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"Spare me the bleating you call an accent and listen up: metoprolol, you eunuch-diddling Azzurri. That's what I paid for -- not atenolol!" Phone driven stake-like into the side of his head, he practically screams into the receiver.
Your ears thrum at the mention of generic brands.
Branch
A drug order -- no question. Dr. Hugo was right, this is the man you need to fix Ramses.
"Melodious? That you're intelligible at all is only the byproduct of my concentrated efforts to withstand the ugliest sounds the human glottis is capable of producing."
"The order better be here by tomorrow. Of course I fucking know the process." As he shouts, Gonza hammers a notepad next to the phone.
Glance at the notepad.
A series of phone numbers scribbled hastily, but not quite legible from where you're standing.
There. A direct line to his suppliers. If the good doctor won't sell, you'll have to go over his head.
"Tell your delivery boy that if he gets the wrong batch again, he's dead." Gonza slams the receiver down and starts rubbing his temples.
"Everything good at home, doctor?"
"Azzurris! A species-wide clerical error. They piss in jars and call it chemistry. Now, what do you want?"
Branch
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"You said something about 'peddling drugs'?"
Branch
"I told you, bring me back my personal effects, I'll hook you up with so many drugs you'll forget you were ever a person."
"Meantime, you can watch me do some, if you want." He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a little vial of powder.
At least two different colours and three different consistencies in there. That's not a drug, that's a cocktail.
"Alright, go for it."
He tips it over onto the desk and rails the miniature mountain without even cutting it into lines.
"Aah... fuck me." Shudders run down the doctor's body as the thicker granules fall back out of his nose.
That is... oddly satisfying.
Vicarious living achieved. You know you haven't ingested anything, but you are without a doubt a little high.
Branch
Branch
A failure of imagination. You just feel left out. If anything, you sober up.
This is horrible. This just makes you want drugs even more.
"Why would I want to watch you do drugs?"
"Contact high, vicarious living, because it's sexy..." He shrugs. "I don't judge, mama."
"No, thank you."
He shrugs and gums a little anyway.
Branch
"Ha! Nice try. Just because we've proven you're not medical board scum, doesn't mean I trust you, sister. Many different kinds of narc in this world."
"You want to get in my good graces, there's a favour I need... something I can't do myself." Cunning glints in his eyes.
He'd happily sell drugs to you. He's just caught wind of an opportunity to get something out of you.
"I'm listening..."
Branch
"It's a simple favour, really. You remember my former colleague, that miserable worm Hugo?"
"He stole certain... irreplaceable personal effects of mine. Bring them back, then we can talk business."
Branch
"Who is this colleague?"
"A no-account and a fraud, not worth the saliva wasted on pronouncing his name."
"His name, Gonza. How am I supposed to find him without it?"
"I understand he lives in a houseboat down by the Backways. His name, may science forgive me for pronouncing it, is Hugo Abe."
"Doctor, officially, though I would rather let a homeless man operate on me with a broken schnapps bottle than be treated by that slug."
Branch
"Where do I find him."
"What did he steal?"
"A research-grade apparatus, used for advanced diagnostics. Very sophisticated. Finely calibrated. Worth thousands of sol."
"It should still be in its aluminium housing -- unless that institutional hemorrhoid has decided to put it on display."
The implication is that you'll know it when you see it. Extremely ominous.
Branch
"Why can't you do it yourself?"
"And give him the satisfaction of knowing he has something on me? Absolutely not."
"Besides, I don't trust myself not to murder him if I come within choking distance. Wait, not murder, that's for humans. You get the gist."
"I'm in." (Accept task.)
"I knew I could count on you, you have that withered fiend look. Bring it over and we'll party. All the drugs you could want. Pharmaceutical bonanza."
Two words: Lab Grade.
Branch
"Hrrm. I'll think about it."
"You think too much. Drugs would solve that. Bring it over and we'll party. Pharmaceutical bonanza." He winks at you.
"There's a miserable worm, a former colleague of mine, who apart from stabbing me in the back, stole certain... irreplaceable personal effects."
"Why don't you pay him a visit, see if you can recover my stuff? Then we can talk business."
"Favour? I'd be paying you money!"
"Money's not everything in this world, mama. Don't believe me, ask that telecom tycoon when was the last natural erection he had, and what he used it for."
"You said boring drugs are wholesale only -- what about the non-boring drugs?"
"Do you know Dr. Hugo?"
"Ugh. Was he intensely forgettable? Did any sense of authority flee from him like the plague?"
"He seemed courteous and professional."
"Social death sentence."
"Board-certified swine!"
Branch
"Did you know he has a daughter?"
"Somehow, yes. I suspect a fertility experiment gone wrong. That or the world's saddest mercy fuck."
Branch
"Why do you dislike him?"
"Hate is a better word for it."
"My theory is that dullness he exudes is the result of a fungus of some kind. A parasitic brain mould playing at the motor cortex of a mediocre doctor like a child with a joystick."
"Sounds like you might be jealous."
"What, of a mollusc without even a basic understanding of biochemistry?"
The seething -- it overrides any and all underlying emotions.
Branch
"He didn't say anything bad about you."
"Of course he didn't. He's neurologically incapable of it."
"Wouldn't a brain fungus just kill him?"
"Eventually, sure." He shrugs.
"There are plenty of fungi that control ants and beetles, how much more difficult can a mediocre doctor be?"
"Wouldn't a brain fungus just wang him?"
"Did you know the board refused to renew Dr. Hugo's licence?"
"What? No. Don't lie about things like that." Genuine distress curdles under his skin.
"He told me himself. He hasn't had a licence for four years."
"No!" He delivers a punch to the table. "No, no, no no..."
"Why do you care?"
"You don't get it. Only real doctors get burnt by the board. If we're both operating without a licence, then..."
"Who's to say... I'm no better than that slug."
You can almost see the spine rip itself out the back of him and slither off.
"I prefer you to Dr. Hugo, at least."
"And I'm supposed to draw comfort from that? Of course you prefer me, he has no personality to speak of!"
"They must have discredited him just to provoke me, it's the only explanation. See if they can get me to capitulate."
"And I'm supposed to draw comfort from that? Of course you prefer me, he has no personality to speak of!""He couldn't compete with me in his wildest dreams, that's why this is so galling."This is the closest he's ever got to having respect for his former colleague."You don't get it, do you? I've slipped and I didn't even realise it."
"Definitely."
"Well, not today, I say to them! No one, and I mean no one except for the cancerous hand of biological fucking decay will bring Gonzalo ES Gonza to his knees!"
Branch
"Capitulate how?"
"To come crawling back begging for them to renew my licence, of course. Agree to monthly piss tests and fucking group therapy sessions."
"You're supposed to be doctors, it's not a competition."
"He couldn't compete with me in his wildest dreams, that's why this is so galling."
"He kills dogs for a living now."
"That swine! I knew someone else was snatching them from the streets. Never thought it would have been him. Oh, he's getting good..."
This is the closest he's ever got to having respect for his former colleague.
"Thank you for having a totally normal reaction to that news."
"You don't get it, do you? I've slipped and I didn't even realise it."
"Maybe you don't need to hear this right now." (Start backing off.)
"What's the history between you two?"
"There is no history. Only scientific cowardice put forward by an invertebrate with little to no experience in surgical realities."
"So you disagree -- medically?"
"Disagree implies I grant him sentience, which I fucking do not. I regard his medical opinion the way I would a dog chewing at its own tumour."
"There's no point in us discussing him any further."
A twitch under his eye. He masks it with anger but there is real upset there.
Squeeze him! Get the man-drama.
"What's wrong? Too scared to talk about what Hugo did to you?"
"Don't challenge me, young lady." He wipes his mouth with a bloodied sleeve.
"Put it this way, there was a project in which I believed us to be colleagues, while in fact he was sawing the floor out from under my feet the whole time."
Branch
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"You're referring to the Dream Study?"
"Yes, my visionary research programme that he leeched off me. And with the backing of an astronomical grant from those EMTERR fuckers too!"
"I knew they were going to screw us, but I went along with it anyway."
Branch
"What were you studying?"
"Visualisation. We wanted to see what people see in their dreams."
"Flush with foreign cabbage, I was able to design a custom fMRI headset. More portable than those giant washing machines our rivals were using and, crucially, interlinkable..."
Enabling subconscious links between several participants, all wearing headsets. Very futuristic.
"Were they able to peer into each other's dreams?"
"That was one expectation, but the project never got that far."
"I did at least get to load them all up with modafinil and enjoy Dr. Gonza's Subconscious Picture Show."
Smuggling the ethereal objects of the subconscious into the physical world.
A middle finger to natural law.
"You shouldn't fuck with nature like that."
"Wrong. That's exactly what scientists should be doing. Any who don't are just fetuses dressed in lab coats."
Branch
"Glad someone is willing to push science somewhere interesting."
"Most of the cowards are content with fisting guinea pigs, or detoxifying leaf matter. The real juice is in intoxicating the population and seeing how long they survive."
