Scene 1
My name is Doctor Stan Bubbles, and I am the youngest son of Overlord Yoshin Bubbles of Farysha and have no chance of inheriting anything from my father. As such, I studied medicine at the Archipelago University and eventually found a job under the name Stan Kadhäb in my hometown of Hykur.
Why did I get a job so close to a family that more or less hates me? I’m not sure. Maybe because the city was familiar to me after having spent most of my life studying on tropical islands. Maybe it was because I subconsciously hoped that Father would include me more often.
I don’t know why I thought that a totalitarian dictator would ever change his opinion to love someone he sent away, but I guess it’s a hope every estranged son has.
The one thing it would seem he does right is take in refugees from war zones and “iffy” countries. There are always border disputes, raids, or even just high crime rates like we surprisingly have that result in people looking for a better life. We primarily see a large number of Orcs coming in from our northern border with Paryda, but others take the treacherous journey through the Black Mountains to hide in our valley.
I was at just over a year in at Hykur Memorial, a couple hours into a slow shift, when the sound of a helicopter taking off echoed through the halls. I looked up alongside the nurses I was talking to at their semi-circular desk in the middle of a hallway intersection. The hall had been built around the desk, the hall here more or less in the shape of a diamond than the typical crossing lines, with the desk itself edging up to the flat of one wall and three office doors on the others. Everyone had to walk around the desk or interact with it to get anywhere.
“First time in a week,” Fraydas’ small voice chirped from behind the desk. Frayda Kolour was a small sprite, a type of the Fae Folk that lived in either the Archipelago or Sequa. Sprites were known for having two “variations” they called Clans that had different behavioral traits. Frayda was of the Iridece Clan, as colorful as they were playful yet with a love of helping others. The other Clan, that of Clan Blaok, were darker with golden shimmers in their wings. Those were the Sprites you did not want to meet in a dark alleyway at night. I was of the opinion that the color of a Sprite was determined by how they chose to act, but supposedly that was just me.
Needless to say, I was very glad we had Frayda, as she was one of the hardest working nurses.
I sighed heavily. “Wonder what it is this time?”
Her little fingers clicked away at the keyboard. “Judging by the last few helicopter rescues we’ve had, specifically the past ten, we’re looking at an eighty percent chance that we have either a stabbing or gunshot victim from the inner city that will be too late to save.”
“Yet pointy knives and guns are a death sentence to own.” Rolling my eyes was not a strong enough gesture. A couple generations back all “weapons” were outlawed, and if caught by the Armed Forces or anyone who turned you in, possessing one would often lead to your execution as soon as you were found. That being said, if you were all right with going into shady areas of the cities you could easily find knives, guns, swords, and more. The whole concept was hypocritical. Criminals could kill and harm all they want, but if your run of the mill family man tried to defend himself with a pocketknife? Blame’s on him and he pays with his life.
“Ten percent chance,” Frayda continued, ignoring my comment, “that this is a crash victim, five percent already dead from a cardiac episode or stroke, five percent something else.”
She looked up as the pager on my belt buzzed violently. Warily, I snagged it and brought it up to speak into. “Doctor Kadhäb.”
“Stan, need ya up in ICU Surgery One, two minutes ago,” came a voice. Doctor Kronda Goldenbeard, a dwarf with an attitude far bigger than his stature.
“En route,” I responded, already spinning around and on the move to the elevators. “What do we have?”
“Young girl, refugee, Akytan. Manticore attack in the Passes on top of other injuries. More will be coming in, but Border is flying her to us.”
“Antivenom?” I pressed the button to go to the top floor and tapped my foot impatiently. I was beginning to feel like this little girl I hadn’t even seen yet wasn’t long for this world. If I had to leave to help others, being one of only two doctors usually on hand on floor level and the only doctor in the area that commanded magic, her chances of survival would become dramatically slimmer.
“Being administered in helicopter, or so I was told.”
“Other injuries?”
“Gods be damned yer takin’ ferever,” he grumbled.
“I can’t help it that they have yet to fix the elevator, stairs would still take longer, and I’d be sweating. Injuries?”
He huffed before responding. “Puncture to the chest, collapsed right lung, broken leg that severed the femoral artery, possible infected cuts across arms, legs, hands, and feet.”
I shook my head and started moving as the elevator doors opened. I spoke aloud without even realizing it. “What would drive them to walk through the Passes? It’s insanity.”
An Elven nurse was waiting to lead me and assist with getting me prepped for surgery. Already I could hear the faint sound of the helicopter returning in the distance. “Obræ has been attacking Akytan coastal towns and laid siege to Wrybus. Haven’t you been watching the news?”
I gave her a dry look. Hope and humor had left my system quite a few months ago. “Working in this country has been depressing enough without the news and media on top of it.”
“Then move.”
I laughed. “Have you tried going through that process?” I asked her. “Most people die before they get approved and never get to see the country they desire to emigrate to.” My face was level and serious, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her jaw tensed, and she looked away, opening doors for me into the pre-op room. “I’m sure they’d let a doctor cross borders.”
I shook my head. “Only to study at the Archipelago. Doctors here are so rare I’m certain I’d just end up working in a military camp.”
She looked at me over her shoulder. “How can you be so sure?”
I just shrugged and kept quiet. It wouldn’t do to tell her how I know that. I may have been a small child when I saw some of the horrors Father put into action, and my oldest brother Harry had kept me in the loop of everything he wanted to change. While he now had general control, there was little he could do to push forward these changes until he himself bore the title of Overlord. Meanwhile, all I could do was survive and keep my head down.
But she wouldn’t understand that, and would chase me out once she learned of my lineage. So, I simply kept my mouth shut and continued the sanitation process in silence.
As the chopping sound of the ’copter came closer, I washed up and joined Kronda to wait in the operating room.
“Slowpoke.” The Dwarf snorted from his stepstool.
“I beat the helicopter in, didn’t I?” I looked down at him. “Besides, I’m the only magic user you have on hand.”
“Yer the only one in the hospital.”
“Poor you, you have no choice but to work with me.”
He smirked, the edge of his mouth pulling up a tidy braid made up from half his mustache. Nurses had tried to net up all his facial hair, but they seemed to settle for the pristine braid work instead. “There’s worse folk to work with, I suppose.”
“And I guess there are worse Dwarves to work with.”
That broke him. A full smile lifted the mustache, and he shook his head. “Ah, good ta see ya Stan. Ya don’t git up ’ere enough.”
Though I returned the smile, the warmth of his was lacking in mine. The difference between someone here because they wanted to help versus someone who also wanted to help but had little choice as to where they could be.
The air snapped to a more serious note as we heard doors opening and people shouting orders and other bits of information. We stood in silence, listening to measurements of this and that, heart rates, blood pressure, and all the information being called out.
Around us, nurses moved like shadows, their feet whispering on the ground as they programmed the machines and prepped medications. Everyone moved as if we were an orchestra even before our patient was before us.
Then, after the longest second of pure silence, we were moving as the door was pulled open.
