Arrogance: Volume One of Ebb & Flow

Chapter 17 - Doctor's Visit



I wipe my boots on the dead woman’s back and check on my minion. She’s unconscious and bleeding out of her nose and ears. Should I take her power and leave? She might just die if I leave her here. Then the only person who knows Eryk Blakely is Nobody is gone. Except I don’t know her contact is or where to find them. I cannot let her die here. The least I can do is gain some assurance for my safety. I crouch next to the downed Vivienne and start taking her power.

The moment I finish absorbing the power, I start transferring it back to her. She’s a fighter and strong-willed; holding her ability hostage from her would only make sure she never tells me what I want to know. Giving her power back ensures that I can always know where she is, meaning she cannot sneak up on me ever again—the added benefit of being able to take her power back if she ever betrays me.

I need to wake Vivienne up so she can shift. When I took Vivienne’s power, I saw its quirks laid bare to me. A Shifter ability where she becomes a huge woman made of obsidian, and her insides change to become extreme temperatures. Whatever she is wearing transforms into a similar material as her skin and shares in its flame resistance. In that form, she gradually gets hotter unless she disperses the heat in an attack she didn’t use when fighting Daeshim. She’s extremely durable and heals when she transforms; however, it doesn’t work in reverse. Any injuries she sustains while enflamed remain when she changes back to human, which could worsen the injury depending on the size. All I need to do is wake her up, and she’ll be good to go. Her ability is incredible it is even more powerful than I originally thought.

After tonight, I need to sit down and flesh out my plan beyond vague ideas. I’ve been reactive to everything that’s happened to me when I need to be proactive. Nothing truly great was ever created by accident. I’ll write a list with clear goals and the precise steps needed to accomplish them. I need to start making money since this doctor’s visit will set me back to being broke. If necessary, I can put off my own treatment. It all depends on the cost. Wait, the dead woman must have money to pay for the doctor. I walk to the dead woman and start going through the pouches that dot her suit. Most of them contain crumbled wads of small bills. I seemed to have killed a common thief wielding a decent power incorrectly. Every Neuvohuman I’ve taken an ability from has been thoroughly underutilizing it. Except for Lee Daeshim, that man was a shark content to wallow in a tiny pond. He could’ve been a major power in any metropolitan area instead of just another Crimton gang leader. What a complete waste.

My corpse robbing nets me only five hundred and seventy-two dollars and a small knife. Vivienne’s breathing and pulse are both normal. Her eardrums are burst, so I’ll rouse her up the only way I can imagine. I nudge her firmly, but she doesn’t wake up—time for plan B. I lean back and deliver a smack to her cheek. The sound of my hand hitting her face echoes in the dark, empty parking lot. Her eyes shoot open in anger but soften once she sees it’s me. Vivienne pushes off the ground and transforms. Her skin begins to glow as her hair bursts into fire. Her body starts to grow as chunks of her flesh become obsidian until the transformation finishes. The changes were fast, probably completed in less than twenty seconds. That puts her on the quicker end of the spectrum regarding Shifters. Vivienne is meant to be the muscle and she lost to a petty thieving weakling.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

She doesn’t answer me, staring at the ground. Now I know why she’s been used as an enforcer-for-hire for drug peddlers and gangsters; she’s a reckless meathead. She was so confident about being back up and went down so pitifully.

“It’s unacceptable. Why didn’t you change immediately? Why did you waste time fighting her without your power?”

“Because it would’ve been over too quickly. I’m clearly the better fighter. I would’ve won if she hadn’t used her ability,” Vivienne said.

Is she stupid? Based on what I’ve read and know about her power, Vivienne must be a tier-five Shifter. Under no circumstances should she lose to anyone who isn’t top-tier. Her hubris will be the end of her life and my aspirations if I can’t bring it to heel.

“You said you’re looking for fights that will challenge you, but you can’t even beat this no-name random woman. You are far too powerful to lose to people this,” I said, pointing to the dead woman. “You claim you’re the better fighter, then prove it. I am an understanding person, but failure due to incompetence is unacceptable. You said I owed you for what happened with Gio, but you’re looking more and more like a liability. If you can’t hold up your end of our partnership, then I will leave you and find someone who can. Get rid of your ego before it kills you.”

To her credit, she looks embarassed, shameful even. I leave her in the parking lot and head back inside. I remove my boots and take a seat, waiting my turn. Across from me, the skull man is attempting to sneak glances at me. My helmet’s design makes it impossible to tell if I’m looking at someone, so he has no idea I’m aware of his gaze. I don’t believe he’s a Neuvohuman, and I’m not up for any more fighting tonight. We’ll have to visit Vivienne’s informant on a different night. I can’t be out till the early morning again. Is he afraid of me, or does he want something? My breathing is harsher, and the pain is getting unmanageable. This doctor better be all he’s cracked out to be.

