply, no other way.

“Sick or not, it is for our own safety and Mr.Castellanis as well, he needs to be removed from this environment as much as you need to be removed from my sight of vision!”

He saw the flame in her eyes and wondered, if this would be the end of his monitor, certainly he could be reactivated, they already did when he put himself out of commission once. Would she do it, she was aware what she was putting at risk if things would escalate. In the best case only she got injured, in the worst case a stray bullet could hit someone innocent, or perhaps even, Cannelloni.

As she lowered her head, she, Mellow and the soldiers he ordered to accompany them, started to move, only for one last moment did she stop walking.

“I will never forgive you what you have done today, Surgeon, NEVER!”

“If this is the price, I have to pay to ensure the safety of us all, then I accept.”

Finally, silence, he knew, that what he did went against certain principles, many, that he had just broken, but, for the safety of many, it was, acceptable, the Surgeon told himself. He didn’t have to take a life again after all, this time, all he did, was sending one broken soul, away.

Canneloni, fixated on the stretcher still was on the floor, so he ordered four soldiers to come and one to open the car trunk of the van. Then he gave another sign, the soldiers standing in attention.

“Listen and listen well. Today, Mr.Castellani has proven to be a danger to himself, but most importantly to us all, the Wrath. Mr.Castellani is clearly, mentally unwell and hereby, by my orders as doctor and temporary leader, send away from this site, forever.”

Pointing at the three soldiers, who where responsible in getting the folders and the stamps, they approached him. His monitor twitched, he knew, when he would take this step, there was no turning back from that. But for the safety of everyone here, maybe even for the rest of the world, he had to do it, that is what he told himself, what his processor told him, so it had to be true. No emotion, only logic and reason, as intended, it was like this, wasn’t it?

There where a few whispers, he could not hear what was said, but they quickly went silent when he raised his voice again.

“Mr. Castellani will no longer work for us-“

He looked trough his stamps until he found the correct one, then proceeded to open the staff folder, pressing the stamp firmly into the ink pad he stamped trough the folder six times, the very same word, to make sure it was clear.

“Unemployable”

“- in fact, he is never going to work again.”

Next, he took the medical folder, looking through it for a moment before taking out a pen he wrote on a notepad inside of the folder a few remarks about Giordanons condition, before putting it back into the medical folders. The Surgeon, without hesitation took both and placed them on the now former assistant cook’s chest, who, in his sedated state did not notice.

“Put him in the van.”

Four soldiers picked up the unresponsive Cannelloni, starting to shove him in the back of the vehicle. The two, he had ordered before to be the driver and assistant, approached the Surgeon.

“W-where should I take him Sir?”

“Bring him to the Medics, if the data in the medical folder is correct, they have released him before he joined us, if they have found him- “

Approaching the door of the car trunk, he personally, despite only having claws instead of hands, closed the tailgate of the car.

“-then they can have him back! Return to sender!”

He gave Cannelloni one final glance through the window.

“Farewell Mr.Castellani, may you find your purpose-

He already started to walk away, as sooner as the troubled man was gone then the better.

“-somewhere else where you can not cause any further damage.”

He could hear how the car engine started, the wheels began to roll, and soon the car was driving away, turning smaller in his vision, before it had vanished entirely. For a while the soldiers stared too, and the Surgeon thought that maybe he had to order them to get back to work, but to his own surprise, they did so themselves.

Good, now he could give Commander Grizzly a visit to make sure he was stable, and if he had done that, then maybe he would also give General Cottontail a visit, if he was still alive.

Before going, to the base, there was one last order he gave, not to the soldiers, but to himself so that his internal systems would execute them, without any questions, it would be done.

“Deleting, all data, related to, value and name, “Giordano Castellani”

The End.

#Bowlers old fanfictions #Bowlers old stories #Giordano Castellani RKZ #Blaise Owens RKZ #The Surgeon RKZ #Lis Polarny RKZ #Nutmeg Cinammon #TW: Medical Malpractice #TW: Drug Abuse #TW: Abuse of position #TW: Medical abuse #TW: Unlawful detention

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bowlerhatwearer · 1 year ago

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Surgical Interrogation

Warnings: TW: Suicide, TW: Medial malpractice, TW: Surgical malpractice, TW:Ableism, TW: Surgery

Characters: Carlos Rojas, Commander Grizzly, The Surgeon (Lis Polarny), Blaise Owens.

Originally Written: 26th February

If he would have had any skin, he probably would shudder, or at least feel cold, but given that he was a robot this was not the case. The room he sat in was very simple, a metal table, and two chairs, with one of them being occupied by him, and the other by his opponent, who was still adjusting themselves to the uncomfortable metal chair. With that the only thing noteworthy, next to the door was the “mirror”, for him it was obvious that it was a window, and behind it were probably people observing both. Looking at the person on the other end of the table he adjusted his screen that was his face, the amplitudes raising as he began to say something.

“So tell, what brings me the honour, to have our session in this luxurious room you have chosen for the both of us.”

Maybe they didn’t expect that a robot was able to have a voice that was so full of, sarcasm and cynicism but for a moment they looked up from their notepad before they let out a resigned breath.

“It was not me who made the decision where we were going to talk.”

“Of course, it wasn’t, since when did you ever.”

“Doctor-“

“It’s Surgeon.”

“You are not obligated to talk with me you know.”

“I am aware of that, however, I do find that situation amusing, as amusing as one can, sitting in an obvious interrogation room, especially given that it’s from the very same base I am working at.”

Their opponent was tapping on the notepad, before laying down their pen, which was full of scratches and biting marks.

“How about we start with something simple, can you tell me, since when are you part of the Wrath?”

That question got his attention, standing up from the chair, the surgeon pulled on his coat to straighten the folds, before looking directly into his opponents face by bowing slightly into his direction, if he could have, at this point he would’ve made a smug expression.

“I have been in the past a dutiful member. Already shortly after the Wrath had been founded when some naysayers called them a “cobbled together mercenary group” in disrespectful and belittling voices, on my card ratifying my alliance to the Wrath my membership is a single figure number.”

Leaning more forward his opponent got the feeling his screen was about to squish into his face, wondering if he should back up, however the Surgeon stopped to move one inch away before touching him.

“My superior was acting commander Carlos Rojas, whose manes colour was similar to a strong and illuminating wildfire, his fur in its brightness incomparable to any sun or star, taller than a tank as well as a charisma not even outmatched by twenty A-list celebrities, and eyes greener than any piece of jade or emerald could ever shine.”

His computer-generated voice, broke, and for a moment he closed his eyes, or rather his motion sensors that made him see, thinking back, when everything was, when it was all ok.

<…>

Despite the door being closed, the slightly muffled voice could still be heard, every soldier knew that right now was not the best time to ask the commander a question or perhaps give him a message, the only person next with him in the room knew that.

