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jaegertango · 7 years ago

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Noire: Infirmary

Kind of a partial followup to the previous thing I did, featuring one of @yung-rage ‘s old characters. Tone-wise, it’s not really as noire-feeling as before, but. I felt the inspiration to try and do something else with this AU, so here we go. Someone’s gotta help fix up all the people getting beaten up in Underyork, and those wounds aren’t always legal. Sometimes you need a doctor just as deep in the muck as you are - and this Doctor ain’t always so Feelgood.

The start of a new era of bloodshed. Pfft.

I’ve read that newsline so many times that I wouldn’t be surprised if I had first seen it in the childhood fairytales. Everyone in Underyork is so quick to jump on any violence the mob families like to throw around – as if yesterday’s agony is any different from today’s joy. It’s such a shame; the print doesn’t want to write news any more, they would rather parrot the same six headlines they’ve had ever since Underyork was given its first brick. I’m not sure why I bother picking up a newspaper anymore.

Oh. Right. I guess I need something to wrap the lost fingers and appendages in before I put them on ice.

I’ve had this infirmary hidden along Moonsilver Street for ages now. Hidden means I won’t get any police knocking on my door; hidden also means I won’t get any medical benefits without any police coming as well. So I’ve had to improvise a lot in order to keep my patients happy. Or rather, alive. It’s more of an annoyance than anything – I don’t think any of them realize that the brand-new happy juice called Morphine is so much more difficult to get than any of the guns they’ve been shot with, whether by legitimate checkbook or on the black market. So I have to ration it – and mix a lot of it with THC. Weed is a lot easier to get my hands on than that happy juice, and what my patients don’t know won’t kill them – not that they’re any more legal than that happy juice.

They’re not here for licenses. They’re here for Silane “The Doc” Falorus.

I hate that nickname. Every time I have someone under the knife, I always get some snarky “Oh hey Doc, guess I’m ready for your cutting-edge technique hurrhurr.” They’re so funny – it’s all just a game to them, it seems. Everyone has their nickname, and everyone has their practice, but only I take my duties seriously. This is my God-given duty to help these wounds, and so I help these victims in their plight.

Fervently.

I hear the bell to my door chime, and I hear a mess of scuttling and gasping. I don’t even need to turn my head to know I’ve got more work – and if the last three patients have been any record, I’d say it’s another Legion attack. The news might not have any idea why the string of assaults was bombarding Underyork at random, but being “The Doc,” I’m privy to much better information. One of the Legion cleaners was apparently murdered – and not in one of their pseudo-religious hits. It has the entire family up in arms, and I’ve had to fix up the majority of their mistakes because of it. Branding irons, glass bombs, toxic gas cannisters, and those are just the ones that survived. If I had to guess among those yells of “MY FUCKING KNEE” and “IT FUCKING HURTS, YOU COCKSUCKER” I would guess this one had one of his kneecaps bashed in. Old-school – maybe this was Mafia Rex instead. Turning towards the entrance, I smile as sweetly as I can towards the three men holding up a fourth, whose right leg had been so mangled that I could see his shin bone poking out of his skin, and his kneecap had nearly been entirely removed. Still, I’ve seen a lot worse than that – he had little reason to be crying.

“And how can I help you boys?” I greet them happily, making sure to reach for my “World’s Best Mom” mug.

“Doc, you gotta help us! Reggie’s got hit real bad!” One of them speak desperately, and I can see the terror in his eyes. Young – he was definitely new to this crime world, with how fast he was speaking. Another one of them looked frightened as well, but the last one looked more tired. She was a more recognizable face – Nandine the Breaker, one of the Queen’s hitwomen. The Queen was newest to this scene, but she deals with an iron fist, and I enjoy her respectful posse. She was once a part of the police force, but she learned as quickly as I did that the government doesn’t do a damn thing for you. I can see it in her green eyes – I don’t even need to question who did this attack, so I simply brace for the inevitable shout regardless:

“So where were you boys at when the Legion beat you up like a schoolyard bully?”

“DOES IT FUCKING MATTER, DOC!? FIX MY FUCKING LEG!” Reggie roars at me, and it’s only now that I realize he’s got his handgun pointed at me. I just keep smiling at him – these children really needed to learn their place. Sure, I could just kick him out to the curb to die painfully, but that would go against my doctor’s morals. God had delivered them to my doorstep, so it was my job as “The Doc” to do what I was put in Underyork to do.