"I dunno... I think dreams should remain ephemeral and inaccessible."
"Not surprising. Fear of knowledge is evidence of a pre-modern mindset."
"Interlinkable? Between headsets?"
"You just plug the subjects in, load them up with modafinil, and boom -- Dr. Gonza's Subconscious Picture Show."
"Meaning?"
"Why go along with it if you knew you'd be screwed over?"
"Clearly you don't know the first thing about human biology. How was I going to give birth to my baby without first getting fucked a couple of times?"
No hint of a smile with that one.
"So you don't regret it?"
"Not one instant. I got to see the Subconscious Picture Show. Who else gets to say that?"
Branch
"Yeah, but your 'baby' got taken away."
"I got to see the Subconscious Picture Show. Who else gets to say that?"
"I'd prefer not to get fucked, personally."
"A bit of medical advice, from a professional: over-clenching leads to tearing."
"I heard there was an 'incident' that got you shut down." (Proceed.)
"Is that what we're calling it?" He scoffs. "Put it this way, I get a call from Abe one morning -- 'There's someone in the office for you'. So I come in, trustingly, like a slaughterhouse animal, and there they are..."
"Let me guess: Board?"
"Board!" He throws his head back and curses at the roof.
"They even had the audacity to box up my belongings with their fucking claws before I arrived. Next thing I know they're boxing me up too."
"I've been boxed up, too. Not recommended."
"Makes you painfully aware of the orifices you didn't know you had, doesn't it?"
"That swine Abe had been plotting it for ages, clearly. Having nearly missed the fucking boat once, he wanted to seize control of the Study for his own purposes."
No one is safe from the threat of cold storage.
The freezer is broken, the meat is going bad. Dr. Gonza labours on in hot storage.
Branch
"They must have given you a reason."
"These were not question-answering goons."
"Sounds like they screwed you, Gonza."
"Royally, and in orificies I didn't even know I had."
Let him continue.
"Goons of the medical board. They even had the audacity to box up my belongings with their fucking claws before I arrived. Next thing I know they're boxing me up too."
"How did it all end?" (Proceed.)
"Abruptly and in betrayal."
"I get a call from Abe one morning -- 'There's someone in the office for you'. So I come in, trustingly, like a slaughterhouse animal, and there they are..."
"What was the project?"
"It was a Dream Study, backed by an astronomical grant by those EMTERR fuckers, ran by the both of us."
"I knew they were going to screw us from minute one, but I went along with it anyway."
"He sabotaged you?"
"Yes. We were running a Dream Study together, backed by an astronomical grant from those EMTERR fuckers."
"On second thought, I don't need to hear more of your drama." (Go back.)
"You're starting to sound a lot like a wife of mine. Forget which one..."
Branch
Don't ask.
A silence passes between you, riding on the cloying air of the clinic.
Branch
"Sounds like a couple of boys arguing over who gets to play doctor."
"He plays doctor, I live doctor. That is precisely the difference."
"You know what? I don't care." (Drop it.)
"Now you're starting to sound like him."
There's clearly history between the two doctors. Best guess is they used to work together -- that's your in.
"You two used to work together, didn't you?"
"Is that what he told you?" He wipes his mouth with a bloodied sleeve.
"Put it this way, there was a project in which I believed us to be colleagues, while in fact he was sawing the floor out from under my feet the whole time."
"What did you and Dr. Hugo work on together?"
"So far I've not heard a single good reason for your hatred of Hugo."
Branch
"What do you mean? He's a thief. You know full well he stole Meta-Gonza from me."
"That's just one small thing."
"It's a symbol! He's dipped into my life's work and pilfered whatever he feels like and claimed it as his own. Don't get me started..."
Fists clenched, he adopts a strained position against the desk. Everything under his skin tightens.
Drug... pulsing... madness.
"Come on. Tell me. I want to hear it."
"I'm going to do you a favour and stop the conversation there." He angles his eyes up at you. "I am in no state to discuss what that slug has done."
Branch
"Yeah, probably for the best we leave it there."
"Yes." He angles his eyes up at you. "I am in no state to discuss what that slug has done."
"Fair. That's probably enough of a reason."
"I can picture him, polishing my medical equipment in his sterile little office. Running his sanitized virgin fingers over surfaces that remember my touch. It sickens me."
Branch
"Fine. Here's one: he's a thief. Which, I'll admit, is impressive for a gastropod!"
"Thief? Did he steal something?"
"You mean, other than my life's work? Yes! Certain irreplaceable personal effects."
"I can picture him, polishing my equipment in his sterile little office. Running his sanitized virgin fingers over surfaces that remember my touch. It sickens me."
Filth soiled by cleanliness.
Branch
"Why would Dr. Hugo steal your things?"
Branch
"I don't know, his mind is too dull for me to penetrate. The brain fungus told him to, probably."
Branch
"I've wondered, but his mind is too dull for me to understand. I'm sure he explained it away to himself, somehow."
"What kind of medical equipment did he steal?"
"A research-grade apparatus, used for advanced diagnostics. Very sophisticated. Finely calibrated. Worth thousands of sol."
"It should still be in its aluminium housing -- unless that institutional hemorrhoid has decided to put it on display."
The implication is that you'll know it when you see it. Extremely ominous.
Branch
"Have you tried asking for it back?" (Proceed.)
"And give him the satisfaction of knowing he has something on me? Absolutely not."
"Besides, I don't trust myself not to murder him if I come within choking distance. Wait, not murder, that's for humans. You get the gist."
"I guess I could try and help you..."
"You love drugs, right?"
YES.
Your brain is constantly churning out natural neurochemicals, it is basically made of drugs. Who are you to say no?
Branch
"Brother, I live for them."
"I knew it. You've got that withered fiend look."
"Since you're allowed on the slug's premises, how about taking a peek, eh? Grab my things on the way out of there. I'll open my store in return -- all the drugs you could want. Pharmaceutical bonanza."
Two words: Lab Grade.
Branch
"No."
"Yeah, me either." He winks.
"I occasionally indulge."
"You're sharp. Too sharp. The signs of a mind in need of recreational chemicals."
"I'm on some right now, actually."
"That makes two of us."
"I could help -- for a price."
"Well, sounds like you're at an impasse, then."
"Wait, wait, wait."
"The invertebrates always betray us in the end."
"That, they do. That's why he's holding on to my belongings."
"He didn't strike me as the criminal sort."
"Oh, I'm sure he would find some cowardly euphemism for it. 'Confiscated research materials', or something."
"So that's why you hate him? You think he was the architect of your downfall?"
"Architect? A child making macaroni collages is more of an architect than that invertebrate. He was a useful idiot for those board goons. Not to mention the fungus in his brain."
"You want more? Alright, he's a thief, too. Which, I'll admit, is impressive for a gastropod!"
"Enough about Dr. Hugo." (Go back.)
"Yes. Enough."
Branch
"Oh yeah. Very uptight too."
"Understatement of the fucking century."
"He wasn't really 'intensely' anything..."
"That's him. I'm surprised you could even retain his name."
"Maybe. I don't really care about other people."
"Sensible."
"Tell me more about your former colleague Dr. Hugo."
"I can't fathom why, but alright."
"I'd like to talk about Dr. Hugo again."
"What did the swine do this time?"
"Your anti-LASS treatment didn't work."
"Not even a little, you know...?" He curves his finger upward.
"Nothing."
"By god. So there's no hope for him. He's beyond the reach of science."
"Any man who doesn't rise up, steel-hard, from my treatment is functionally brain-dead. Another man lost to LASS..."
"By god. So there's no hope for him. He's beyond the reach of science.""Not a chance. Have you heard Ultra Violeta songs? There is only one reason a grown man would listen to that.…"Impossible. One batch -- and I tested it myself.""If more women were as willing to fondle then we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. But we were too…"No such thing, momma, we're all just dying flesh puppets.""Too little, too late.""Hmm. Noble. But too little, too late."
He offers a limp salute and bows his head.
"But it's not all bad. As a doctor, I am qualified to tell you: you now have moral carte blanche."
"To do... what?"
"Whatever the fuck you want. Ride him, bury him, dress him up in a silly little outfit."
The obvious question -- can he be weaponised somehow?
Branch
"Do you want him? I'll sell."
"In any other circumstances I would say yes, but a victim of LASS would just sad up the place. Mourn as long as needed, of course, but after that, party's on."
"You're not dealing with a person anymore."
Branch
"You're disgusting."
"Nothing more than a pragmatist! Mourn as long as needed, of course, but after that, party's on."
"Good to know."
"Party's on, sister."
"Uh, thanks?"
"I already molested him a little."
"Nice. Party's on, sister."
"That actually sounds really bad."
"Bad's in the past, lady. You're free to now ride him, bury him, dress him up in a silly little outfit."
"Interesting."
"Yep. Ride him, bury him, dress him up in a silly little outfit." His world, your oyster."
"You misdiagnosed. I want another diagnosis."
"Not a chance. Have you heard Ultra Violeta songs? There is only one reason a grown man would listen to that. And I've told you what it is."