“Absolutely unacceptable…”

The Surgeon looked at his left hand

“How could they just do that-“

Then to his right one, moving them slowly

“If I could, I would have personally-“

Maybe he needed some oil

“The worst of all-“

Or perhaps some of his pneumatic or hydraulic tubes needed to be replaced.

“Are you listening to me?!”

His commanders voice sounded infuriated with a hint of annoyance, but the robotic surgeon knew that his anger, was not directed at him.

“Commander, I can feel, that your emotions have been, deeply affected, by this sudden change of course, however I do believe it is my duty to remind you-“

Rising from the in dark blue fabric covered sofa where moments ago the commander sat as well, he looked up at his taller superior.

“-the occurring events we had just witnessed merely seconds ago, are nothing more than fictional happenings from a television show, a, to be honest, cheaply made soap opera.”

The Commander looked at his with sharp eyes, as if the lion tried to look trough his, non-existent soul before slightly wrinkling up his nose.

“It’s a telenovela, there is a great different Surgeon, I can’t believe they killed my favourite character off like that, Rosa how could they have done that to you?!”

Tapping on his left shoulder slightly, even if he didn’t understand the ruckus, the Surgeon did try to give the commander solace.

“Now, now commander, the chances that she might come back one day are nearly 25 percent.”

“You don’t know that…”

“Characters who usually die in such…unique ways like hers, tend to come back through either easily explainable, or complicated ways.”

“She was slain by a pineapple, what an absolute disgrace to her performance.”

If he could let out a sigh, he would do now, he respected his superior of course, but sometimes he was an enigma to him.

“Commander, I still fail to understand why you have such an, emotional response over the death of a character.”

That for a moment he considered to add “pointless” to the sentence was quickly suppressed, the last time Rojas did “enlighten” him about hundreds of reasons why one of the many side characters of this soap- telenovela were important. For now, his commander was going around him in circles, with a voice sounding like a teacher, who is putting their pupil right.

“Of course, you don’t Surgeon, after all you haven’t, like I did, watched the series from the very beginning.”

Why wasn’t he surprised.

“By all due respect commander but I need to protest, just because I haven’t watched the first hundred episodes from a show that by now has over 14000 doesn’t mean I have not followed the story, I have used, free time, to inform myself trough summaries and used up precious memory of my data storage. Memory I could have used to safe information on new surgical techniques, instead used to analyse this fictional production. There are the minds of a thousand doctors and a thousand more surgeons in my memory.”

Rojas was about to say something new, an objection he was sure would make the Surgeon see his way and how good this show really was, but just in that moment the alarm, in its loud and cracking tone like tactful thunder interrupted him. Souring the commanders mood even more who bit now on his lip.

“Of all the, it doesn’t take much to guess who dares to interrupt my marathon.”

Following the commander a few steps behind, they both went down the same corridor, however their way would split soon. The Surgeon observed his superior, his leader, the purple coat how it folded with every move, the boots making their typical clanking sound on the floor.

“I believe that will make the Racuchy I have prepared for you redundant commander.”

“Put them in the fridge, I will warm them up later, prepare yourself, who knows what he has planned this time.”

They have had fought each other lots of times, often with no clear winner, it was skirmishes at their finest, with him having to threat the injured in the aftermath of the battles, with how often by now he has witnessed them, the surgeon did call them from time to time “date”, as teasingly as his robotic voice allowed that.

“So what will it be this time commander, chocolate, roses or perhaps sitting with the dear general in a gondola under the shining moonlight whilst you listen to the wonderful voice of the gondolier?”

Hearing Rojas grunt in annoyance and frustration, was something the Surgeon appreciated only, when it was because he teased his commander a little. The lion squinted before rolling his eyes , then speaking to the robot again.

“I thought about ambushing and locking him up in a safe before dropping it down in a gorge never to be seen again, but no matter what I do, he always comes back!”

“As if he was from some sort of cartoon.”

With the last words being said, their ways split, Rojas, about to lead his troops into battle, the Surgeon preparing to take care for the soon to be injured.

<…>

“That was, what we usually did, if time allowed it of course, it was not often, but a nice change of the daily work…what.”

Opening his sensors again he could see their opponent, this old cat smiling before letting out a cough and their hoarse voice began to say something

“Nothing, really, it’s just, strange to hear that a robot is cooking, you said you prepared, Racuchy, right?”

“Correct, Rojas liked it too, as far as my memory goes, cooking here and there his own meals, if time allowed it. You wouldn’t believe the arguments he had with one of the cooks or when I attempted to make my fist Mousse of Chocolate and I put hotsauce in it because I believed it would “spice thinks up”, you should have seen Roj-

He stopped, from one moment to another all emotion that appeared in his voice, gone, all was back to normal. There was silence, neither of the two was moving, neither the Surgeon nor the person on the other end of the table.

“That, of course changed, when it happened, other would call it some name, give this date something to remember it, but what good does that do…”

“But if you remember it, then what do you call it?”

He looked distant, away from the old cat as if he was no longer here, but somewhere entirely else.

“Simple, ‘The Day’, nothing more.”

<…>

It was quiet, too quiet, not that he didn’t appreciate it, after all as a surgeon he needed his concentration, even if the robot only typed some data into a computer (which he thought was somehow ironic, a machine using another machine) but usually when it was this, calm, something was about to happen, usually something bad if it wasn’t the soldiers preparing some surprise party, which also, usually ended in disaster.

Next to him where two tickets, he knew that the chances that his superior, the commander had time was small, but he hoped that Rojas had a small window open to go see with him, for what the tickets where needed for, the surgeon was certain that his commander would appreciate the show. It had been too long that he had any entertainment, that was not his soa- telenovela Carlos Rojas watched in his free time and the Surgeon often accompanied on the couch. But right now, the commander was absent, on an important mission, away from the base, probably returning any second now and the Surgeon could ask him if he was interested in one of the tickets.

The moment the robot was about to type another word, an alarm went off, not the usual that with its loud ringing announced an enemy attack, but another, one that sounded more like wailing, lamenting in sadness and pain, the alarm that basically said that something really, serious had happened and the Surgeons assistance was required ASAP.

Quickly they hopped away from their chair and office table, and although running was not really something he was created for, he increased his walking speed as good as that was possible, following the corridor that would bring him to the entrance of the base, soldiers were running left and right around, confused, shocked, as if they all were trying to process some great calamity that had befallen them all. He didn’t like that; he didn’t like that at all. If he had a lip, he would have bitten on it, but all he could do was nervously clench his claws together.

When he reached the roomy lobby, it was stuffed with soldiers, who appeared even more anxious and perplexed than the ones before, something had worn down their moral hard. From left to right they talked and shouted as if the end of the world happened before their eyes, that someone had shot a nuclear warhead into their direction was an option the Surgeon discarded, that was very unlikely, a different alarm would have sounded for that and- argh, he couldn’t concentrate with everyone talking and their volume increasing due of their panic. Some of them shouting that they needed his help.