Vivienne stays outside for over forty minutes while I wait to be seen. When she enters, she looks different, and not just because she’s back to human. It’s subtle, but her eyes are more determined, and she walks with a hardened focus. Good, Vivienne’s heeding my words. If she can’t, then I’ll gift her power to another. Vivienne joins me, and we wait for another two hours before the sounds from the operating room cease. The curtain moves, and two men walk out of it. The first is an older black man with dreads and a thick beard. His left pant leg is ripped off, and bandages are wrapped around his thigh. Besides his pants, he’s not wearing anything else, and hundreds of healed wounds and scars mar his body. Whoever the man is, he has seen combat, and a lot of it. Even fresh off of surgery, I can tell he’s dangerous. His face betrays nothing, and the man is a professional.

The person who follows could not be more different. Where the other man is tall, muscular, and secure, the doctor is eccentric-looking. I had pictured an older man with graying hair and a lab coat. Instead, it’s a twenty-something Asian man with spikey green-tipped pink hair and tons of piercings. His eyebrows, lips, and nose each have multiple gold pieces. A set of goggles covers his eyes, and I can see words projected on each lens. Besides that, he’s wearing a tight-fitting, sleeveless, white v-neck and bright cyan pants. His Jordans have pearlescent yellow accents and not a single smudge or scuff on them. He looks nothing like a doctor, but this isn’t exactly a licensed hospital. He looks around, lingering on Vivienne and me before moving on.

“You’re all set, Mr. Cain. Thank you for your business, and I hope to see you again,” the doctor said.

So the serious guy is called Cain. Now, is it an alias or his real name? Do other people struggle to keep track of all the aliases? Separating Cowl and Civilian identities comes easily to me. I’ve never thought of myself as Eryk Blakely, and Nobody is just another mask I created. Deep down, I’m like a whiteboard. No matter what I write on it, I can always erase it and start over. But bit by bit, I’ll steal portions of people’s personalities until I have enough puzzle pieces to assemble an identity. Cain nods and walks by us without saying a word. The doctor clears his throat before addressing everyone.

“Alright, who was next?”

The skeletal man is staring at me, waiting for my response. I can see him swallowing nervously. After what happened to the last person, he's afraid to challenge me—no need to worry. I’ve had enough excitement for tonight. I’m too tired to cause any problems. He makes no effort to speak up, so I stand up and wave. The doctor smiles and beckons me to follow him.

The room beyond the curtain is both chaotic and clinical. There’s a stainless steel operating table in the middle and small drains all over the floor. The peripheral of the room has boxes upon boxes piled all over. They all have dubious labels like “toxic” and “good juice.” Large mechanical arms with lights, drills, and other attachments hang from the ceiling. The floor is slightly wet, and I can see blood around the drains. Metal carts with scalpels, power tools, and jars of glowing liquids dot the room. The operating room is a coordinated mess with all this machinery, but it looks like Vivienne wasn’t kidding; the doctor has Tinkertech. Instead of calming me down, this makes me more hesitant. Tinkertech is dangerous and unpredictable. I’m going to have to relinquish myself to a stranger. Put my well-being in their hands.

“Sit on the table and tell me what you’re here for,” he said.

I follow his instructions and gingerly sit down. The table is raised, and getting onto it sends pain up through me.

“I was out climbing a tree and fell,” I answered.

“Oooh, spooky voice changer. I’m sure it was a totally normal accident,” he said while doing an exaggerated wink. “Lift your shirt and let me see.”

He puts on a pair of black rubber gloves as I lift my shirt. His touch is cold against my side, but he’s careful with the pressure. The doctor leans in as he prods me, and I can feel his breath against my skin. The sensation is ticklish, and I can hear him muttering under his breath about a break. A snap from him causes one of the mechanical arms to move. It has a black screen surrounded by a thin blue frame. The arm moves the screen to hover between his face and my chest. It repeatedly flickers before turning on, and he moves it over the bruised area. He nods and makes some other off sounds, compelling me to ask.

“What’s the verdict?” I asked.

“Hmmm. Well, two things. One, your helmet is sick as fuck. The way it seems to absorb light instead of reflecting it is fascinating. I’m a big fan of Tinkertech and would love to add it to my collection. We can discuss price or trade. Second, what’s your workout plan look like? You’re like toned as hell. I just can’t ever find the motivation to work out to put on muscle.”

His nonchalant attitude and terrible professionalism are catching me off guard. Is he fucking with me? Maybe I should have Vivienne squish him after I’m done.

“I meant about my injury,” I said.