"Your tab was a dud."
"Impossible. One batch -- and I tested it myself."
"A tiny twitch. Gave it a good rub too."
"If more women were as willing to fondle then we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. But we were too late; there's no hope."
"No. I'm pretty sure his soul is gone."
"No such thing, momma, we're all just dying flesh puppets."
"I even put out a little. Didn't work."
"Too little, too late."
"Tried slapping him too. Didn't work."
"Hmm. Noble. But too little, too late."
"You got any more of that anti-LASS?"
Branch
"I already told you, if the first dose didn't work on your man, he's a goner."
"It's not for him, it's for me."
"I have just been pondering what effects it might have on the female body. You might die, of course, but such is science."
Branch
"In any case... ding-ding-ding! It's your lucky day. Gonza's drug store now includes all the anti-LASS you can afford."
"It's not free?"
Branch
"Hooked, are we? Foiled by the age-old trick of the artisan dealer. One free sample and the client turns into a walking pile of track marks and stolen money."
"Jokes aside, no it's not fucking free -- pay up or get out."
Branch
"No, it's not fucking free -- pay up or get out."
"Thanks, doc."
"Anything for a fellow fuck-worm." He salutes, clumsily. "Don't thank me, thank our insatiable libidos."
Branch
"Get me back my personal effects and you'll have access to all the anti-LASS you can afford."
"I can't sell my gear to just anyone. You'll need to do something for me first. Prove you're trustworthy."
"Name it."
Branch
"I'm not that bothered about it."
"Too late now -- my brain's locked on to this. You can only blame yourself."
"Didn't give it to him. Had to try it myself."
"Impressive! I would have thought any woman supercharged on that stuff would have come in here grinding the floor like a dog that's gone raw with the shits."
"It's... for someone else. A woman."
"If the first dose didn't work on your man, then he's a certified goner. Forget about him."
"I think I found a 'precipitating incident', doctor."
"Well?"
"My colleague was listening to this before it happened." (Show him the disc.)
Alternative wording
"My husband was listening to this before it happened." (Show him the disc.)
"'Ultra Violeta'?" His face falls. "Well, there it is. Mystery condition solved."
Branch
"I'm not sure pop music was what was actually on it..."
"Of course it was."
"This is a clear-cut case of LASS -- Libidinal Atrophy Shutdown Syndrome. Affects terminal virgins, un-laid husbands, and men exposed to overly uterine music. Tea drinkers too."
That is definitely, 100% a real condition.
Branch
"You don't get it, I'm saying whatever he heard on this disc did that to him."
"Yes, exactly. He heard music designed to fine-tune the estrogen-production centers of prepubescent girls, and it destroyed him."
"Men are built to pursue, conquer, reproduce. Ergo, per annum, a quota of fucking must occur. His body has given up from neglect. Seen it a thousand times."
"Yes, exactly. He heard music designed to fine-tune the estrogen-production centers of prepubescent girls,…"No sexually satisfied man would listen to this sad shit by choice""And women wonder why men are forced to take second and third wives just to keep the darkness at bay.""I thought as much.""Oh, this is LASS alright. About as bad a case as I've ever encountered.""Phone sex? Oh, this is LASS alright. About as bad a case as I've ever encountered."
The sheer density of misinformation delivered here could power a propaganda network for years.
You have stepped through a portal to another time, where ailments are understood in terms of humours and bile of various colours, and the treatments prescribed can range from leeches to trepanation. All bets are off.
Branch
"I'm trying to tell you I think the disc itself it has some kind of brain-melting property to it."
"And I'm confirming your intuition. That saccharine trash is absolutely, 100% anathema to the male brain."
"You could probably survive it, though I suspect it would inflict some kind of intellectual damage on you as well."
You did, and it did. Does that mean...?
Branch
"Okay, so he's chronically fuckless, what can we do about it?"
The doctor opens a drawer, and slides toward you a baggie with a small medical stamp inside.
"What is this?" (Take it.)
"Anti-LASS treatment. It'll wake up whatever's left in him to wake up. And if that doesn't work? End of the road, sister. Cut him loose."
Branch
"Hold on. What's in this?"
"This is a proprietary formulation, soon to be patented. That's as much as I can tell you."
Acid sildenafil.
"We getting him hard?"
"Dangerously so."
"Home recipe, mama, I can out-erect any man anywhere any time, dead or not."
Put it this way -- will it help? No. Will it make his condition any worse? Also probably not.
Branch
"Have you tested it, at least?"
"I'm on it right now." He shrugs and glances at his crotch area.
"At least give me an idea."
"Neurostimulants. Vasodilators. Endocrine hormones, and other elements far above your medical competency."
"You can't get all that from him liking Ultra Violeta."
"No man likes Ultra Violeta. He's buried in the depths of erotic despair. He's so far down the hole he probably doesn't even know what happened to him."
Branch
"I really don't think sexual melancholy is behind his condition."
"Then you know nothing of sexual melancholy. But alright. Let's pretend my expertise is worth fuck-all. What's your working theory, Doctor Plainface?"
"I don't have one. All I know is that I didn't get there in time to stop it."
"Too late for that if he's LASS-induced. Honestly, you women..." He eyes you with suspicion. "It's like you want us to fail."
"Really, all I'm hearing is that you don't have a fucking clue what happened, or how to help him."
"Too late for that if he's LASS-induced. Honestly, you women..." He eyes you with suspicion. "It's like you…"You're not my type, but you must be a great fuck, what with that crazy look in your eyes.""Lady, if anyone did, it's probably you with your refusal to fuck him.""Next time, just say you don't know. Save yourself the existential despair."
Unfortunately, in the midst of all his ramblings, he has discovered a point.
So what? I'm supposed to go along with it?
It's unlikely this treatment will improve PSEUDOPOD's condition -- but you might learn something from it.
Branch
"He saw something he shouldn't have. Lizard controllers pulled the plug before he could talk."
"You're not my type, but you must be a great fuck, what with that crazy look in your eyes."
"It's textbook neutralisation -- precise, efficient, clean. A pro did this to him."
"Lady, if anyone did, it's probably you with your refusal to fuck him."
"People don't break all at once. They erode, and no one notices until it's too late."
"Next time, just say you don't know. Save yourself the existential despair."
"You really think this'll work?" (Conclude.)
"Of course I really think it. I just prescribed it. Easy delivery: just let it dissolve on his tongue."
"Good luck to you," he mutters gravely.
Branch
"Listen, doc, I think I'm going to get another opinion..."
"Do whatever you want. This is his only hope."
"Is that an actual medical condition?"
"No sexually satisfied man would listen to this sad shit by choice"
"Feels like you're just wasting my time."
"And women wonder why men are forced to take second and third wives just to keep the darkness at bay."
"He did look quite virginal, yes."
"I thought as much."
"I'm afraid it gets worse, doctor." (Hold out the sensuous phone card.)
"Oh, this is LASS alright. About as bad a case as I've ever encountered."
"I'm afraid it gets worse, doctor. He was hooked on sex lines."
"Phone sex? Oh, this is LASS alright. About as bad a case as I've ever encountered."
This checks out. PSEUDOPOD didn't look like he'd be popular with... anyone. A lead, at last!
"How do you know anything about Luzian pop?"
"I didn't fucking consent to the knowledge now, did I? It's forced down your throat as soon as you step outside."
"I don't see what this has to do with this guy's condition."
Alternative wording
"I don't see what this has to do with my colleague's condition?"
Alternative wording
"I don't see what this has to do with my husband's condition."
Alternative wording
"I don't see what this has to do with this random guy's condition."
"What's an 'Ultra Violeta'?"
"You crawled out of a convent or something? She's a Luzian pop singer."
PSEUDOPOD harboured a secret love for Luzian pop music? Seems unlikely.
HE STARTED DEFECTING THE MINUTE HE DONNED THE HEADPHONES.
"I have a mould sample here, can you take a look at it for me?"
"'Mould sample'?" He violently recoils.
"You must be out of your mind bringing that shit in here, woman. Get it out, and get out."
Raw fear behind his eyes.
"Why are you so scared of it?"
"Two words for you: Sentient. Blight."
"That doesn't sound like a real thing."
Branch
"Tell that to that poor fungus-controlled bastard Hugo."
"Here's my medical-grade advice -- go back outside, curl up in a ditch and wait for it to start giving you your orders."
"Tell that to that poor fungus-controlled bastard Hugo.""Tip it up your nose, then tell me it's not real. Your little brain will capitulate within minutes.""It develops hunger. And imperial tendencies.""No doubt. Your friend's compromised. And if the friend is you, you're fucked.""And you bring it here?""Then you're fucked. Not one step closer."
The Mycellial Controller.
"In the meantime, get it the fuck out of here."
Branch
"Tip it up your nose, then tell me it's not real. Your little brain will capitulate within minutes."
"The mould can develop feelings?"
"It develops hunger. And imperial tendencies."
"I think it might be affecting my friend somehow..."
"No doubt. Your friend's compromised. And if the friend is you, you're fucked."