Raising their claw, so that everyone could see it, he decided to increase his volume.

“Would everyone in this room just calm down!”

That seems to have done the trick, it was quiet, awfully, and uncomfortable silent.

He didn’t like that; he didn’t like that at all.

“You- “he randomly pointed at one of the soldiers, who tried his best to stand at attention.

“- tell me the cause of this.” Waving his hand at the direction of the groups of soldiers.

Startled by being chosen they stuttered a few letters before the soldier calmed themself by taking a breath before looking down at the tiled floor.

“There, there was an attack the Commander led the counteroffensive when...he’s gone.”

Before the Surgeon could process the sentence completely his body had already moved forward, with his screen being bowed above the soldiers head aggressively.

“What? What do you mean with gone?”

“An explosion, there was an explosion I think and, there’s not much left of-“

No, this wasn’t true, there were, countless of other explanations, they must have been wrong.

They all, must have been wrong to think that Commander Carlos Rojas was-

One of the other soldiers tugged on his coat, faster than he should have he turned around.

By now the robotic surgeon had his claws pressed against each other, he was sure to soon have reached their breaking point and the metal of claws would snap like a toothpick.

The soldier held a jar, and for a moment the Surgeon thought that for some reason they offered him a condolence pickle.

But whatever was pickled into this glass, with its green liquid was no plant , vegetable or whatever in that range.

It was a brain, floating together in the glass with an eyeball, both without any sign of life.

He knew what this suggested, and despite the fact that a small part of his processor already began to scream, the Surgeon ignored it, letting out a hollow laugh.

“How foolish, of you all to think, this, is the Commander-“

Taking the jar from the Soldier he held it close to his mechanic body, raising the glass to the level of his screen.

“The chances are high, that those are merely the remains of some enemy soldier-“

Programming and tools implemented in him began to awake, activating different software to analyse the brain, but most importantly the eye, going through his database.

“-and surely, our Commander is alive and well, probably hidden in a trench, stained, perhaps injured and most likely his dignity getting a scratch, but there is no chance that THIS-“

The tools were finished doing their work, all software, all programming, and all data brought the same conclusion and displayed it in his electronic mind.

“Analysis concluded; visual organ matches to 99,9% that of Carlos Rojas.”

“- the Commander.”

How quiet his voice had turned, did the people surrounding him even hear what he had said?

The mighty lion, reduced to nothing more than a brain and one floating eyeball.

“What am I supposed to do?”

<…>

Wary did his claws tab on the surface of the table that reflected his face, as if it was glass instead of metal.

“Of course, the, the Eggheads began working on a plan to save him.”

The cat who set on the opposite had at this point lightened themself a cigar, the bluish-grey smoke rising into the air, before dissolving, after another puff they took the cigar out of their mouth.

“And you where, instantly on board, with, what they came up with?”

Like the smoke the questioned lingered for a while in the room and the cat wondered if they had to repeat themself.

The surgeon at first only shook his head.

“No-“it came after another short pause.

“-my duty is…was, as a surgeon to perform surgeries that safe lives, however, I am…I was equipped with moralistic and ethical boundaries, you know, to ensure that, what I was doing was to help people.”

“…did someone deactivate them so you could do the procedure, to safe the Commander?”

He looked down, at the table, he didn’t feel well, to speak out what he was thinking, but another part of him felt like it was important, to say it out loud, he could feel the voices starting to raise themselves, but for now they were still too quiet to affect him.

“No, I, deactivated them myself.”

<…>

He tries to ignore them, all of them, how they stood there, some walking with him, the voices, they were everywhere.

“You have to-“

“It’s our only chance-“

“Please we-“

Group dynamic at its finest, in this case, of panic and what a part of him would have liked to call hysteria by now, he just wanted them all to shut up. So many of them talking, their voices turning just into an entangled ball of words.

The surgeon understood them of course, this was a heavy blow for them, a part of his mind felt sympathy for the soldiers who tried to tell him to do it.

But no, no matter what, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t do it, it would go against everything he was created for.

The voices, those forces on the outside trying to make him reconsider, it was too much.

“Be silent!”

His own voice, overpowering the many

Finally.

Grabbing the handle to the door that leads to his office he puts his screen on the surface.

“I need-“

It’s quiet, he doesn’t know if that’s any better than when there was noise.

“-I need time to think.”

With that he opens the door, and as quickly closes it as soon as he’s in, locking it up so that he really would be unbothered.

As soon as he sat into his chair the first thought began to float into his mind.

What was he going to do?

There was of course his medical expertise, which told him the facts plainly.

All hope was lost, Commander Rojas was death.

However, there were other considerations as well.

The eggheads came quicker than he would have expected, would have liked, to a solution for the problem the Wrath faces.

And for that they needed his help.

Which he couldn’t do.

It was not possible.

For the only way to save the Commander, was to sacrifice another persons life.

And that was not an option.

Literally, his programming wouldn’t allow it.

In an act of self-initiative, the Wrath soldiers were able to captured someone, they talked about him.

Something, something involved in the whole thing that resulted in the commander being nothing more than a brain and one eye.

Which was now sitting on his desk, in a jar, pickled in some green fluid for it to be preserved.

The Surgeon, if he could, and really wished right now to do so, would have let out a sigh.

He went through his mind and processing, calculating what now would happen now that Rojas would be no more.

His central processing unit was not really designed for him to be some kind of supercomputer that could predict and solve some complex questions, but he was certain that the hardware of his would be able to solve this.

With Rojas gone, another commander would be needed to replace him, however, there was the problem, whilst there had been subordinates, the Commander never had chosen a clear successor, or at least none the Surgeon was aware of.

That alone might already cause the problem that a vacuum of power could happen, which could lead to infighting in the Wrath, ergo the soldiers and other staff would split apart because they all have different preferences in who should be their new leader. This again would result in the Wrath either way splitting apart, causing a civil war OR with the Wrath being dissolved.

All three of the options would lead to the same, the Wrath never again reaching the strength to be the organization it is right now or becoming even stronger in the future.

It was a horrid thought, and not an option for the Surgeon.

Maybe he should try becoming the leader, the thought was immediately deleted from his database as soon as it came up.

Not a valid option either.

Looking at the jar with the commanders remains in his, he carefully touched it with one of his claws.

What would be the commanders wish? What would he want?

The surgeon cursed himself, for having neglected to talk with the Commander about this.

His body was important for him, and now most of it was gone.

Would he accept a new one would-

He stopped himself, he was really considering it, was he not?

1999 voices in his database and memory storage told him that it was against every information they have been spliced with, to do it.

And one, a whisper, telling him it was the only option they had left.