“Bring him in,” I speak to Nandine, and I can see the barest hint of a smirk cross her face. I whistle happily, turning on my heel and setting aside my medical tome and bible so that the mafia has room to huddle inside. The infirmary, once filled with my other patients’ groans for life, now went silent. They know what’s coming, and it’s respectful of them to be quiet – I appreciate them for it. Reaching for an IV drip, I keep whistling as I turn towards Reggie, who was still hissing and snarling all the same as I look to him.

“If you’ve any prayers to God, we can sing one together if you’d like,” I offer towards him, gesturing at my bible. In response, he fires a shot by my left ear, the bullet embedding itself in the wall behind me.

“I will FUCKING-“

But I didn’t care what he “fucking” did. I immediately reached over with my bible and brought it down on his shattered shinbone. He howled so loudly that the previous gunshot seemed like a whisper, and he immediately dropped his pistol. Deftly, I reach for it with my forefinger and thumb, and daintily place it in the cabinet along with the rest of the confiscated weapons I’ve had to take. Reggie was still screaming bloody murder the entire time, his eyes bulging as I sat patiently, keeping constant, unblinking eye contact with him as he erupted a constant stream of “YOU BITCH!” and “I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” I watched him quietly, waiting for him to get all of his obscenities out dutifully until he finally seemed to run out of breath, giving me time to talk once more.

“So since you’ve declined the prayer, let’s allow the doctor to work, yes?” I reply happily, looking towards his leg. Up close, it's no different than when I looked at it earlier – the tibia had entirely pierced through his skin, and his patella was almost fully gone, save for a few destroyed fragments clinging to his cartilage. There was no reason to look any closer than that – even if I could reset the tibia back in place, there was no more kneecap to connect it to. The amount of muscle atrophy by the time the bone could reconnect to a metal ball socket would reduce Reggie's right leg to nothing more than a sickly, shriveled stick. I look back up to his enraged face, and I solemnly shake my head, enough to make his red face immediately turn white.

“You can't be serious-”

“I am. Deathly so, Mister Reggie,” I speak softly, looking back to his ravaged leg. “There's no way you'll be walking again, I'm afraid.”

“NO WAY!” He howled, gazing down to his devastated leg and wincing at the bone jutting from it. The poor man was little more than a storm of emotion as he looked to me desperately for any sort of help, his hands shaking as he held them out before his leg.

“Please... just. Fix it, please...!”

“Lucky for you, I do have such a fix!” I sing joyfully, and I can see Reggie visibly relax – until I pull out the saw. Immediately, his face turns even paler, and his friends gasp in fear while Nandine tuts loudly. She's all-too familiar with my work.

“No!”

“Nein? Yes, I think a nine is about fitting on the pain scale!” I reply with a hum, and I motion for Nandine to help me restrain him. She sighs explosively, but I know she'll help. Reggie is lucky she's bigger than him, or else this would be a lot more painful for him. While she holds back his struggling limbs, I reach for the IV drip, and I aim up for his vein. Even as wild as he, I'm familiar with that fat tube of blood – and it's all-too easy to stuff the needle into it. He flinches, and almost immediately begins to relax; the happy juice does its job quickly.

Still, I rate my pain scale based on the morphine I've already given.

“Now Mister Reggie, you may not be religious, but I am – so allow me to speak this verse,” I speak freely and while his eyes have glazed over with the euphoria of obliviousness, I know just what is about to come. Readying the saw and flipping open my bible to a familiar verse, I nod to Nandine, and she steadies her hand on the man's wrists. One of the other men jump to land on his non-wounded leg, and I waste no more time. With zealous possession, I drive my hand forward and rip into the sundered kneecap, knowing I have only precious seconds to spare.

“Thirty-two, twenty-nine!” I call firmly, but I cannot help but feel the notes uplifting in my voice. Reggie screams loudly, not even the gentle embrace of morphine saving him from the nine of agony. But God is on my side, which means that God is on his side – I will not let him die, nor will I let him be plagued by this devil of a leg!