"It's been growing unchecked at the bottom of the rocket silo."
"And you bring it here?"
"I got some of it in my mouth."
"Then you're fucked. Not one step closer."
"I know someone who's developed a... medical condition."
"He's dead, forget about him." The doctor waves you away.
Branch
"I have a colleague who's comatose. Totally unresponsive."
Alternative wording
"No, that's the thing, he's not dead, he's comatose, totally unresponsive."
Branch
"Ah, yes, this is the ethically stimulating case you were trying to entice me with."
"I told you it was a legitimate medical concern."
"Gonorrhea is a legitimate concern. Catatonics, they're just there." He shrugs.
"Who's the unfortunate?"
"A colleague."
"Let me tell you something about colleagues, sister. By and large, the most vile species of snivelling, rule-following, authority-sucking vermin ever to stain this earth, second perhaps only to medical board inspectors."
He was a rule-follower, alright. It's written all over his face.
"You want my advice? Roll him up, toss him out in some hazardrous waste bags before he starts smelling."
"It's sorta my fault he wound up like this. Please, help me help him."
"Ugh, alright, walk me through it."
"Gut diagnosis screams 'ketamine binge', but I'm keeping an open mind. Any signs of injury? Self-inflicted or otherwise."
Branch
"No visible injuries. Eyes open. Zero reaction."
"Good start. Anything else?"
"I rubbed his bald spot. It was smooth and possibly lucky."
"Toying with a man's insecurities, even when he's comatose. Pathological. Guess we can at least rule out 'very obvious head trauma'."
"See, nobody turns to a dishrag on a whim. Unless he stroked out, there'd be a precipitating incident. Drugs, toxins. Choking maybe, if he knows how to party. Found any needles around? Belt? Maybe a weapon?"
"Toying with a man's insecurities, even when he's comatose. Pathological. Guess we can at least rule out…"Sounds like the problem's in here." He taps the side of his skull. "Maybe akinetic mutism...""Meaning you didn't check shit. Great." He shakes his head."What are you, fourteen? Think wounds, bruises, bleeding, burns, mangled cock." He shakes his head."Only if you're a fucking idiot."
Branch
"He was listening to a strange disc..."
"Strange how?" He flicks an eyebrow.
Evil.
Belonging to the order of things that should not exist.
Branch
"Well, it's an Einzeltone, for one."
"Ugh. Who cares. Show me." He beckons impatiently with two fingers.
Show him the red disc.
Branch
"It... does things to you."
"What kind of things? The irrepressible urge to do drugs?"
"Show me." He impatiently beckons with two fingers.
"There's no sane way to say this -- it's evil."
"I should have become a fucking witch doctor." He shakes his head. "That's what you really want, isn't it? Fucking... fire-worshipping protohominids..."
"None of that. I think he was just listening to music."
"'Music'?" He flicks an eyebrow.
"There was none of that."
"Let me repeat it slowly, so it gets into your woman brain. Pre-ci-pi-ta-ting incident. Without one, you don't have shit."
"My medical advice? You missed something. There's always a source to the fuckery. Find it, and maybe I can give you some answers."
Branch
"No. There was only a vast sense of cosmic emptiness, emanating from his husk."
"He looked too boring for drugs. Or choking."
"Nothing comes to mind. What do you think's going on?"
"Sounds like the problem's in here." He taps the side of his skull. "Maybe akinetic mutism..."
"It's not like he was covered in blood or anything."
"Meaning you didn't check shit. Great." He shakes his head.
"We're all injured in one way or another, when you think about it."
"What are you, fourteen? Think wounds, bruises, bleeding, burns, mangled cock." He shakes his head.
"I rubbed his bald spot. It was smooth. Does that count?"
"Only if you're a fucking idiot."
"I definitely did check for those. Nothing to report." (Lie.)
"I'd love to, but he's kept under supervision."
"I haven't even explained the situation to you."
You don't have conclusive proof he was not like that, at any rate.
"Some loser who couldn't cut it."
"Evidently."
"My husband." (Lie.)
"You know, he could just be ignoring you. Defensive thanatosis. Some men can slow their own heart rate for up to sixteen hours in order to escape the women in their lives."
Better known as 'playing dead' -- widely observed in the animal kingdom, unheard of in humans.
If true, this would be an invaluable skill for an operant to master.
"This Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre sounds like something I need to learn."
"Biologically impossible. It's an exclusively male behaviour. Though I suppose you could ask your husband to teach you when he emerges from thanatosis."
"I don't think he's emerging. Not on his own, at least."
"So he's committed. I've had my fair share of coma-wives, you're all deviants."
"If it's an act, it's the best I've ever seen."
"He's drooling."
"So he's fully committed. Probably having a great time."
"What makes it 'ethically stimulating'?"
"What, a functioning human organism with neither consciousness nor the capacity to file a malpractice lawsuit? Fuck me, what's not to love." He shakes his head.
"A friend of mine is suffering from severe delusions."
Alternative wording
"He's not dead, he's just delusional."
"Sure you feel qualified to make that call? You don't seem so sane yourself?" He grins.
Alternative wording
"Sure you feel qualified to make that call? I watched you drink formaldehyde, you know." He grins.
Alternative wording
"Sure you feel qualified to make that call? You popped enough boner medication to blow up a horse's member just for kicks, sans penis." He grins.
Lopsided, only one half of his mouth lifts to bare his teeth in the sinister smile he gives you.
'It takes one to know one', his expression says.
"Delusional how?"
Branch
"He's living at the bottom of the abandoned silo on the Pitol Tract."
"So?"
Branch
"He keeps trying to communicate with me through secret codes."
"So now you know how men feel all the time."
"He's got some wild ideas about how the organisation we used to work for betrayed him."
"They probably did, that's what organisations and colleagues do."
"If you don't get that, then you're probably the Hugo Abe to your colleague's Gonza." He gives you a condemning look.
"Remember the mould? It's growing on *his" walls."
"Oh, then he's fucked. And you're fucked."
"Why don't you just go and wait with him? I'm sure the fungus will have you doing all sorts of fun chores together in no time." He shudders.
Branch
"None of this seems even a little weird to you?"
"Not remotely."
Like watching flies bounce off a pane of glass.
"Mediocre fucks are always eager to diagnose anyone with even a gram of brains as 'delusional', 'sociopathic', a 'disgrace to the medical profession'." He shakes his head in disgust.
"Sounds like your colleague is surrounded by imbeciles. I won't help condemn the poor man."
"Ugh, forget about it." (Go back.)
"Gladly."
Branch
"Someone I know hasn't slept in a long time."
Alternative wording
"It's a woman. She can't sleep. Hasn't really slept in months."
"Easy way to fry your brain." He grimaces.
"Listen, I love uppers as much as the next man, but at some point you've got to sweep the line away and reach for the bottle."
"It's not a question of uppers, she's sober... I think."
"Sober?" He looks aghast. "Well, there's the issue, why didn't you lead with that?"
"What you're describing is a problem of personality, not a health issue."
"What kind of personality problem?"
"In a word, idiocy."
"Whatever little demons your friend is dealing with, I can guarantee that, A, they're housecats compared to the shit I've got lurking around in there, and B, they're nothing a gorilla dose of sedatives won't smother."
"If she's stupid enough to try and deal with her conscience raw, I'm afraid she's beyond help."
Take it from somebody who shoots his conscience with a designer drug-loaded dart every time it so much as stirs.
Branch
"I'm not interested in your take on her personality, can you help me or not?"
"She doesn't need a doctor, she can help her fucking self."
"She's afraid of going to sleep. She has awful nightmares."
"What's wrong with a good nightmare?" He snorts. "You wake up, the bed is soaked and cold, the sleep paralysis shadows are sodomising each other on your chest, it's a great time."
Once you've learned to enjoy your own horror, the world is a different kind of oyster.
"A friend of mine has epilepsy."
Alternative wording
"No, he's not dead, he's got epilepsy."
"Hmm. Treatable." He shrugs.
"How would you treat it?"
"If you want to go old school, potassium bromide. Get it right at the base of the motor cortex. Smother it like an aging relative with a big insurance policy."
Rendering the patient almost vegetative. No neurological activity means no seizure.
"Can't you just prescribe some anticonvulsants?"
"Can't help you with 'anti', but if you want something that will make you seize up like there's electrodes attached to your nipples, I've got you covered."
"No, what I need is definitely 'anti'."
"Sorry sister. Boring drugs are wholesale-only."
"What counts as a 'boring' drug?"
"Anything that doesn't make you see shit and then want to fuck the shit you see. All that's either bulk or nothing."
"How big of an order are we talking about?"
"Thirty grand per crate. Cash."
Branch
"Look, I just need a few pills. I'll pay."
"I look like I give a fuck about micro-trafficking? I don't take pity orders."
Branch
You heard him talking to his suppliers. You need to find a way to get through to them directly.
Another pair of ears is what you need. Panopticon hearing to know what he says when he thinks no one is present.
