01-17-2015, 06:21 PM
A man in scrubs and a doctor's coat strolled unaccompanied down the hall of the hospital. As he came upon a room, he adjusted the surgical mask wrapped around his face and pushed a pair of surgical goggles higher onto the bridge of his nose. His vision was always perfect and had never any need to wear eye glasses, even if he had been born into the unfortunate circumstances where he would not be allowed correction surgery. Beeps and rings sounded from a nurses' station farther down the hall. A nurse pushing a patient in a wheel chair rounded the place where he stood. And there was a single individual posted outside the hospital room that gave the doctor a long look over.
This particular doctor called up the chart on the hospital room and scanned its contents. Quique Apodaca Espino was the patient inside. He was seen here tonight for a minor head injury and dizziness. He had required stitches on his scalp from an apparent cut from broken glass. The doctor scrolled through the list of medications Quique was taking. Apparently he was a little worked up from the ordeal and was complaining of insomnia. They were going to keep him in the hospital over night to monitor his condition, but he was having trouble sleeping.
The doctor nodded politely at the individual seated outside the room. The individual, seeing only another skinny doctor, gestured that he go on in. The doctor entered unmolested.
The patient was watching tv in his bed. "Good god man. I've been asking for a doctor for half an hour. How long does it take to get off your ass and walk in here?"
The doctor crossed to Quique where he used the bed's settings to lay it back flat. As the gears of the bed buzzed their movement, the doctor pulled an IV bag off its pole and laid it beside the patient. The pole itself, he wheeled around and tilted it horizontal.
Given these were likely strange behaviors for a doctor, Quique started to shift but found himself unable to move. Behind his mask, the doctor smiled.
"What is this? Muro!"
He yelled to the man in the hall. Moments later, the larger man pounded into the room, hand reaching under his jacket. He paused, taking in the sight of the doctor holding the IV pole like a jousting stick. It was too late.
The doctor let go of the pole as it shot forward powerful as a bullet released from a gun. It pinpricked Muro's belly, skewering him to the wall like a stuffed pig. He screamed of course, but the sound was muffled by wads of invisible pads shoved across his face.
About this time, Quique was rather upset. Dane turned to comfort him.
In his own special way, of course.
This particular doctor called up the chart on the hospital room and scanned its contents. Quique Apodaca Espino was the patient inside. He was seen here tonight for a minor head injury and dizziness. He had required stitches on his scalp from an apparent cut from broken glass. The doctor scrolled through the list of medications Quique was taking. Apparently he was a little worked up from the ordeal and was complaining of insomnia. They were going to keep him in the hospital over night to monitor his condition, but he was having trouble sleeping.
The doctor nodded politely at the individual seated outside the room. The individual, seeing only another skinny doctor, gestured that he go on in. The doctor entered unmolested.
The patient was watching tv in his bed. "Good god man. I've been asking for a doctor for half an hour. How long does it take to get off your ass and walk in here?"
The doctor crossed to Quique where he used the bed's settings to lay it back flat. As the gears of the bed buzzed their movement, the doctor pulled an IV bag off its pole and laid it beside the patient. The pole itself, he wheeled around and tilted it horizontal.
Given these were likely strange behaviors for a doctor, Quique started to shift but found himself unable to move. Behind his mask, the doctor smiled.
"What is this? Muro!"
He yelled to the man in the hall. Moments later, the larger man pounded into the room, hand reaching under his jacket. He paused, taking in the sight of the doctor holding the IV pole like a jousting stick. It was too late.
The doctor let go of the pole as it shot forward powerful as a bullet released from a gun. It pinpricked Muro's belly, skewering him to the wall like a stuffed pig. He screamed of course, but the sound was muffled by wads of invisible pads shoved across his face.
About this time, Quique was rather upset. Dane turned to comfort him.
In his own special way, of course.