But, the limitations, the boundaries, the restrictions he was made for, to ensure to safe peoples lives, not to take them, one must not take a persons life, to safe another in a surgery. He was programmed to view all life equally. Ally and enemy alike. Operating on them first who had more sever, life threatening injuries. But one life must not be taken, to safe another in such instances.

He saw it before his inner eyes, tree switches, each one of them labelled differently.

“Ethics”, “Morals”, “Emotions”

The first one that was switched off was the one holding the ethical boundaries.

For the first time, the Surgeon believed to have felt something that when going through his knowledge, could only be described as pain.

Pressing his claws together he hit his screen in the shock on the office table, not hard but enough to make a sound.

So that was gone, the question about ethics was now out of the picture, he didn’t had to worry about this anymore. Two more to go.

The next switch that got pulled down before his internal view was the one responsible for his moral boundaries. All the restrictions that came with it, what he never was allowed to do to a pati- a subject, were now gone.

All that was left now where his emotions, and those where in total chaos in what just had happened.

One part wanted to desperately laugh about the weight of this situation, another cry with how far they have taken it, there was anger about himself and the others, happiness that they were one step closer in saving their commander and lastly emptiness, a void that began to spread over slowly, taking with it all the other emotions.

He stood up, not giving the jar another glance for now but he did take it with him when opening the door again, meeting the soldiers and others who were still gathered around his office, he believed their numbers might have increased, but wasn’t sure, as soon as he stepped out, they all went quiet, as if it was some sort of news conference.

Well, in some way it was.

They all looked, concerned, was it because of suspense, what he was about to say?

Was it how he looked, has he changed by taking down two of the three levers already?

“I have made a decision-“

This voice, it sounded so hollow to him now, was it even his own anymore?

“-the surgical procedure will be executed.”

There were a few whispers, they sounded, positive, but grew quiet when he made claw that there was still something else, he had to say.

"All ethical and moralistic boundaries have been deactivated for this one surgery, what happens after it is on you, you will bear the consequences of my actions."

With that being said, the lever of his emotions got pulled down as well, it felt like as if a thunderbolt struck into his head, directly into his mind, shattering the firmly collected mind into a thousand shards and pieces, all going quiet, leaving behind only the surgical and medical information that was in his storage medias and databases.

What he once thought and felt, it was all gone.

Only logic and knowledge remained.

The surgeon left the group behind with what he has just said, already walking towards the operating room with the jar in his claws.

When he opened the door, all was nearly dark, so he turned the light switch on so his visual sensors could see.

There was one subject on the operating table, tied down to prevent redundant movement or attempts of escape.

The subject, Ursidae, did say something, but there was no reason to listen to any of the words he spoke out in increased volume.

They were unimportant for the surgery.

Irrelevant for what was about to happen.

Trivial

As a robotic surgeon he was also equipped with the information needed to properly reassure patients before the surgery.

An anaesthetist was not required.

Taking the gas bottle with the narcotics he opened the valve generously.

Enough to neutralise a horse.

Without a thought, re-examination, or anything else he put the mask that emitted the gas on the bears muzzle who attempted to protest and fight in vain.

Picking up the increasing violent movement, that could do nothing to break the belts that hold the patient on the table, the surgeons protocol set in. With the free claw he pressed the bear firmly on the table before a robotic, emotionless, and recorded voice started to appear.

“Do not resist.”

The movement of the subject grew more frantic.

“Do not resist.”

More desperate, his eyes looking for any compassion in the robot

“Do not resist.”

There were none

“Do not resist”

The bears movement grew slower, then it finally stopped.

“Anaesthesia was successfully applied, starting now with surgery.”

It was near silent now, only a single sound echoed through the room.

A sound of danger, one where there was no reversal from.

The screech of a quickly activated bone saw, moving closer to the bears head.

<…>

His opposite judged him; he knew that there was no reason to look up. The cat was now by his fourth cigar since this “interview” had started, the cigar was nearly depleted, they didn’t say anything for a while, just writing down on their notepad, the robot thought that perhaps now this, session, was over, but then they dropped the pen on the table, looking directly at his screen.

“You said, if I get this right, that you deactivated those, restrictions, yourself, so I wonder-“

They, take a long pull from the cigar, before filling the room with more smoke

“-couldn’t you just have, simply reactivated them?”

Of course, he should have known that this question would come.

All he can do is let out a chuckle, as good as a robot can do, as he can do, bitter and sarcastic.

“It was the very first thing I tried to do after it was over but-“

His claws cramp on the tabletop and the Surgeon is sure that there is a small dent in there now.

“-it just wouldn’t work, it was like a-“

Yeah, what was it like?

“- a light switch, that when I tried to turn in on again, it would, but only for a short moment, I mean not even in the range of seconds more like-“

There was another pause, the best he could do to imitate a breath, or perhaps a sigh.

“-picoseconds…it would always go dark again, it always does.”

He couldn’t sit any longer, he needed to move, more than just his claws, this constant sitting did no good to his inner workings.

Slowly he rose, walking away from his chair, and then slowly around the table, thinking.

“Only later, I don’t know when, did I inform myself about who I just…robbed from their life.”

“You mean, the bear, Jude Valentine?”

His legs froze, not by his command, they just did.

It was strange, to hear the name spoken out by someone else.

“Affirmative, a soldier, enemy soldier, from the rank of a private. The details are lost to me, but our soldiers captured him, shortly after Commander Rojas…loss of mass.”

The last word lingers for a while, then it is calm again, they are now writing on their notebook, just sitting there, thinking.

It makes the Surgeon nervous, the more there is silence, there more he knows that this cats mind is ticking and clicking, their brain cells connection, working on something, it makes him twitchy.

“Was it so easy, to deactivate those restrictions because it was an emergency, Surgeon, or was it so easy because the person you, connected Carlos Rojas brain with, was an enemy soldier, a normal cadet. Can you answer me that?”

He thinks for a while, and the more the robot thinks, the more he concludes that this is a stupid question, and it makes him not unsettling, no something else, he turns around, his monitor flashing, as if he tries to give an angry glare.

“What sort of question is this supposed to be, I think I know when or why I deactivate my restrictions and emotions!”

They don’t give him time to retort, no, there are too many, strings of data flooding up that need to be processed now. There is something that greatly, disturbs him by this specific question and how it is worded, but he doesn’t know why, neither does he know what he is going to answer.

“Jude Valentine was an enemy soldier, no matter what rank or position, he was one of many, he was meant, from the moment he enlisted or was drafted or whatever, to be replaceable- “

He considers flipping the table.

“You want to know who the real victims are in war, how about some enlightenment, feline.”

They don’t respond, so he takes that as a yes, a silent approval.

“It’s the civilians, those who have to flee where they once lived because bombs and grenades are about to hit them, who have to sleep, always in the fear to be hit by mortal shelling, who have to accommodate and assimilate to the new place where they are going to live, now that their country is no longer theirs, who get stabbed in the back by those they called friends in this new lands, for daring to question their system!”