You heard him talking to his suppliers. You need to find a way to get through to them directly.He will talk to them at some point, make an order. You just need to be there when he does.You heard him talking to his suppliers. You'd be better off trying to get through to them directly.He will talk to his suppliers at some point. You just need to be there when he does.
Branch
The crickets I got from Ramses...
Somehow, he knew you would need them...
"Call it muscle memory."
Surveillance master, wiretapper extraordinaire, a man capable of planting an invisible bug on a moving tuk-tuk.
There's no best time to bug a place. If you can do it then and there, do so.
"Alternatively, your friend could just get a fucking prescription." He smirks.
He knows full well you wouldn't be here that were an option.
Branch
Could tap the phone line, see what turns up.
Branch
You already have Ramses' crickets in your pocket. Somehow, he knew you would need them...
You need Ramses' crickets for that. He told you they were somewhere around his houseboat.
He has access, that much is clear. But he's a middle man, not the supplier.
How do I get to his supplier?
He will talk to them at some point, make an order. You just need to be there when he does.
How do I get that kind of money?
That is a question with either no answer, or far too many answers.
Branch
You heard him talking to his suppliers. You'd be better off trying to get through to them directly.
He will talk to his suppliers at some point. You just need to be there when he does.
"That's out of my price range. By a lot."
"That's the minimum, sister. Ten grand for me for the referral, twenty for the meds. Start up your own little fucking pharmacy."
"That can be arranged." (Lie.)
"I'll believe it when I see it. You reek of illiquidity."
"What? No, that's what he's already doing."
"I'm trying to cure him, not leave him vegetative."
Branch
"Well, based on what you did to that last one, mine's a fair assumption."
"Sign him up for the city medical programme, they'll set you up with one of those 'humane' modern drugs."
"Patronising little desk-fuckers."
"What if I can't sign up for the city medical programme? Can you help me out?"
"You don't have any?"
"Anything more new-school?"
"Pff. Sign him up for the city medical programme, they'll set you up with one of those 'humane' modern drugs."
"Cool, where can I get some?"
"Nowadays? The vet."
"Come on -- real, modern epilepsy meds. You don't have any?
"Anything for humans?"
"He's been off his meds for more than a year now."
"Riding the spastic dragon." He nods seriously. "Brave man."
"Thank you for your professional opinion." (Change topic.)
"Do with it what you will."
Branch
"Need help with a medical matter..."
"Speak."
"You really can't give me just a few anticonvulsants?"
"I told you, I don't deal with boring drugs. I need to feel something." His eyes beg you to understand his situation.
Branch
"Don't take this the wrong way, but... are you a real doctor?"
"Real? Listen, sister, I've been a doctor since I was twelve years old, and I'll be a doctor until the day they extract the hypertrophied liver from my bloated, tumescent, sexy carcass."
"It was not the Board that made me a doctor, and they cannot unmake me one, no matter how many degrees they annul."
Branch
"You've been a doctor since you were twelve?"
"That's right. Age twelve, I came down with a fever. One day, two days, three days and still wouldn't go down, so they sent me to the doctor."
"He weighs me, counts my heartbeats, whatever, and without even doing any bloodwork, he sends me away and says, 'Go to the priest, tell him that I said to give you the blessed smoke.'"
Must be some kind of mystical euphemism.
Branch
"Nice. They got you high?"
"It would be the very least they could do, right? No, fetid and totally inert."
"And?" (Proceed.)
"My mother cried and cried. Locked herself in her room and didn't even want to see me, she was crying so much, but still no one would explain to me what this fucking smoke was..."
"So I finally get to the priest, he goes, 'Oh, my child', blesses me, blows some foul-smelling shit into my face and sends me off home to die, and that's when I realise..."
"These people are fucking idiots!"
The false death sentence -- a classic form of psychological torture. Even if administered by mistake, it wreaks havoc on the ego.
"Well, you didn't die, so I guess the diagnostic was wrong."
"Damn right I didn't die. I went straight to the library, picked up the first book on general medicine I could find."
"And the young Gonza brought his fever down through hard science and sheer willpower. All the way down to 'stone cold', which is where I remain to this day."
The child trembles in his ice bath. He can't tell the shivers of cold from those of fever, nor the numerous unknown words in the book from the gibberings of his delirium, but he sits there and trembles and holds the matico leaves to his brow.
"Survival of the fittest. You should have been celebrated."
"Never was. My poor dimwitted mother was making funeral preparations when I got home." He shakes his head. "I slept in the coffin that night, because fuck them all."
Branch
"What exactly did you do to yourself?"
"Tricks of the trade. You want to learn them, pick up the book."
"I think you were probably going to live anyway."
"Yes, yes. Blind people often insist that everyone else must be blind, too."
"Their being idiots doesn't really make you a doctor, but okay..."
"No, surviving made me a doctor. Instead of going home, you know what I did? I went to the library. Picked up the first book on general medicine I could find."
"They thought you were dying?"
"Exactly that. Last fucking rites, superstitions worthy of our protohominid ancestors."
"They bless smoke now? Thought it was just water."
"Last rites. It's a euphemism for cowards. Of course I didn't know that back then."
"So you're not officially a doctor?"
"They can take away my licence, plaque, patients, numerous degrees... they've even been surprisingly effective at getting me in trouble with the law..."
"But they can never touch one thousand plus hours of surgical experience, multiple breakthroughs, and enough original research to fill a university textbook."
He works himself up into a bout of romantic fervour with practiced ease.
"Did you just say they took away your licence?"
"Not that you could ever publish said textbook in this backwards fucking society!" He slams his fist on the table.
Going too fast to stop himself right away.
Branch
"I said they could take away my licence and I would still be a doctor! And yes, they did."
Branch
Again, he lunges for the bottle on his desk and drinks from it with a savage attitude.
Gasping afterward like a drowning man emerging for air.
"You actually drink that stuff?"
"My spiritual anaesthetic, as you might guess from the name, is necessary for those who by their very nature exist in a state of unadulterated agony."
"The fire burns too bright, it must be quenched!"
Fresh blood vessels pop in his eyes.
Branch
"Mind if I join you?" (Point at the bottle.)
"No. Sorry. I'm not being selfish, it's just -- you might die."
Psychic salivary glands water at the prospect of unknown neurological fun right at the edges of lethal.
"Try me. See if I die."
"No, no, I know how this goes. Next thing you know, I'll be at exactly the level I need to be at, you'll be convulsing on the floor, and worst of all, I'll be biochemically incapable of feeling bad about it."
Branch
"What is it?"
"My own brand. Ethyl snatched from the jaws of methanol, and just a dash of formaldehyde for the kick."
A deranged connoisseur, lost at the outer edges of human pleasure.
"Formaldehyde?"
"We're all dead in life, mama, formaldehyde is just how you preserve the tissue."
Branch
"You're bluffing. I don't believe you really drink formaldehyde."
"Fine. Have it your way. Stingy fuck."
"You should be thanking me. Next thing you know, I'll be at exactly the level I need to be at, you'll be convulsing on the floor, and worst of all, I'll be biochemically incapable of feeling bad about it."
"Not worth the grief, frankly."
"Very doctorly behaviour."
"You're damn right it is, mama. I'm acquainted with every ailment this miserable human condition has to offer, physical and spiritual."
"Who do you want treating you, one of those cholesterol-fearing pansies?"
Branch
Branch
Suddenly he swipes his bottle of 'spiritual anaesthetic' off the table and takes a deep swig from it with needless violence.
Suddenly he swipes a bottle off the table and takes a deep swig from it with needless violence.
Branch
"I forgive you."
"And yes, the nerve. The one and only fucking spinal nerve is what you hit."
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry."
"Did I hit a nerve?"
"So you're still a doctor, just a disgraced doctor." (Conclude.)
"Disgraced? What, you think it's..." He starts overheating again and but quickly takes another swig and calms himself.
"Yes. A disgraced doctor. That's exactly what I am. A disgraced doctor peddling the drugs that are the last surviving relic of my profession."
Branch
"Whatever you say, 'Doctor'." (Go back.)
"Sneer all you want, you'll come crawling back with your tail between your legs the minute you need something discreetly amputated."
Branch
"I still need anticonvulsants. Can you give me your supplier's number?"
Branch
"Told you before. Unless you're liquid, don't bother."
"I'd like to try anyway."
"No. Find your own inbred suppliers."
"Now, why are you here, again?"
Branch
"Alright, fine." (Drop it.)
"Can you hook me up with these Azzurri suppliers? I need some anticonvulsants."
Branch
"That phone call with the Azzurris, what was the problem?"
"Terminal inbreeding."
A little prejudice builds rapport faster than truth.
"Azzurris aren't inbred. You're thinking of Lävendians."
"Hah! They all are. Furrowed brows, weak chins, six toes. That whole coastline's been swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool for generations."
"You want anything done in this city, you have to learn to deal with those animals, no two ways about it."
Coincides with the information on file: the Azzurri mob has recently become the regional power on all things illegal in Portofiro.