“Oh yeah. You got a couple of broken ribs, but there’s no internal bleeding.

One of the ribs is pressing against your lungs, so I want to go in and set that correctly. It should be a quick little fix, and then you’ll be good to go. Would you rather be awake or take a small nap?”

“Awake and no drugs.” I can’t risk passing out or saying something sensitive while under the influence.

“Okay, Boy Scout. I kind of feel like you have trust issues, but whatever. Lay on your side, take off your shirt, and let's get you opened up,” he said, pitching his voice higher.

He is every bit as eccentric as Vivienne said. If he always acts like this, it’s a wonder someone hasn’t killed him. It’s a testament to his skill. I peel my shirt off carefully and lay down on my uninjured side. Out of my peripheral, I see a syringe in his hand full of a bright blue liquid. What the heck is that? I voice my question to the doctor as the syringe approaches my side.

“It’s just a novocaine that I added food coloring to. It makes it cooler and more mad sciencey. Don’t worry about it’s safe,” he said.

Every person involved with Neuvohumans is insane. Quinstin will have even more characters like this guy. In fact, it will be worse due to being a metropolitan city and one of the largest population centers in the state. Maybe it’s an act to put people off-kilter and maintain a quirky facade. Vivienne warned me that he’s dangerous, but that woman earlier was a danger to her, so she isn’t the best judge. He’s an example of the benefits of having a well-known reputation. Before I realize it, the doctor injects me. He walks around the table, and I hear him moving things around and clanging metal objects behind me.

“Hey, do you know what blood type you are?”

“I’m O positive,” I replied.

“Perfect. Would you be interested in donating to my supply? It’ll reduce your fee for today,” he asked.

“Not at all.” I am not letting anyone, let alone a criminal doctor, store my DNA anywhere.

“So selfish. But I forgive you. Now, try not to move at all. You shouldn’t feel anything, but let me know if the novocaine starts to wear off. Neuvohuman abilities can affect the metabolic rate of your body in interesting ways. We can, of course, circumvent this by you telling me what your ability or abilities are,” he said jokingly, but his smile says otherwise. It is a seemingly harmless proposal, but that knowledge combined with what he has here could be lethal.

“Nice try, but I never said I was a Neuvohuman. Enough fucking around. Let’s get this over with.” I’ve had enough of his games and jokes. He needs to stop trying to be cute and just fix my ribs.

“Aren’t we testy? Fine, keep your blood and your secrets,” he said.

He brings out a cart with various instruments on it with him. A blood bag on a hook ending with an IV is attached to the cart. His right hand no longer has a glove, and his left holds a scalpel. His goggles are off, and he’s wearing a black rubber butcher’s apron. The uncovered right arm moves slightly as segmented lines appear across the skin. Each finger separates in two as the arm unravels to show metallic chrome machinery and various circuits. The result is ten individually moving spider-leg-like limbs, each thinner than a pencil and longer than a chef’s knife. All of them are protruding from the base of his elbow. Well, I’m not the only one with secrets.

“Your mask hides your face, but I can feel you stare at my prosthetic. It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I got it in a trade with a wonderful young woman named Mannequin, or was it Marionette? It was something along those lines, and this limb has been ever so helpful with helping me treat patients.”

His robotic spider arm delicately inserts the needle into my arm as he brandishes the scalpel. He presses it against my skin until it makes an incision. I have to crane my neck just to watch what he’s doing. The lack of sensation as my flesh parts and blood flows down my abdomen onto the table is curious. Dark red rivulets drip and pool beneath me, wetting my pants. Two of the metallic points peel back the skin and hold it in place as the remaining eight legs poke and prod about in my side, scraping against bone as they nudge the ribs back into place. The sound is unpleasant, like a rock scraping against a wine glass. He ceases speaking while operating, and I’m thankful for the quiet reprieve. Everyone is so chatty. I’d give an arm to work with silent corroborators.

I allow myself to relax while the man works. I have ten bricks of pure cocaine. Wholesale value could net me five hundred thousand if I can find a buyer. But cutting it means no wholesale and having to dish it out through dealers and infrastructure I don’t currently have. Finding myself a distributor is possible, but that’ll also slash the profits. I don’t know anything about the measurements or ratios of how to cut it to make it last. The types of people who buy impure cocaine aren’t reliable or wealthy. It becomes a toss-up between two plans, each with two different blueprints. It’s between one big payday or a gradual but smaller income trickling in. If I can find some would-be chemist at university, I could prolong the coke by lacing it with another drug. Then, market it to rich kids and people in business as a wonder drug. I need money now. My ideas spiral and fork out as I contemplate how the next few weeks will flush out. Two months and a couple of days to establish a skeleton of a crew needed to infiltrate Quinstin’s underground.