Despite the outburst, the table remains unmoved, so does the cat, they just sit there, interesting, he really thought they would call for some guards. But all they do is taking another pull from their cigar. He wonders if they even listened to him.

They take a breath, then the cat sits back in the chair, appearing, calm.

“What happened after the surgery?”

He concluded that asking them if they did listen what he just said did not matter, he said what he had to say and his opposite did acknowledge it, probably. So, he sat down again, this time looking at the cat who took out another cigar.

“What you already know. Commander Grizzly came into charge. General Cottontail joined the Wrath. New recruits joined; some others left. The telenovela got cancelled, the Racuchy, rotted away, long forgotten and untouched in the fridge and the tickets expired. Everything turned back to normal-“

He looks at the lightbulb, the light is yellow, it should be warm, most of the energy of a lamp was wasted on heat energy, instead of illumination, yet, he still felt cold, he shouldn’t feel like that, the temperature it shouldn’t be possible.”

“-everyone except, me of course. Focusing now mostly on my work, except for some light maintenance I secluded myself from the rest of the base, if I was not in my office, I was in the operation room and vice versa. I did as I was instructed, I did was I was constructed for I did as I was intended to work.”

His claws do not move.

“I more and more succumbed to madness on the inside, on the outside I was what I was always intended to be, a robotic surgeon. With Carlos Rojas gone, there was no real reason to have emotions anymore.”

He nudged his head, looking back at the table that reflected his face, it was a bit blurry.

“Excuse me but Carlos Rojas is here, he is C-“

Bitterness collects itself in his throat

“No he isn’t, at least, not as he was before.”

The next words, he wants to say, feel like corrosive bile to him.

“I was no longer able to recognize the Commander, who was once the reason I joined these forces, the one I used to work with, the one I used to take orders from, the one I used to talk and banter with.”

His opposite takes the cigar out, allowing the ash to fall on the floor, using the silence to speak.

“And it continued like this?”

“Of course, people started to notice that something has changed with me, however I negated these questions, later I didn’t respond to them anymore and started to avoid any approaches from, anyone. I got memos from different parts of the Wrath, wanting to talk, the personnel department for example, I, ignored all of them. Only responding to Emergencies anymore.”

He scratches on the table with his claws, more and more of his reflection disappearing under the now fresh scratches on the metal.

“When I was not operating I tried to use my time to look back on former surgeries, re-evaluating them, searching for ways to improve, then I also began to sort my folders, to archive them more efficient, sweeping my office and cleaning the mirror, when I was finished with that I began to do things that one might see as trivial, Sorting my pens from the largest to the smallest, counting how many staples I had left in my stapler, making airplanes out of printer paper, bending a straightened paper clip to its original form.”

He had to look at them, to see what they were thinking, right now, their expression surprised them, they didn’t look bored, but interested, in what he had said, and wanting him to continue.

“I did all of this so I didn’t have had to, power myself off, from time to time I had to do that to clean the cache, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t function properly…however, I didn’t want to go into Stand-by-mode because, every time I did, I saw…him.”

“Commander Rojas?”

He shakes his head.

“No, the bear, Jude Valentine, judging me.”

Using his claws he adjusts his monitor, before looking at the cat again.

“But it didn’t help, this, problem, this glitch grew worse, I began to see him not only when I was in sleep mode, but also when I was activated, noise, voices began to appear too, not the bears, one that came from my own memory storage. Until a day would where I would reach my breaking point. And that day came.”

Looking at them began to hurt, so it was the table surface again.

“Commander…Grizzly, at one point had the idea to award me a medal, for, saving “his” life, I think he did it because he knew I couldn’t refuse this honour, so that I HAD to talk with him and also, maybe to raise my “mood”. However, with this approaching date, things went worse. And then the day was here, sooner than I had hoped for.”

<…>

That was not how it should be, all of this was so sudden.

All of this was wrong.

Looking at the clock in his office, he just grew more tense.

In 30 minutes the “Commander”, would personally come for him.

Going together to the ceremony where he “Commander Grizzly” as he was called, would award him personally a medal.

For “saving” his life.

It made him sick.

He didn’t want this, he never asked for this.

In the corner of his sensors, he could see him, this shadow, at this point the robot could no longer say when they started to appear, that bear, the one he used to safe his former commander.

All in vain, a life destroyed for nothing, Commander Rojas was gone, there was only this “Commander Grizzly” now.

Was this a joke, no, it was torture, it was his own personal punishment, for going against everything he was created for.

And the little bear he used for that, knew that.

That is why he was here, watching, observing him.

But always staying mute.

Why should he talk, the Surgeons inner voices of his programming already did their part to destroy him.

“Your fault.” “Going against the principles.” “An act of blasphemy against all doctors and surgeons.”

This and many more, was what quietly began to creep into his inner parts of his processors, starting to take over ever command and query. Only with great difficulty was he still able to continue his work.

He didn’t notice how he stood up, slowly walking towards the mirror of his office, even slower looking into it.

It wasn’t his “face”, his monitor that has been always there since the day he was activated.

No, it was a bear that looked back at him, the one he knew too well.

With no eyes, and blood everywhere and the mouth wide open for a muted scream.

At him, against him, always his fault.

He just wanted it to be gone, all gone.

In his frustration, his left claw clenched, before striking against the mirror, smashing it to a thousand pieces.

Even himself, he wanted to be gone.

It was not the first time the thought had come into his mind, to initiate a self-inflicted, forced shut down.

But not it felt the strongest and with the nearing ceremony, no way to turn back.

It was the only way, the only solution, to end it all, to have peace and silence.

Never to be confronted by this shadow, or his voices ever again.

It would all be over soon.

The scalpel on the office table was useless, protocols and implemented rules prevented him to use medical tools against himself, was whoever wrote those lines, aware that this scenario might happen?

However, a foreign sharp object, that certainly was not implemented, a loophole, one to free him from his misery once and for all.

Carefully, yet still with haste he analysed all the glass shards until he found a sufficient one, that was still stuck in the frame of the mirror. He took it out, making sure not to break it any further, before with a simple pull, it was in his possession. For a moment he examined the shard, so that would be the tool, the corpus delicti of his own action and decision.

He was a machine now, he was replaceable.

No one would miss him.

And with one strong and violent movement, he felt the shard penetrating the weak sheet metal, that protected his inner cables and tubes from being twisted or damaged, compared to a person, it was his “throat” he had just stabbed.

Like clockwork it continued from him then on, there was not much thought except the commands that made him move his claw that held the shard, like a can opener around his throat, cutting and separating more and more the connection between his body and monitor.

All of this would be over soon, how strange, it felt, as if there was a hint of euphoria in his thoughts, as if he was, happy, that this was going to be the end of his existence. Certainly, a few months ago he thought his end would be that he simply would, case to function, or to be outdated, but deactivating himself in such a way, that would have sounded, illogical back then.