“See now that I, even I, am he, and there is no god within me,” I command loudly, but my joy drives me to greater fervor. I find no pleasure in causing harm, but I do find bliss in saving lives. Reggie may be howling bloody murder, but I know it is only the demons leaving his body. My saw shreds through his flesh true and fast – the lack of bone makes my dire task much easier.

“I kill, and I make alive; I wound, and I heal,” I pray at my fullest, and I can see that my job is nearly complete. My patient screeches his foulest, and his friends are paler than the sheets beneath them, but Nandine, bless her heart, stays true. She knows better than anyone else that my quest demands her fortitude, and I silently thank her for her strength. As the final strands of flesh start to part under my bloody saw, I feel the Lord's renewing energy in my fingertips as I finally finish my prayer:

“Neither is there any that can deliver out of my hand!”

My saw bites into the top of the bed, and I sigh explosively as the gruesome task is complete. Reggie looks to be on his final breaths, but I can see the crazed relief drooling out of his mouth – the worst of his agony is finally gone. I have cleansed him of his devils of pain, and that vile leg now sits useless and decrepit away from him. I can feel his friends' terrified eyes upon me, but I care more for the steady gaze Nandine offers to me. With a thankful nod, I relieve her of her stressful job, and wave her off to depart. Moving towards Reggie's IV drip, I increase the amount just a little bit more before I look back towards his companions.

“Move him to that spot, just over there, would you two?” I ask kindly, but I might as well should have screamed with how they flinched. Nandine snorts, but nonetheless offers a soft pat on my shoulder for a job well done. The Queen's veterans always have been so gentle around me – God truly watches over her.

“Hmph. You rushed that verse.”

The sudden voice speaking up startles me slightly, but not enough for me to do more than look over at the owner of the noise. Sitting in the closest cot to me lays Soren Sigmaine, maybe my most familiar patient. I have a story for at least half of the scars on his body – and he might as well could be a tiger with those stripes. His eyes regard me curtly, and while his bloodied uniform might demand him to be silent, that leer commands him to watch me as a healthy man. A prideful man – if it wasn't for that willpower, I would have chained him to this infirmary to keep him from getting more scars.

Besides, a man of the law like himself didn't belong among all of these criminals.

“Perhaps God commanded me to speak quickly,” I reply easily, walking over towards Soren and checking his machines. His pain levels were still as low as ever – even with a fractured rib and bullet wounds, he never seemed to complain about his agony. Perhaps the Lord was his own personal guardian angel.

“I hope God enjoys a fast prayer,” the cop chuckles, and he returns to his previous grip exercises. He knows I hate how he tries to work out while kept in bedrest, but I've given up trying to stop him.

“I've never known you as one for small talk, Sigmaine,” I shake my head bluntly, looking back to his fierce gaze.

“That's another Legion attack, isn't it?” He grunts curiously, pointing in the direction of Reggie's cart. I look over lamely towards it, and then nod silently. A sudden, foreboding feeling overtook me...

“They're planning something. This is just the tip of their iceberg they're cracking off,” He growls brusquely, leaning back into his pillow solemnly. I can't help but listen to his words – I've never trusted the advice of a blueblood, but Soren's gut feelings have always proven to have some merit to them. He would make a good mobster if he wasn't so foolish.

“Any ideas what that is?” I ask mostly out of idle interest, finishing my checkup on his health machines. Typically, he just shrugs darkly and shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“Dunno. But I can feel it. This and that fighting pit. Everyone's even more on edge – it's not like the old Underyork anymore. Everything's about to be shaken down...”

I wait for him to continue, but he never does. With a sigh, I turn my back on him and look back towards the entrance. Nobody else seemed to have any idea about the state of the mob, but I couldn't bring myself to fully deny Sigmaine's partial prophecy. If what he said was even remotely true, I wouldn't have enough beds to suit God's healing will.

Ugh. I suppose it didn't matter what happened next. I am an instrument of the Lord's will, no matter what.

Taking a step away to leave Soren to his peace, I return back to my desk, where I can hear the groans of life once more singing like a choir behind me. Something about the lack of silence soothes my nerves, however morbid they may be.

The start of a new era of bloodshed. Perhaps Zalaena needed to be warned...

#jaegerwrites #it's fun to do these narratives but idk

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