Mini-Grand 5108 [simul_complete]

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

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Doctor Heinrich Skalpell was not a man with a nervous disposition. It did not do in this job and perhaps more specifically in this particular asylum to be squeamish. He’d been here for nine years and while he had gotten used to dealing with patients no matter how insane they might be, he had never got used to the nurses. The sickening squelch of their slick flesh writhing in close proximity made his skin crawl even now. He was stood in patient R’s room, his pen pressed against his lip as he looked thoughtfully down at his notebook, or at least this was what he had been doing, he had sort of frozen in that position the moment he had realized there was a nurse standing directly behind him. She had not announced herself, he had not heard her enter, she made no noise whatsoever, but he knew she was there. She was not going anywhere. He knew that. When he turned around she would be there standing a little too close for comfort. He would have liked to stand right where he was for as long as it took her to leave with about the same fanfare as she had arrived, except for two things. Firstly he was a medical professional and Nurse Agatha or Nurse Trudy or whoever was likewise and it was his job to work with her for the well being of their patients, no amount of childish fear would get in his way. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, she would never just turn and walk away. It would never happen. So with reluctance he turned to face her. It was every bit as traumatising as he knew it would be.

“Nurse…” Skalpell squinted at the nurse’s nametag “Bertha, after spending an extensive amount of time with this patient, learning about his traumatic childhood, his identity issues and his severe recurring hallucinations. It is my professional recommendation that he undergoes an extreme course of eradication therapy, though preferably without me in the room.” It was easy to be sarcastic towards the nurses so long as found a particularly fascinating spot on the floor in front of you before you did so. Nurse Bertha did not respond for a good minute or so, but this was not unusual. He liked to think that it took the nurses a little longer to process what they were told because it was a hell of a lot better than any other explanation for their attitude around him. Eventually she turned around and walked briskly out into the corridor. She walked to the supplies cupboard that was a few doors down and returned wheeling ahead of her a machine that was all knobs and dials and wires and spikes and prongs and valves and levers. It was splattered with thick globs of dried blood; crusted and cracked. One of the wheels of the monstrous apparatus squeaked as it was pushed into the room. It made him wince. In silence the machine was plugged into the wall and slowly it hummed to life.

Doctor Skalpell was at that moment hanging back around the door, wishing that he did not need to be here for this. Wishing that Bertha had the expertise to locate and eradicate the troublesome parts of the patients psyche on her own. Eradication was a necessary measure but one he seldom relished. She began hooking the sobbing blob up the machine, but got no further. There was a series of clicks and clangs as the heavy doors down the corridor were flung open. Skalpell was thankful for something else to occupy his attention and so stuck his head out into the corridor. The idea that this might have been some unusual but entirely legitimate procedure being carried out by the nurses quickly evaporated. Some of the more recent patients, those who had not yet undergone their eradications emerged from their rooms; some urgently, tripping over their feet in their desperate bid for freedom, some out of simple curiosity, and some with a sense of satisfaction and a fire in their eyes. Upon sighting the doctor, Patient G, a heavily built man with grey skin and a horn protruding from over his right eye, cracked his knuckles, and strode in his direction, inciting the gathered crowd of inmates as he did so.

Doctor Skalpell for a moment struggled with a difficult choice. Be beaten to a pulp by an angry crowd of patients, or lock himself in a room with Bertha. It took him a second but he eventually conceded he would rather be in here with the nurse. He slammed the door shut, hurriedly fished his keyring out of his pocket and fumbled for the right key. Outside the patients that were inclined to do him some grievous bodily harm picked up their pace. The lock clicked shut and Doctor Skalpell stepped back from the bars just in time to avoid being grabbed.

Reuben remained indifferent about the situation throughout.

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Patient Y stumbled out of her cell on hesitant feet. Her hair was long and blonde; it hung ragged and unwashed almost covering her blank face. A band of fabric was tied around where her eyes ought to have been, her other features were just bare. She was wearing a straitjacket locked over a knee length white dress. She had not moved in a long time and she was a little uncertain on her bare feet. It had been years since this door had been unlocked. Years she had spent isolated, cut off from the world in about as literal a sense as it is possible to be. Honestly a part of her had welcomed it. Being left to rot was better than the constant eradications.

Upon her arrival she had been told that what she believed was her life so far was nothing more than a hallucination. Her protests otherwise were ignored, treated as further signs of delusion. They never countered her arguments, how she could see using their senses, how she could speak with their voices. They didn’t even try. They just sent one of those things in to perform an eradication on her, to unwrite her mind. It hadn’t had any effect. Well that was not strictly true; it had been agonising. It had been the most painful experience Y had ever suffered through, but it had not achieved the stated goal; to alter her psyche to their liking. She hadn’t been surprised.

Before she’d ever come to the Asylum Y had been part of a ritual and had been fused with a goddess of healing. She was a wellspring of healing energies and any damage done to her mind fixed itself as quick as they could cause it. Eventually they had tired of performing the same procedure again and again with no success. By that point Y was just happy to be left alone in the emptiness. She had despaired, giving up in the face of overwhelming futility.

And she had remained there, never really expecting to emerge from that dingy cell again, until something odd had happened. Suddenly she’d become aware of a pair of minds being dumped into the Asylum. That was of course noteworthy but she would never have given it a second thought if it wasn’t for the peculiar nature of one of the minds. It was not so much a single mind as a conglomeration of minds, one far more prominent than the rest. She’d done a little curious poking and prodding and it had become apparent that it was in pain; in real pain, not the kind that these doctors treated. It was this thought that had galvanized her; pulled her out of the darkness. For the first time in years there was someone here she could actually help, someone who she could make well again, and luckily for her today was the day someone had unlocked every door in the entire wing.

Y, no her name was Ywie damn it, walked out into the corridor, using the eyes of the others as her own. Somewhere in the distance the sound of a motorbike echoed through the busy corridors.

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Arckal sped through the corridors with his wide eyed passenger clinging on for dear life. If he’d been aware of Arckal’s particular driving style there was pretty much no chance Jetsam would have agreed to ride the delusional motorcycle with him. Arckal dodged and weaved through inmates, skidding around corners with his knee scraping along the tiled floor. Some particularly brave inmates wielding makeshift weapons attempted to attack the pair, but they were stopped short by Arckal’s foot delivered to their shins at high speeds. Those who had more wits about them just got out of the way.

“Excuse me?” Jetsam said. He frowned. He hadn’t said that. Well at least he hadn’t intended to.

“What do you want?” Arckal replied as they skidded beneath a swooshing cloud of musical notes.

“Nothing.” Jetsam replied. “I can help your friend; at least I think he’s your friend. He showed up at the same time as you did. I just need your help.” There was a momentary pause, and then a clarification. “That wasn’t me.”

“Yeah,” Arckal replied thoughtfully, “didn’t sound much like you.”

“Come to F Block.” Jetsam said. “Look out for the cloud of fireflies muttering to itself. You can’t miss it.”

Arckal skidded to a stop and idled thoughtfully, watching the corridor ahead as unspeakable things in the outfits of nurses bustled this way and that. Ahead of them, somewhere in this messed up place, was the portal that would take them out of this battle. Somewhere behind him an opportunity offered by a mysterious disembodied voice to maybe help Reuben. It didn’t take Arckal long to make his decision. Reuben might be a crazy blob thing but he couldn’t in good conscience leave him here forever. Hilux’s back tyre left a semicircular skidmark on the yellowing tiles and then before Jetsam had a chance to object they were screeching off back in the direction they had come from.