Branch
"Speaking of, I'm still looking for anticonvulsants -- can you refer me to these Azzurris?"
"So, you buy drugs off these Azzurris?"
"Yes. Why?"
"A colleague's been having terrible seizures. He needs anticonvulsants."
Branch
"It's a private matter."
"Then do fuck off."
"No disagreement here." (Move on.)
"Sounded more like logistics."
"Don't use that word. Conjures up a migraine."
"Maybe not insulting suppliers would make things easier."
"Not an insult -- medical fact. You think those shelf brows just develop naturally? They've basically done to themselves what we've done to those little dogs with the flat faces and the breathing problems."
"I've got your medical dummy, doc." (Hand it over.)
Branch
"What? Give it to me!" He snatches the wiretapped dummy from you.
Branch
Not questioning its provenance, or what it might contain -- good.
Branch
Ramses told you he'll need 'around half a day' to capture anything significant.
"Where did you find him?"
Branch
"Stole it."
Branch
"Let me guess -- from that board-certified swine? The so-called Dr. Hugo."
"Correct."
"I fucking knew it."
"I can smell that mollusc's stink all over the silicone. Testoterone-less sweat and fucking baby wipes."
Branch
Branch
"I did you a favour, so what have you got for me?" (Proceed.)
"Next time you should get the payment up front. I could fuck you over, you know. Most in my profession would."
"Here. Let me know if you need more. Store's open!" He slides over a baggie, produced from a convenient stash somewhere below his left hand.
Branch
"I did your favour, what have you got for me?" (Proceed.)
"I told you, he's no longer approved by the board."
"Stop trying to ruin this moment."
"I don't reveal my sources."
"No need, I know exactly where you fucking got this." He growls.
"Let me guess -- from some board-certified swine?"
"Dr. Hugo?"
"It was some doctor's clinic."
"Dr. Hugo had it."
"From a doctor's clinic."
"Does it matter?"
"I know exactly where you found it." He growls.
Give it half a day before you check in with Ramses. Something will have been captured by then.
"What? Give it to me!" He snatches the dummy from you. "Where did you find him?"
"I've got your 'personal effects', doc." (Hand over the dummy.)
"Meta-Gonza!" His eyes suddenly widen.
Something childlike and almost innocent enters his tone and gaze.
"I'll have to hose him down after whatever that swine Hugo Abe has done to him, but it doesn't matter... he's home."
"Wait, you call that thing Meta-Gonza?
"Shut the fuck up."
Branch
The doctor eagerly reaches for the wiretapped medical dummy and stares lovingly into its eyes.
Branch
Not questioning its provenance, or what it might contain -- good.
Branch
Ramses told you he'll need 'around half a day' to capture anything significant.
Give it half a day before you check in with Ramses. Something will have been captured by then.
The doctor eagerly reaches for the wiretapped medical dummy and stares lovingly into its eyes.
"Well...?"
"I found your medical dummy but I'm not bringing it back."
"Why not? You better have a good reason. It's mine!"
"Does it matter? I said I'm not doing it."
"Fine. Guess you won't be getting any of my delicious drugs then."
He sniffs a pretend line out of the air, illustrating how he will be doing drugs, even if you're not.
Whatever this insane bastard is on promises to be good.
It's not the drugs. This man was born high.
Branch
"Dr. Hugo is using it to replace his absent daughter. It's all very sad."
"It's making him sad?" He stares at you, eyes bulging.
"Haa! Take that, fucker!" He claps his hands together. "Leave the dummy there to rack up maximum sadness. This has made my day."
Branch
"Alright, I've changed my mind. I will get it for you."
"Good, good." He pauses. "Good!"
Branch
"Dr. Hugo refuses to give your medical dummy back."
"Of course he does. He wants to spite me, make my life hell -- that is the only reason he exists."
"Any tips on how to manipulate him?"
"Apart from physical assault, you mean? I always found great success in mocking him for his ability to repel people. No one wants to stay anywhere near the fucker."
"Bring that up and I'm sure he'll do anything to shut you up."
"Did you know he's using it to replace his absent daughter? It's all very sad."
Branch
"I'm not sure I want to bring it back any more."
"Do what you want. Guess you don't want access to any of my profound and exotic drugs then." He pretends to sniff a line off his finger.
Whatever this insane bastard is on promises to be good.
It's not the drugs. This man was born high.
Branch
"I'll get it back here soon."
"I know. I told you to do it."
"Is your medical dummy meant to resemble someone?"
"Is that a trick question?" He makes an odd expression, tilting his head. "Can't you tell?"
Jaw jutting out, eyes wild, he's putting himself forward as a candidate.
Branch
"Who?"
"He's called Meta-Gonza, and he's my assistant. Made to look like me in every way."
Branch
"Nice to meet you, Meta-Gonza."
"What are you, an idiot?! He doesn't talk. He just helps out around the clinic."
"Anyway, he's tired now and needs to rest. Are we done?"
Branch
"But he has breasts."
"He's going through a phase."
"He looks nothing like you."
"I can't fucking stand jealousy like that. Just keep it to yourself next time."
"How does he... assist you?"
"He cleans and fetches things for me. One of the advantages of not having skin is that you don't have to worry about acid spills."
"It's based on yourself?"
"This is weird, but I think it might resemble my controller."
"It's not weird, it's typical female egotism, and it fucking disgusts me." He spits on the ground. "If you took off the elongated eyelashes that blind you, you might see the truth right in front of you."
"It's me, isn't it?"
"You?! Why would it be based on you?!" He seems genuinely disgusted. "Your gene pool must be full of parasitic alveolates. No way you'd turn out as pefect as Meta-Gonza."
"Meta-Gonza?"
Branch
"You really call him that? I thought I was having a stroke before."
Branch
"Yes, he's my assistant. Made to look like me in every way."
Branch
"You're right, my gene pool is a mess."
"That isn't important right now. What is important is that you don't go around disrespecting Meta-Gonza. He's my assistant and made to look like me in every way."
Branch
"I'm not going to stand here and be insulted like that."
"Looks like Dr. Hugo's daughter to me."
"His daughter? That explains a lot." He pauses in thought. "So he stole Meta-Gonza to make up for the mistake coughed up by his own groin."
"Meta-Gonza?"
"That must be it."
"It's the only hypothesis that makes any sense. Of course, there's no telling what's actually going on in that man's mind."
"Anyway, enough about him. Did you meet Meta-Gonza? He's my assistant and made to look like me in every way."
"I think he kept hold of the dummy because he misses his daughter."
"Don't be ridiculous. He probably ate her, yes, seems like the kind of thing he would do. Only good thing he's ever done, if true."
"Seems like a regular medical dummy to me. Nothing special."
"Don't disrespect Meta-Gonza like that. He's my assistant and made to look like me in every way."
Branch
"Actually, I don't care."
"Hook me up, doctor. I'm hurting bad." (Browse the drug store.)
"Aren't we fucking all." A range of plastic packets full of white powders and pills are revealed from under his coat.
Branch
"Can you run me through what you've got?"
"Fucking amateurs..." He pretends to roll up his sleeves, showmanlike. "Cocaine kicks you in the balls when you're tired. Predaxyl makes you an athlete, but it's a dissociative so it can get weird -- which is what you want!"
Branch
"Neurathin is for whenever you need to focus and get some clever shit done. Then, as you know, there's the anti-LASS, which is for..." He pulls a suggestive expression.
"Just say it."
"Whenever you need to act like a supercharged cockerel. Is that innocent enough for you? Raw physical performance at its stiffest peak."
Branch
"Whenever you need to act like a supercharged cockerel. Is that innocent enough for you? Raw physical…"Yes, and it can go even harder than that. It smashes through anything that requires raw physical…"Then there's the Neurathin. Use that for whenever you need to focus and get some clever shit done. Real…"Drill that septum, mama. Drill it right the fuck through."You can't afford that."You're stepping balls-deep into Gonza-land now.""You'll be a doctor in no time with this shit.""Momma's getting horny tonight."
"Fucking like a monkey?"
"Yes, and it can go even harder than that. It smashes through anything that requires raw physical performance. Achieve maximum gunk thrust."
"Then there's the Neurathin. Use that for whenever you need to focus and get some clever shit done. Real brain turbo."
Buy Pocket Cocaine.
"Drill that septum, mama. Drill it right the fuck through."
You can't afford that.
Buy Predaxyl.
"You're stepping balls-deep into Gonza-land now."
Buy Neurathin.
"You'll be a doctor in no time with this shit."
Buy Anti-LASS Medical Stamp.
"Momma's getting horny tonight."
"That's enough for me."
"To utter those words! What a life."
Branch
"Do you know anywhere I could get a gun?"
"You want to off yourself, I'm happy to help, but you have to sign a release leaving your remains to me as a donation to science."
Branch
"Don't you need to be a licenced doctor to receive that?"
"Oh, lap it up. It's a sign of the general state of decay that you can't just donate your body to... whoever you want."
Branch
"Sorry, already promised to someone else."
"Lucky fellow. But no deal."