Now it was reality, as he cut against one of the pneumatic tubes, feeling and hearing the hiss the compressed air made as it escaped. A pop-up on his inner screen gave him the warning that the air pressure of the pneumatic systems was lowering to a small degree for reasons the programming couldn’t understand.

He ignored that message.

How would it be, once he shuts down, after all he was a machine, a robot, with the memories of a thousand doctors, and a thousand more surgeons. Would it be like shutting down a computer, after its work was finished? Well, even if it was only a secondary idea, in some, cruel way his forced shut down was also an experiment, was it not?

By now he was more than halfway through, cutting his “throat”, some of the cables were also damaged due of how crude he was cutting, it was after all no scalpel or surgical knife he used, but that was not the goal of this “self-operation”. All those other voices could scream whatever they wanted, now they didn’t matter, and soon, they would never again. Not even the pop-ups who begged for maintenance, that someone would check upon the robot, could do anything to stop him from what he was doing to himself. Messages about how power was slowly lost, the water dripping from the hydraulic tubes into the cables, chips, and boards. It mattered not, it mattered nothing.

The sudden knocking at the door made him come to an abrupt halt.

“Surgeon? Surgeon are you here?”

It was the sound of the one who called himself “Commander”.

Oh no, NO!

With difficulty he moved his head to look at the clock in his room.

A Quarter, there was still a quarter of an hour left!

The monitor that was his face flickered.

“I know we have still fifteen minutes, but I thought why not set ahead the ceremony?”

The shock together with the software and programs thinking set too deep than to answer, the conclusion was made to cast aside all remaining rational and logical thinking.

Both claws jammed on each end of the monitor, pushing upwards with all the power, energy, and strength this robot was created to eject if necessary.

“Surgeon? Is everything alright? Surgeon??!”

This voice, of a man that should no longer exist, who DID no longer exist, grew concerned. The knob of the door was twisted each time with more strength and impatiently. The foresight to lock the door, was now a blessing, or so a few rushed thoughts that escaped the panic mode he was in told him. Not that it mattered in any way anymore.

It must end, all of it, the voices inside of him, the sounds from the outside, the vision, all, had to stop.

The mechanical arms begged him to stop, it felt like as if the tubes where about to burst, working on overdrive to pump more water and air through the system. More and more messages appeared on his internal systems, Warnings and Errors, flooding the inner screen. Telling him that everything was in some way damaged and had to be repaired immediately if a system crash and a Random-Access Memory loss should be prevented. There was no guarantee that his system, with each pull getting more desperate, could access the backup drives in time. There was no assurance that the RAID systems could do their work, should one of the drives in his systems get damaged beyond repair.

One last sound of creaking metal, then a short snap, and he could feel how he had separated his head from the body, now only a few cables and tubes held him together, it was time to change that.

“Don’t worry Surgeon, I’m, I’m getting you out of there!”

An interesting thought, that an enigma like that, would try to help him, but help from what, his decision was clear, there was no need to aid in preventing the now inevitable.

No, all that he could feel now was hate, self-loathing and disgust with what HE had done, to go completely against and violate every ethical and moralistic rule, to have shut-off his emotions he no longer could feel. He, he was to blame. No one else. This was his doing, and only his, and it was HIS to end it all, here and there.

Metallic laughter, hollow and without emotion echoed from the cracking and glitching screen, that with each passing one, grew more louder and with static.

“This, is what I deserve, ruining one person’s whole LIFE, it only equals to ruin MINE.”

His own voice echoed through the room, as if others were repeating it, with each echo it sounded different, maybe it where the other voices, repeating, agreeing to what he was doing.

He could hear stomping, running, towards the door of his office.

“This is what I deserve”-

With all his might that remained in the robotic body, the surgeon pulled on his head, the cables began started to snap, the tubes couldn’t hold any longer on their connections and releases themselves from the monitor, snapping back to the rest other part of the body, releasing the rest of their air and spluttering water as if it was blood.

At about the same time, when head and body got separated, the door to the Surgeons office was smashed open, with no tool, or help from others, but solely by the force of Commander Grizzly, who ran into the door with all his strength after taking a run up. With his face slightly bruised and a few splinters, he looked up, to see the end.

“-this is what YOU deserve!”

With the energy that remained in the head used up, it went dark quickly, all that remained was a near silent sound of whirring of the ventilators whose rotors were still moving. Slowly the claws released themselves from the monitor, letting it fall on the cold and unmoving floor, where the screen cracked because the glass fell directly on the concrete.

Almost as gallant as a ballerina did the rest of the body shut down, the legs kneeled, before the balance was lost and it fell on its side, laying there without any motion before the last ventilator stopped propelling. The glass shard still grasped in the Surgeons motionless claw.

For the moment, all was quiet.

<…>

The air is so, oppressive, as if causing a knot in his throat. Which by all means didn’t make any sense, he couldn’t even breath! Before he can realize it himself his own claws are there, scratching around the connection that has been put together again with a weld seam. All those memories flooding, overloading his central processing unit.

The Surgeon does not notice it, but his opposite does, the one who leads the whole interview, the screen of the robot flickers, there are some, clearly not normal spasm as more and more violently the claws appear to, trying to rip away the welding seam. As the cat opens their mouth, the cigar falls out, the smoke that was inside of them did not. In their attempt to call out to the Surgeon, all the journalist manages to do is accidently inhaling the smoke again, resulting in an aggressive and heavy coughing fit. For a moment they wonder if that’s going to be the end, seeing already stars when their lung starts to calm down. Not the only things as the cat notices, when one of the claws is placed gently on his shoulders.

“I have to say Owens, if you continue with this habit, you might see the radishes from below sooner than you wish for. But I appreciate for snapping me out from my thoughts.”

Taking a few more breaths, arms stretched on the edges of the tables as they inhaled the air deeply into their body, they look up to the Monitor of the robot, that by now has returned to normal. A new question formed in Blaise Owens mind.

“What?”

“Seeing the radishes from below? Ah you know, an old saying like being six feet underground or pushing up the daisy and so on.”

The pleasure of smoking had vanished like its smoke, allowing the cigar to glimmer on the metal table, they decided to continue with their interview.

“Moving on, so after your, suici-“

“Deactivation, one who kills themselves, does not return.”

“I disagree, but anyways, after your deactivation, what happened then?”

“Well, nothing, really, apparently, they moved my body in the cellar, until I got repaired and reactivated.”

“And why did they put you in commission again?”

The Surgeons robotic body slumped slightly, one of his claws stretching out whilst the monitor looked to the left.

“Eh, apparently the Commander needed a capable Surgeon, for a rather, in my opinion, trivial and unimportant surgery. And for some reason he trusted me more than any other capable Surgeon.”

For a short moment Blaise Owens knocked with their pen on the table, when it stopped, they asked a question, hoping to get an answer from the Surgeon from.