I’m unclear how long the operation lasts, but the doctor is now stitching up my side, and the blood bag is nearly empty now. He pulls away and washes his hands in a sink attached to the wall. There’s a bandage over my stitches, and the numbness is already fading. I stayed awake for the whole surgery, and the man seems to have done a thorough job. Easing myself upright, I’m careful not to move too suddenly. My shirt is lying on another one of the metal carts, so it isn’t dirty. I look at the doctor, and for the first time, I truly see him. Behind the crazy persona is an incredibly shrewd and resourceful surgeon. The sheer confidence and disregard for manners he shows let me know he’s got to have several contingencies and backup plans. Things that make him feel safe all the way out here without security.

“How much do I owe you for the surgery?”

“We’ll call it twenty-five hundred. Your injuries were mild enough that I didn’t have to waste any of my really rare stuff. You know you could’ve gone to a regular hospital if you got hurt ‘climbing a tree,’ right?” He responded with a laugh. “So, Mister…”

I fish the cash out of my pocket and place it on the table. Carefully making my way over, I grab my shirt off the cart and put it back on. The novocaine is making it easier to get dressed, and I have ibuprofen at home to help as I recover. From what little I know about cracked and broken ribs, healing just takes time and rest. I walk past him and leave him with a warning.

“I’m Nobody; if you don’t stop prying, you’ll also be nobody.”

My sentence surprises him, and a blank look covers his face. Play it carefully, Doctor. One shout and Vivienne brings the house down on all of us. His incessant attempts at sussing info about me have gotten old. Nobody questions Nobody. In the lobby, Vivienne is on her phone while the other guy reads a book. From the look of it, it’s a philosophy book. He’s balancing the book on his lap and using his healthy arm to turn the pages. I approach and stand in front of him, looking down.

“I recognize what you did, and I’ll remember it,” I said.

“No problem, just showing respect to a fellow Jefe. They call me Santiago Skull, the biggest pound pusher of B-Town,” Santiago said while puffing up his chest.

His bravado and swagger can’t hide that he knows I could kill him right now—a drug peddler’s barely disguised attempt to bargain for his life. He’s just as pitiful as Marcus, both terrified of the end. I have no reason to kill Santiago. He doesn’t have anything I want, but he doesn’t know that. All he saw was me antagonizing someone and then brutalizing them. It wasn’t random violence. I’m not a psychopath.

“Regardless of intent, the action was appreciated, Mr. Skull. I wish you a safe night.” My remarks only unsettle Santiago more with the ghostly overlap of voices.

I nod at Vivienne, and we both put our shoes on and exit the hospital. I peek at the clock on the wall and see it’s almost three A.M. I’m exhausted and sore after the operation. It’s time to leave. Stepping over the dead woman’s body, I see Vivienne staring at the pasted head and hanging jaw. Let this show you my resolve, Vivienne, and the lengths I’ll go to for my goal.

“Before we leave, get rid of it.”

“Got it, Nobody,” she said.

Walking over to the unlocked SUV, I hear the sound of flesh sizzling and cooking. Good, at least she can do that right. As soon as I close the door, I press the button on my helmet to release it. It isn’t stuffy inside of it. Aubrey made sure of that, but it still takes some getting used to. Having my head tightly encased for hours on end makes me happy I’m not claustrophobic. It’s not even a saying anymore. I genuinely feel happy not to have such a common phobia. I cannot wait to see what else brings me joy. The vehicle turns on, and Vivienne sets us on the long drive back to my house. I have nothing to say to her. Either my words will get through to her, or they won’t. The lull of the quiet night makes me want to take a nap, but it would be unprofessional to do so. So I roll down my window and feel the cool air blow against my skin and through my hair. Tonight was a success. I got healed, gained leverage against Vivienne, got another ability, and a personality fragment. Only one person died as well. Tomorrow, we’ll catch a rat and gain some intel. Everything is going my way.

We get back to my house as the sun starts to rise. We were out far too late.

“That’s my phone number. Text me whenever you wake up, and we can go meet your contact,” I said, handing her phone back.

“Hey, I know I didn’t exactly perform tonight, but I’ll be better.”

“You were the one who pushed for a partnership. The literal least you can do is be better than tonight,” I said, getting out of her car.

I don’t bother waiting for her response. The summer night air is sticky and humid. Thankfully, the house is kept at sixty-five degrees. The cold air hits me as I step through the door, chilling the slight sweat I worked up tonight. She could be so much more if she used her head. A partnership as equals cannot work, but I could mold her into a soldier. She seems to have a confidence issue that I can definitely exploit. With tonight’s failure, I can guilt her into helping me accomplish a few goals for free. Either that or I remove her power and kill her after disposing of her contact.


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