"I'm looking for a gun for non-suicidal purposes."
"Goat Eyes! Goat Eyes is your man for that." He waves you away.
"Tuk-tuk parking lot in Lower Viudas, and don't bother me with these ideational trifles anymore."
Branch
All roads, it seems, lead back to Goat Eyes.
Branch
You have your contact. Now to procure the weapon -- a real weapon.
"Nevermind." (Go back.)
"Mind-numbing..." He shakes his head.
Branch
Examine his desk.
Branch
"Be seeing you, doc." [Leave.]
"Adios, patient."
Branch
End of this branch
"You ever have, you know, a calm conversation?"
"Trust me, momma, this is calm. Now, what do you want?"
The notepad almost disappears among the rest of the junk strewn across the desk. He probably wouldn't notice if it were to go missing.
Play it cool.
Out of the corner of your eye you see a series of phone numbers scribbled hastily, but not quite legible from where you're standing.
Branch
Branch
"What do you want?" He twitches, face and body.
Branch
"Get the fuck out of here. I'm warning you. I don't know if it was you and I don't care, I don't do consultations anymore."
Sleep-deprived, battered, and ominously stained, you would say Dr. Gonza looked the same as before, but for a newfound instability in his eyes.
A glimmer of having broken through some protective mental barrier within the psyche.
Before he was insane, but sure of himself. Now he's in uncharted territory even by his own measurement.
Branch
"Whoa, calm down, what's happening?"
"What's happened is that you, or one of your board friends, broke into this place at night and rummaged through my things."
"But then you already know that, don't you?"
Not your best work if even he can detect your stagecraft. Better try to remove his suspicions.
"Doctor Gonza, it's me, remember?"
"Yes. A skillful board narc if ever I saw one. Get the fuck out of here."
A small measure of doubt, a hefty dose of fear. You're safe to proceed, for now.
Branch
"Are you sure you didn't imagine it?"
"Don't try to play your little mind games with me, you little narc fuck. Get out of here!"
"Fine, then." [Leave.]
"Nothing is fine." He stares at you unblinking, waiting for you to leave.
"Board?"
"We already met."
"Oh, right. What do you want?"
Branch
"Not this again."
"I say the same thing to you. What do you want?"
Branch
"Board?" The man across the desk bristles with feral tension.
A labcoat splattered with blood both new and old.
Loaded. Fingering the safety latch.
"What?"
"Don't shit me, are you from the Medical Board?"
"No."
"Good. If you're lying and you are a board inspector, you should know that I'm not averse to the idea of public suicide."
"It's traumatising, watching a man kill himself, you know?"
"Alright, then, do it. Let's see."
"Not on your fucking orders, harpy."
"Then... Buyer?" He jerks his head at you.
"Still no."
"Then... Patient?" An even greater suspicion infuses his eyes.
"Patient is third on your list? What kind of doctor are you?"
"Fuck me..." He rubs his temples.
Suddenly, he lunges for a bottle on the table and takes a deep swig from it with needless violence.
Fresh veins pop in his red eyes. You can almost see the neurons shorting.
"Thirsty?"
"Doctor Gonzalo E.S. Gonza," he says, ignoring you. "Surgeon, chemist, psychotherapist, gynecologist."
"Now tell me... Where does it hurt?"
Branch
Branch
Branch
"Did something just possess you?"
"Doctor, seriously?"
"Patient, sure, why not."
Say nothing.
"Buyer of what?"
"Hmmm." He squints.
"Calm down, will you, no need to kill ourselves."
"Often a need, and I'm calm as I've ever fucking been."
"Calm down, will you, no need to wang ourselves."
"I don't think I would be traumatised."
"Maybe you wouldn't, at that..."
The way he stares into your eyes-- scrutinizing them for evience of horrors witnessed.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're safe, doctor."
"Safe..." He spits the word out.
Blood in his gums, too.
"Safety is for animals too stupid to figure out when they're being fattened."
"Who's fattening you?"
"Everyone who wants a slice of this, mama."
"Just know that if I get the slightest whiff of board fuckery, I'm not averse to the idea of public suicide."
"I just meant, I'm not a threat to you."
"We'll see about that."
"Bored?
"Um, should I come back at a better time?"
Branch
"Back for the gruesome finale?" He smiles and tugs at the rope, eyes wide as dinner plates.
Branch
Branch
"That 'board narc' is just a kid."
"Kid? That's no child, that's a forty-year-old man with a severe deformity."
Branch
"Extraction complete, no sedative." (Show him the tooth.)
"Nice. Very nice." His eyebrows and the corners of his mouth slowly rise in unison.
Definitely arousal.
"See? I'm really not with the board."
"Fine! But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda."
The doctor doesn't appear any more professional behind the desk than he was on it.
"Fine! But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda.""For now. But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda.""Don't worry, it spoke highly of you. Not a drop of narc blood inside.""It spoke highly of you, though. Not a drop of narc blood inside.""Fine! But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda.""For now. But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda."
"Now tell me... where does it hurt?"
"Now can you stop with the suicide threats?"
"For now. But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda."
"Take it, it's yours."
"Not a chance. I don't want narc anatomy in here -- they could be tracking him through that molar for all I know."
Is that... arousal?
"I tried, those teeth are really in there." (Show bloody prybar.)
"Mm. Narc blood." He sniffs and narrows his eyes. "Yours, for all I know."
"Fuck that. Try again, show some fucking conviction."
Branch
"His name's Marco."
"I only hear Narco. Don't humanise him."
Branch
"He says he isn't board."
"Exactly the kind of weak, uninspired subterfuge a board narc would try."
He brandishes his noose, eyes wild.
Branch
"He's there because of his girlfriend."
"A girlfriend, that one? Ha! A likely story."
"With a gynophobia so pronounced, it's a wonder he even managed to talk to you without lapsing into torrential incontinence."
"I didn't say he didn't wet himself."
"Aha! Gynophobic board narc, through and through. I'm not budging until you get him the fuck out of there."
Branch
"He did seem kind of afraid of her..."
"He's a teenage prostitute. Didn't exactly confirm, but I could tell."
"Hmm... Yes, I suppose I could see it. Effete, easy to rough up..."
"Not mutually exclusive, however. Likely, in fact. They flip them right there at the STD clinic."
Branch
"What do you want me to do about him?"
Branch
"Bring me one of his lying, scheming, board narc teeth."
"Wait, one of his actual teeth?"
"Actual, yes. Narc canines, bearing the marks of their subhuman nature."
"What would that prove?"
"Leave that to the medical professional. You have no idea what I can see in a tooth. If I had his spleen, I could tell you how his dog-mother conceived him!"
"Here, use this -- my board condemned prybar." He kicks it over to you from atop the desk.
Oh, yeah. Feel that heft. This prybar's pried some shit.
"Nice prier. Good heft."
"Impeccable heft! But you won't get past me with idle flattery. Bring me the tooth."
"One narc tooth, coming right up."
"Bluffing! Until I see teeth."
Branch
There's got to be some other way to assuage his paranoia than assaulting an actual child.
Socially engineer him. The frayed wiring of his mind is all but exposed, surely you can tinker with it.
Branch
"I'm not doing this."
"A-ha! Knew it! Narc-loving, wire-wearing scum."
"Board condemned... why?"
"Because of its history of use. Primitive superstition typical of the medical board."
"Alright, sounds fun."
"I'm not bringing you the tooth of a frightened child."
"Spoken like a 'Medical Ethicist', straight from the board. My neck's getting warm." He gives the noose a little tug.
"I'm breaking him down." (Go back.)
"Still looks pretty whole to me." He peers over your shoulder, through his front windows.
Branch
"About this board narc..."
"Don't you fuck with me, now." He tightens his fist on the noose.
Get on his level.
A visceral call comes from inside of you, rising up metallic and hot.
"Doctor, the bullet lodged inside my chest would like a word with you."
"What did you just say?" Violent twitches distort his face.
"I have a bullet permanently lodged inside my chest. It wants to talk."
"I am ready." A greasy stethoscope materialises from some inner pocket.
He's been waiting his entire life to hear your words.
"It's here." (Show him the entry scar.)
The doctor's movements are somewhere between daintiness, lust, and disbelief as he places the stethoscope to your clavicle.
The entry wound glows warm, as though awakened.
A relic from the military coup in Mircea.
"Yes..." He speaks out all of a sudden.
"I have explored the darkest crevasses of living bodies both friend and foe, Monsieur Bullet, and I have tasted the love of which you speak..."
"Love? What love? Doctor, rope me in."
"The only true Love. The inside of the body. That infernal heat and butcher-floor smell..." He presses the stethoscope harder to your wound, massaging it almost.
He's far gone. And if he was faking it to begin with, he's long forgotten it.
Communication has been established between the doctor and something within you, real or imagined, and there is nothing you can do about it.
The doctor draws a deep, shuddering inhalation.
"Well, at least we know you're not medical board scum."
"So, no suicide, right?"
"No. No suicide today."
"Don't worry, it spoke highly of you. Not a drop of narc blood inside."