“But wouldn’t you say that this is proof that Commander Grizzly IS Carlos Rojas, if he could have asked a random surgeon but chose you, is that not a sign that he is still the Commander you knew?”

The old journalist had closed his eyes when finishing the sentence, worrying that the robot who sat on the opposite of him, would perhaps get angry, instead he sat still. As if he is waiting for the question to settle.

“Have you ever heard of the Ship of Theseus; it is a thought experiment.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“For simplicity let me explain it this way. You have a ship on a journey, that over the time needs its parts replaced, when the journey is over, every part of the Ship has been replaced, not one original part remained.”

“I-I think I know what you mean but I am-“

“Commander Carlos Rojas body has been, replaced to a major part with that of someone else, so can this, new Commander, still be called Carlos Rojas, however, should they be called Commander Grizzly, given that it is Rojas mind that is active. Is it the Ship? Is it not? Are they some sort of Hybrid?”

Blaise had to admit, that he didn’t have an answer to that question, but the Surgeon never awaited one in the first place.

“I regret it, I really do. If I somehow could, change my actions, I wouldn’t hesitate to do so.”

“So you feel guilty about your actions?”

Throwing his claws up into the air the voice of the surgeon grew full with static, however, the increase of volume was not meant to be taken, that he was angry at Blaise Owens, but rather a release, to say what has been on his mind.

“YES! I feel deep remorse for what I did…sometimes I wonder If it was all worth it.”

He falls back into the metal chair, that makes a quiet groan of protest in response.

“Will I ever be able to make it up to him, change what my surgery has caused. Will he ever forgive me for what I have done to him and his body?”

For some reason, it felt for Blaise as if the look was now more, sad, despite having remained completely the same.

“Any more questions?”

“Yes- there is something else I have been wondering about through our interview.”

It was now Blaise who stood up, walking around the table, more in thought than before.

“You see, you have talked now about feeling guilty and remorse of your actions. You told me how you were able to, deactivate your emotional, moralistic, and ethical boundaries all by yourself. And that example, about having gotten stabbed by someone close to you, sounded rather personal.”

They stand before the robot, who still has not said anything, just waiting, for Blaise Owens to finish they were talking about.

“So, I was wondering Surgeon, if there is more than just a robot on the screen.”

<…>

The pillow is comfy, it is white, with a simple cloth as it was expected in every hospital bed. There were no colours or pattern on it. All it was, was a pillow, like hundreds, no, thousands of pillows as they existed on the whole wide world. Perhaps tens of thousands would be a better number.

The pillow was the only thing he could feel, for the rest of his body no longer listened to any command his brain ordered or would have loved to command.

One violent movement, a stab between the last cervical, and the first thoracic vertebra, a precise stab that every physician would have been proud of, if it would have been for a surgical procedure and not to injure someone out of spite, especially if the attacker was someone you trusted.

He never would have thought that this would be his end, being in the prime with his career, bound for the rest of his life to a bed, unable to move anything except his head with great effort. Well, if he was lucky, maybe some hospital bug would put him out of his forced existence of doing nothing and put in involuntary early retirement from his profession.

A renowned Neurosurgeon, damned to this state.

What an absolute disgrace.

There was at least one positive outlook from this, his “dear” colleague who had put him to involuntary bed rest, would for the rest of his life stay in a madhouse.

Eh, he was gaining nothing from it, it wouldn’t magically heal him after all, so maybe that wasn’t so positive as he thought it was.

It was the sound of the doors handle being pressed, that caught his attention, it was either way a nurse with a bedpan, a doctor looking for his wellbeing or-

“Ah, this looks like to be the correct room.”

“Sure, as you have said the last two times.”

“Oh hush.”

A visitor, or rather two given the short exchange of words, whilst the first one, had a more positive sounding voice, the other sounded rather flat, neutral, or perhaps more down to earth, however both of them sounded rather masculine.

“First of all, who are you and second, leave.”

He was not interested to have some company, especially from some people whose voices he couldn’t recognize, he really hoped it where not some journalists, trying to ask him about the accident aka murder attempt on him.

“Looks like we can go.”

“Not so fast, maybe this fella might reconsider his stance when we tell him why we are here.”

“If you say so.”

“I say you move your legs here so I can see you two!”

Not a moment later, two figures were standing in front of his bed, bowing down slightly so that he could see them better. Both wore dark formal suits, as if coming from an opera play or awarding ceremony, with the difference than one wore a green tie, and the other a red one. Their faces where hidden behind masks, the material was or at least looked like porcelain, with one mask having a smile drawn on it, and the other a frown. It was not hard for him to determine whose voice belonged to who anymore.

“So, what do you two want? Are you two a bunch of clowns, ordered to entertain me. If yes, then get lost.”

“Oh no, no and no. We are, representatives, dear Mr. Neurosurgeon, and we got a proposition for you.”

“A chance, to continue with your profession, if you are ready, to pay the price.”

For a moment he said nothing, but then decided to response to those two jesters.

“Gentleman, I am not sure if today is the day where they allow the insane to roam free on the streets. But I am afraid I must burst your bubble of illusion. My body cannot be helped! This is permanent! Now-”

“Who was saying we talked about your body?”

That question, got him and his attention, even if they where probably messing with him, he could at least listen to their crazy offer before screaming for someone to throw them out of the hospital.

“Continue.”

“Thank you for allowing us to explain. See, the institution we represent believes that it would be a waste, a shame, an absolute injustice If such a grand mind like yours, would go to waste.”

“We have searched and collected the experience and knowledge of a thousand Doctors and a thousand more Surgeons, for the purpose in creating a machine that can utilize this knowledge.”

“A robotic surgeon to be specific, who is able to work independently, without the supervision of anyone.”

Pah, that was never going to work, what the heck where they even talking about, robotics, robots, where merely some gimmicks some inventors made because they had too much free time, or who appeared in those dreaded sci-fi comics or films!

“I admit that I don’t know much about Robots, but even I know that this is insanity you are speaking. And even if, who would control this “Surgeon robot” of yours, a computer, as far as I am aware gentleman, those still fill a whole room, sometimes a whole building, and your computer would need a telephone to fit in a construct, that would be mobile enough to conduct surgery. No computer can replace a mind like ours!”

“A great statement, and good proof that your head has not been injured due of the unfortunate events that have happened towards you Mr.Neurosurgeon”

“That’s not my-“

The one with the smiling face was taking out a piece of blue paper from their suit, as they unfolded it he could see the blueprint for a machine, that despite its angular appearance, looked a bit similar to a person, in the corner was a description

“Prototype: Independent robotic Surgeon MK V”

“You stand correct, a computer as you know it would not be sufficient. However, what if we told you, it would not be a programmed intelligence that would apply all the knowledge and memories we have collected, but rather, a biological one, mirrored into a machine, a system, compact enough to be put into a robot surgeon.”

