[Game Update #3 - HER (Heresy Emergency Room)]
"I.. think I need a chirugeon ASAP. I'm suffering from IMS." You told the first guardsman, who you might as well refer to by his name, Sigismund, unsure whether he understood what Insensitive Mouth Syndrome meant or if it was even a thing. You licked the inside of your mouth to doublecheck. Nope, still numb. At least the chirugeon would be able to help. Okay, your hope was that they would be able to help, though you had the sinking feeling in your gut that you weren't, in fact, going insane and that this all was unfortunately very real.
Sgt. Sigismund's irritation at your description of symptoms flashed around his forehead like some kind of bulgy thorn-encrusted halo of red light but he clearly only wanted to get this over with so he could go home and relax with his friends while watching the latest Blood Bowl season on his 5' 3" x 4' holoscreen. He took a hand to his helmet's vox-caster unit to relay the deviation from his usual patrol while gesturing for Thaddius Wolfe to move in with the restraints as per the guard force's standard safety precaution when transporting a suspect individual. The overwhelming need to get to the infirmiry led you to acquiesce rather eagerly, and Pvt. Wolfe raised a scrutinizing eyebrow at the dopey smile you wore while he cuffed you. It was a short trip after that, with the rail units on this floor being regularly maintained so that there weren't interruptions in workflow. Your attempts to strike up a conversation with either guardsman went nowhere and they rudely ignored you for the entire trip while they talked among themselves about the advantages of projectile firearms in law enforcement versus a las sidearm.
You arrived at the local medical center's unknown affliction wing with second thoughts about your previous enthusiasm for cuffs. Damn things felt like they were tearing your skin right off after a trip on the turbulent metal crates-on-a-line which served as public transit around here. The sergeant and private dragged you into the main hall where they informed the clerk of your collapse.
"...After she got up she stared at us like she were touched by a freakerslug, though there were no signs of one of the critters about. Figured we'd take her in just in case there was an infestation way up on this floor. Don't need to give the captain any more ammunition for his shitslinging when I'm this close" Sigismund emphasized with his index finger and thumb "to getting reassigned out of this dump."
"Understood sergeant." Cyrine -- damn knowing peoples' names instinctively was weird -- didn't care much for the man's personal life, and began moving towards you with her scanner and datapad as soon as it would've been considered polite. For your part you'd be gawking at the servitors and the partially trained personnel who helped the chirugeon, the only actual techpriest in this particular facility, run a small research clinic meant to gauge diagnostically-uncertain health threats to the greater hive. The center it was attached to also directed the other medical units throughout the floor cluster, units with non-mechanicus assistants that would keep the general workforce healthy and productive on stims or whatever chems they needed to manage the ridiculous shifts that taskmasters would occassionally demand.
"Open your eyes and look into the light."
"What li-OW!" You barely were able to respond when she swiftly moved her scanner to your face and zapped your eyes with a bright green light. The device repetitively clicked as she moved the light across your entire body. Apparently satisfied with her reading, she switched an attachment on her scanner and grabbed your arm while you were still dazed and took a sample of your blood with a wickedly long syringe needle. You can't help but whimper, and look to Cyrine for some kind of recognition of your pain but she remains coldly focused on her task. At least it meant the process went a lot quicker.
"Ow.. Okay, you have my blood but I didn't get bitten by a freakerslug I was-"
"Mallear will see you after he reviews your results." She interrupted before waving you to the round chairs on the far end of the lobby, which was otherwise more of a datacenter that read various reports coming in from outside sources seeking confirmation for simple diagnosises and perscription.
"But you don't understand. I have IMS, and I might be going cra-" Your attempt to explain your symptoms yourself was stopped short intentionally this time, as a bulky servitor apparently designed for security came up from behind and loomed over you rather intimidatingly. You swallowed and gave a nervous grin to Cyrine before you handwaved that you understood where your seat was and timidly made your way there.
You stewed in your own impotence as you waited for an hour under guard. Nobody else was there for you to bother with your woes besides the cold receptionist and the guardsmen who were now talking about whether the Emperor, eternal glory upon him, secretly made female Space Marines to serve as his private guards. Before you could fully consider whether this topic counted as heresy, the clerk announced that Adept Mallear required your presence and pointed you to the lift.
Mallear reminded you why you were never enthusiastic about the hypothetical life as a techpriest, with his thick scars of self mutilation in some bizarre experiment that you'd probably end up wasting hours of imagination upon in a less urgent setting. The man, or what was left of a man, had replaced his eyes with thick lenses of alternating colors that seemed to indicate categories of his focus. Watching the interplay between his own trappings and your "gift" almost distracted you from when he decided to stop reading the various datapanels which filled his lab (typically attached to some kind of transparent vat with a limb or creature inside) and turned his attention towards you."
"*tick* Greetings, Ms. Solaria. *tick tick* It is an interesting reading that Mrs. Lethe has obtained from your scans. *tick* Do you know what it is?" Bouts of ticking noises punctuated each sentence, and clearly the robotic voice was not his own. You suspected that the large iron vise around his neck and mouth was not merely a part of the priest's grandious dark red robes with the gears of the Omnissiah proudly displayed with a mechanically animated glory.
Fretfully you began trying to see into his mind, but Mallear was different than the people you'd inspected with the gift before. Yes, you could see some of his thoughts, and had a vague understanding of his past, such as the disaster of hubris that subjected him to this rather menial position and derailed his path to Magos Biologos, but the information provided was significantly less than the more open minds of the guardsmen or clerk. What you did see caused you to tremble, because the thing that Mallear saw became simplified as one word: Change.
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Topic: (SG) A Chaotic Series of Events - Unsocialized Medicine (Read 3408 times)