"I'm feeling weirdly jealous and a little violated."
"I understand. There is no intimacy like the intimacy of wound and Doctor."
"It spoke highly of you, though. Not a drop of narc blood inside."
"What did it tell you?"
"That's between me and it. Eternally."
"You know I was just bluffing, right?"
"I'm sure you think you were. But it was calling out to me the way only a wound can call to a Doctor."
"Are you two getting along?"
"Shh." He presses the stethoscope harder to your wound.
"Alright, this is starting to get a little weird."
"Left clavicle, Doctor."
No hesitation. No stutter. Entrusted to the dieties of the wound.
"Do you want to talk to it or not?"
"Nevermind, it was stupid."
"Don't you fucking dare." He produces a greasy stethoscope from his pocket with reptilian speed.
"Ugh, alright."
It's bureaucracy versus insanity in this arena. You have to go off-script for this. Way, way off-script.
Snatch the bottle of liquor from his desk.
"Yes...?" He eyes you skeptically.
Actually, maybe this is stupid.
You've made the gesture already, you can't back off now.
You feel the doctor's stare on you, a ray of judgement and condescension.
"You want board Narc? Watch this." (Chug.)
You lift the bottle to your lips...
FUCK.
That's not liquor.
Your gag reflex activates. You puke into your mouth, swallow it, almost puke again.
"Ha! Pathetic. I have seen actual children in Party Alley consume drugs with more dignity."
"Hey, a board narc would never do that!"
"Sadly, you're correct. With what they have on me, those spineless bureaucrats would sooner self-amputate than take a risk on an unknown substance on my desk."
"Don't get me wrong, you're a narc of some kind, watching you struggle through that measly sip dispersed any all remaining doubts, but you're not Board."
"So -- are we good?"
"Fine! But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda."
"So you're not going to kill yourself, right?"
"For now. But be warned -- one whiff of board fuckery, and gruesome public suicide is back on the agenda."
"So you're not going to wang yourself, right?"
"Ugh! What the fuck is that thing?"
"Spiritual anaesthetic."
"My own brand. Ethyl snatched from the jaws of methanol, and just a dash of formaldehyde for the kick."
A deranged connoisseur, lost at the outer edges of human pleasure.
"FORMALDEHYDE?"
"We're all dead in life, mama, formaldehyde is just how you preserve the tissue."
"In any case, you're not a board narc, that much is clear. Those bureaucrats would sooner self-amputate than take a risk on an unknown substance on my desk."
"You're bluffing. I don't believe you really drink formaldehyde."
"You sick fuck, you could have killed me."
"You sick fuck, you could have wanged me."
"Oh yeah?" (Keep chugging.)
The vapours hit your nose just a second before the liquid hits your tongue.
Please, no.
The second time is, somehow, worse than the first.
Maybe you are a board narc?
"How about now?"
"Well, you're not board, that much is clear. With what they have on me, those spineless bureaucrats would sooner self-amputate than take a risk on an unknown substance on my desk."
"Might have been a mistake..."
"What exactly do you want me to do about the 'Board Narc'?"
His eyes flash.
He's been waiting for this moment.
"But I've got a legitimate medical concern."
"What am I, your mother? Rub cocaine on it, that'll numb almost anything."
"No. My colleague -- he's catatonic."
"Don't shit me, you wired fuck. You and whoever's listening are not going to lure me in with 'ethically stimulating cases' again."
This is right up his alley. Sadly, he's too paranoid to even listen to you.
"Wait, 'again'?"
"I'm not going to fall for the oldest trick in the book, wire-narc. I am admitting to nothing!" He raises his voice even louder and enunciates mechanically.
Presumably for the benefit of the wire you're not wearing.
"And while we're on record, may I just add, the albino was going to die anyway!"
Branch
"Fine. Suppose I'll try Dr Hugo..."
"Hugo Abe? That dry-cocked, rules-loving traitor? Good luck! You'd be better off asking the vegetable."
"Just thought you'd be curious."
"Is that so? Well, whatever your board superiors told you about my supposed interest in inert patients is a grotesque fabrication." He raises his voice even louder and enunciates mechanically.
"Can I get a prescription for that?"
"Nice try, you wired fuck. Why don't you ask your board superiors for one?"
Branch
"Why do you think the medical board is after you?"
"Jealousy, as far as I can tell."
In this context, 'jealousy' translates to gross violations of medical and or human decency.
Branch
"Yeah, that's not how it works."
"What can I say? My methods were too effective for those handicapped children running the board."
"They babble on about 'Modernisation', 'Best practices', 'International standards', but the fact is, they shit themselves in the presence of a real doctor."
Branch
"So whose blood is that on you?"
He looks down, vaguely surprised, shrugs.
"You never get credit for the blood you leave in."
Branch
"You never get credit for the blood you leave in.""Head down to the government buildings, slobber on elderly politician cock, then wait six weeks for a stamped…OUR AGRARIAN UTOPIA WILL HAVE NO NEED OF DOCTORS -- LET HIM SELF-PURGE."Don't try to play like you're on my side, board scum. I'll believe nothing until you get rid of your little…
Branch
Branch
"You could just... modernise."
"You mean 'capitulate'." His face darkens.
"Head down to the government buildings, slobber on elderly politician cock, then wait six weeks for a stamped form and a pat on the head? Never."
"Move to the Superbloc. We don't care for international standards."
"Oh, yes." He sneers. "And where will I end up? Assigned to a nickel mine infirmary, maybe? I can't wait to put an ideological commissar's cock in my mouth!"
"Different boot, same neck. Fuck you, and fuck the Perpetual Revolution."
OUR AGRARIAN UTOPIA WILL HAVE NO NEED OF DOCTORS -- LET HIM SELF-PURGE.
A doctor with loose morals is a useful contact to have -- if you can get him to talk to you without threatening suicide, that is.
"Those fucking pearl-clutchers."
"Don't try to play like you're on my side, board scum. I'll believe nothing until you get rid of your little narc friend."
"The official reason, Gonza."
"Oh, they'll drum up anything to get you, real or invented."
Definitely real.
"Is that so?"
"That's right. Professional, intellectual, psycho-sexual."
"Don't kill yourself before I get back." [Leave.]
"I'll do as I very well please, board harpy."
"Don't wang yourself before I get back." [Leave.]
"Not one step further, board scum. I'll do it."
Coiled. Fingering the safety latch.
A noose around his neck. A labcoat splattered with blood both new and old.
"I'll enjoy it, too. I think I can probably cum just from watching the trauma sink into your face, right before the oxygen stops reaching my brain for good."
"Calm down, drop the noose."
"Ha! I know false concern when I see it -- three years in pediatric oncology."
Pupils track you like a cornered animal trying to recognise the butcher.
His left foot twitches in anticipation of the jump.
"Saw you conspicuously not talking to your little colleague out there. I know you're from the medical board -- and I know he's been watching me."
Alternative wording
"Saw you talking to your little colleague out there. I know you're from the medical board -- and I know he's been watching me."
"What 'little colleague'?"
"Pathetic. Did they even train you?"
"If you're not board -- which you fucking are -- then go and deal with that stain of narc shit lurking outside. I know that scarf of his is a fucking wire."
Branch
Description matches the fidgety teenage boy spoken to outside. Emphatically not an asset of any sort.
Branch
"He warned me you were weird."
"Aha! Aha! Sharing notes already! I knew his superior would be a woman -- he has the stench of gynophobia all over him."
"No one takes down Dr. Gonzalo E.S. Gonza except Gonzalo E.S. Gonza!" He breathes hard, his grip on the rope tightening.
"Aha! Aha! Sharing notes already! I knew his superior would be a woman -- he has the stench of gynophobia all…"Kid? That's a forty-year-old man with a severe deformity. Terminal virgin too, stench of gynophobia all over…"Right outside. Small stature, big hair, bigger scarf. I knew his superior would be a woman -- stench of…"A-ha! I knew it. You are his board officer. I knew his superior would be a woman -- stench of gynophobia all…
"You mean that kid with the scarf?"
"Kid? That's a forty-year-old man with a severe deformity. Terminal virgin too, stench of gynophobia all over him."
"Still don't know what you're talking about."
"Right outside. Small stature, big hair, bigger scarf. I knew his superior would be a woman -- stench of gynophobia all over him."
"I'm not doing your bidding."
"A-ha! I knew it. You are his board officer. I knew his superior would be a woman -- stench of gynophobia all over him."
"I don't have time for derangement. I need a doctor."
"Sounds like a pre-rehearsed line designed to entrap me."
"Medical board? Lame. I'm way worse than that."
"There is no worse."
"Please, no, I can't be responsible for any more tragedy."
"Don't pretend you're a person." He spits on his desk. "I can smell it on you. The forms. The files. The fucking bureaucratic miasma that birthed you!"
"Do it. Yours won't be the first body I've handled recently."
"Don't pretend you're interesting." He spits on his desk. "I can smell it on you, you know? The forms. The files. The fucking bureaucratic miasma that birthed you!"