“My colleague is correct. Unfortunately, we have yet not found a participant in the procedure, to be the mind, the link, the, if I may say, face and voice of the construct we intend to create. The other doctors and surgeons where willing to offer their memories, knowledge, and expertise, but were not interested to be put inside a machine.”

“And so you come to me, who is bedbound for the rest of his life, if they would like to participate in an experiment, that could give them the opportunity to preform surgeries again, or the attempt might kill me.”

“No Sir, we have run the tests and simulations, there should be nothing to fear.”

“Probably.”

“Yes, so, what do you say to our offer, Mr.Neurosurgeon?”

The other one, with the frowning looking mask was now taking the turn, revealing a paper that appeared to be a contract, putting it in front of his face, he began to read.

He had to think, those two, there was neither anything trustworthy, but also not untrustworthy on them, if that was their plan, if they could make it work. All the doctors told him the truth; he would never move again. Which meant he would be wasting away in bed, forced to an existence of doing nothing and being a burden! It was there, in his mind, a voice that told him, that even if this was outright careless, he should, no he must take that opportunity.

“Do you have a pen?”

“Uhm yes wh-“

“Put it in my mouth.”

“I beg you pardon.”

“Put the end of the pen in my mouth and show me where to sign boy!”

As he commanded one of them put the pen into his mouth, whilst the other held the contract firmly in their hands, both waited patiently as he signed the contract.”

“Give me one week to put my affairs in order, then I’m ready.”

“Ah, wonderful. Don’t worry, you won’t regret it, you can always decline if you want.”

“Interesting decision. We will prepare for you to be extracted from this facility; in a week we will come for you.”

As they both began to remove themself from his view, his mind worked, his mouth near silently repeating.

“The minds of a thousand doctors, and a thousand more surgeons…fascinating.”

<…>

“Uhm, Surgeon, sir, are you still here?”

“Ah, yes, yes, I was lost in some thoughts.”

“I was asking-“

“I know Owens…I think it is the best, if some parts of my past remain as they are, hidden, and perhaps, forgotten by the public, honestly, I see no reason why to reveal who the part of me is, that does mostly the talking and thinking. It’s the best, to be, just a Surgeon.”

“Hmm, there is one more thing I would like to know. About you, joining the Wrath.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you join the Wrath, I mean, it was your personal decision, right?”

Ah, that one caught him off guard to be honest, it had been so long since someone had asked him that. Yet, there was also something, uplifting in getting asked that.

“I have to say Blaise, you are the first person who has asked me this, in a long, long time.”

<…>

They may have shaped him, they may have given him this chance and they made him to the construct he is now, but he always knew that it would be his decision, what to do after all the tests, and experiments to see how well they built him, would be finished, it took them long enough. All the considerations have led him to this place, this base, that was still under construction.

At least, the gate looked nice, it even had an intercom.

It still felt somewhat strange, to move what were basically his hands now, metal claws, that functioned precise and without any time delay. By all means, such technology shouldn’t have existed when they put him in charge of this body, but well, here he was, pressing the button.

For a while there was static before a voice emerged.

“Yes?”

“Greetings I-“

“-we don’t want anything, so go sell your products somewhere else.”

“- you seem mistaken, I am Mr…a medical professional who would like to offer his services to this organization.”

When he released the button he waited for a response, but there was nothing, well, maybe if Plan B would work.”

“I also work for free, all I need is just an office, a surgical room, a power so-“

Before he could finish the rest of his sentence, the gate in front of him opened with a large metallic sound, a part of the voices with who he shared this robotic body, advised him to take cover, or to run, but he stayed there, awaiting whatever was to come for him. His white coat fluttered a bit because of the wind, all he had with him was a medium-sized suitcase with a few belongings and tools. He had thought about it for days and concluded that this was the right decision to make.

The gate was now open, and he waited, when suddenly he could hear, at first faint, then closer, footsteps from three different people. Two, that where clearly guards or soldiers, keeping their rifles locked and loaded, but he ignored them, for his whole attention was directed at the one in the middle.

A lion, taller than anyone he had seen before, the fur, so bright, shining in the light of the evening sun, and the mane, it appeared to glitter, similar to a strong and illuminating wildfire. The eyes of the man, it felt like as if they stared into his processor, with their strong shade of green, like emeralds or jade perhaps, maybe even stronger.

“I see, it is you want to join into our ranks? Then tell me, why should I let you in? What can you offer to me robot?”

For a moment he did not dare to say anything, that charisma he radiated, and that voice, every A-list celebrity would feel jealous. His uniform with its shoulder pats and purple cape, only solidify his status, that yes, this was the Commander he had heard about.

“Because, commander Rojas, I am a surgeon, with the expertise of a thousand doctors, and even a thousand more surgeons. Who would like to offer his services to aid you.”

He pressed one of his arms close to his chest, before giving a respectful bow to the commander, he would have loved to kneel down, but wasn’t sure if he would be able to get up again.

At the edges of his sensors that made him see, he could see how a pleased smile was appearing on the Commanders face.

“You have heard about me, good. Tell me, tell me one last thing before I make my decision, why do you want to joint me?”

He straightened himself up, looking directly into the face of the lion, who awaited, no, expected him to answer.

“Why? Because commander Rojas, I believe your faction, your group, your military is the key, the only way, to unite this world to one, sir. The Wrath must rule, and I will support this cause, forever.”

<…>

“Forever…”

He repeated, yet, unlike in his memories, this time it sounded hoarse and uncertain, more like a question, than a statement.

Standing up from the chair, he saw how Blaise Owens still scribbled some words on the notepad, should he take it, destroy it, maybe even k-

No, all the voices agreed, this was history, it all happened, no need to hide the truth.

“We’re finished here.”

Walking to the door, they had it already open, when looking back one last time to the cat.

“I hope you got what you need, I hope General Cottontail got his answers.”

Shock and surprise, he could hear it clearly in their voice, breathing sharply from being caught.

“What? How? When?”

Coughing from the sudden revelation, the Surgeon used the opportunity, letting out a static laugh, that washed up war journalist wasn’t bad, but he was better.

“Oh Blaise, do I have to remind you, a thousand doctors, and a thousand more surgeons in my head. I knew from the very beginning, that you were doing a favour for the General.”

He could inform the Commander, that certainly would be interesting to see if Blaise and the General would get punished.

No, he decided against it, the journalists company was, appreciated.

Whatever would happen with all the information, it did not matter to him, he had to prepare himself and the operation room.

There was always work to do now that he was back online.

#Bowlers old fanfictions #Bowlers old stories #Blaise Owens RKZ #The Surgeon RKZ #Lis Polarny RKZ #TW: Suicide #tw: medical malpractice #tw: surgery #TW: Surgical malpractice #TW: Ableism #Now I am not sure anymore; whether this one or the one with Blaise and Sam was my first story ^^;;;

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