Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike
Sun Apr 11, 2004 at 08:49:40 pm EDT
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Night Nurse # 4
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Night Nurse # 4


“First: Do No Harm”


PhantomHawk Memorial Hospital, the graveyard shift

The EMTs wheeled in the third victim of the Little Tijuana tenement fire. The elderly man suffered from first degree burns on his extremities and moderate smoke inhalation.

Nurse Grace O’ Mercy checked the man’s vitals as he was lifted to a sick bed. They were weak, but regular.

“I expected worse,” the emergency room veteran told one lingering member of the ambulance crew; “We heard there was an explosion.”

“Yeah,” Dusty Collingsworth nodded, “chatter on the radio says it was fireworks stored in the basement. But the superhero got everyone out by then.”

“Really? Which one?”

“Dunno,” the bulky red head shrugged, and then smirked, “Hoping for another sighting of your mail carrying heartthrob?”

“Get bent, Dusty,” was the young woman’s reply.

The EMT’s shoulder mike crackled to life, “Attention, all units. Be advised a 118 is being brought in.”

That was the code for a meta-injury: some medical condition that defied normal scientific explanation. Grace looked to see what doctor was available, and cringed inwardly when she saw the bland face of second year resident Alden Thewliss staring back at her.

“118? Heh, heh, uh, what’s that?” he asked.

The pretty brunette gave a brief sigh and resisted the urge to take the man by the hand and lead him to the nearest exam bed in order to tuck him in, “We got someone coming in with a wound that can’t be categorized by standard SOAP. You ready?”

“Uh, shouldn’t an attending be looking at the weird stuff?”

The door to the ER’s entrance slid open and the patient in question walked in. At least Grace assumed he was the patient: a burly mannequin wearing nothing but firemen trousers with a length of copper pipe jutting from his mid-section certainly did not fit regular parameters.

“Sir!” Grace shouted, “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

“Ah, jeez,” Thewliss brushed his hair back as the figure made its way to them.

On closer inspection Grace saw the intricate detail of the body. It was as if someone had transformed a person into a heavy blue cloth, all the way down to the fingernails and the checkerboard tattoos that ringed his biceps.

“I feel fine,” the man said sheepishly, “Though a bit tired. I haven’t maintained a transmutive state for such an extended period of time.”

The EMS workers finally made their appearance, “Hey! We told you to stay in the ambulance,” one admonished.

“My apologies.”

With Alden still staring like he had just seen the dead rise, Grace decided to take over, “OK, then, sir; I need you to lie down on this bed here. Can you tell me your name and what happened?”

After assuming a prone state the man complied, “My name is Alcheman. Well, my code name is. I’m afraid I can’t reveal my secret identity to you. Even though, with my mask immolated, it’s not much of a secret anymore.”

“I understand,” Grace smiled, “So were you the hero who helped at the tenement fire?”

“Yes. I was on patrol when I saw the smoke. I assumed the properties of a Cyanate Ester-Epoxy blend: highly flame retardant, but not so heavy as to keep me from navigating the building’s dilapidated steps. Really, I don’t know how people can be asked to live under such conditions. The Housing Authority is obviously not doing its job.”

“How did you get injured, Alcheman?” Grace surveyed the wound.

“One of the children I rescued told me there was a large cache of fireworks in one of the basement store rooms. I wanted to try and get down there and douse them with, well, with me. They went up before I could get a chance. This length of pipe was in the wall in between me and the explosives. Came at me like it was shot from a cannon.”

From what the ER nurse could tell Alcheman was suffering from a severe puncture wound to the upper right quadrant of the rectus abdominus. She could assume from its location the pipe had pierced the peritoneum, the liver, and the hepatic artery as well. If the hero’s physiology was normal he would have been bleeding heavily and in shock. Grace wasn’t sure how to handle this, but she couldn’t let Alcheman know that. He might have walked in under his own power and spoke in an even, cultured voice, but his body language was of someone afraid.

“Has this ever happened before? Where you have been hurt when you changed?”

“No. I’m new at this. Still haven’t gotten a proper costume yet,” he chuckled lightly, “I should have thought about the effects of serious distress on my different molecular states, though I have no idea how I could have tested such a thing without seeming masochistic.”

“I’m going to get the trauma unit ready for him,” Thewliss said something that was of actual use.

“OK, Doctor,” after Alden left Grace turned her attention back to Alcheman, “I’ve seen shape changers come in here before. Sometimes they keep the wounds, sometimes they don’t. The safest thing to do is have you switch back after the trauma team is prepped so if you do begin to suffer from the effects of the injuries, they can get to work on you fast.”

Alcheman nodded, “May I walk to the trauma ward, please? Being wheeled around like an invalid is unnecessary.”

“Sure.”

“And, you’ll be in there, yes? No offense to Dr. Thewliss, but you seems to have more experience in these sorts of things.”

“I’ll be there. Promise,” Grace helped Alcheman hop off the bed.

As he walked through the ER Michael Wooster saw several familiar faces: the people he had helped to rescue earlier this evening. Some recognized him. From their beds they gestured or smiled or gave words of thanks in their native tongue. Michael smiled and instinctively wiped at his eyes.

“I bet that feels good,” Grace noted as the barrel-chested man stood a bit taller.

“Yes. You must get the same feeling, given your line of work.”

“Sometimes,” the pretty RN admitted, “Sometimes, though, you just want to scream at the stupidity of people. They’re either doing dumb things to hurt themselves or cruel things to hurt others.”

“I suppose you often have to see humanity at its worst,” Alcheman let Grace usher him into one of PhantomHawk’s trauma rooms. An attending doctor, a nurse, and Dr. Thewliss waited. The oxygen tanks by the bed gave him an idea.

“Don’t be alarmed if I disappear,” he cautioned, “I want to try something,” and he pressed a pair of tattoos on his right arm.

Alcheman did in fact vanish amid the sounds of rushing air, the length of pipe clanging to the ground along with the borrowed fireman pants.

Grace sensed him. Sensed his warmth as it billowed across the room in a gaseous state. He hung, motionless, before coalescing atop the bed frame.

“Get ready,” she told the trauma team.

And on that cue Alcheman appeared, human, healed, and quite naked. He quickly covered himself as best he could: a pillow in his lap and a hand splayed across his face’s features.

“Well, that was enlightening,” he muttered through his fingers, “And mortifying.”

Grace spoke before the others in the room could recover, “How does your stomach feel?” she gathered up his trousers and lay it at the foot of the bed.

“Fine,” he clumsily tried to get his legs into his borrowed attire without much luck.

“We need to run some tests-” Dr. Blanchard, the attending surgeon, began.

“He said he was fine. Let’s leave him be,” the raven haired nurse said in a way that commanded instant compliance. The three other members of the hospital staff nodded absently and shuffled out.

“Thank you,” Alcheman pulled up the pants. He took away the hand that covered his face and acknowledged the young woman who had just saved him from a great deal of aggravation.

“Just honoring the Hippocratic Oath, Alcheman,” Grace said breezily, “People in your line of work need to avoid as much scrutiny as possible. You have secrets to keep.”

“Indeed,” he picked up a surgical mask and affixed it to his face, “This will have to do for now. Again, thank you for your help. I’m learning in this line of work it’s important to have friends in high places.”

Grace laughed, “Me? I’m just the Night Nurse.”

“Well, tonight that has proved to be more than enough,” Michael gave a friendly wave and bounded out, assuming the properties of vulcanized rubber to make his trip home that much faster.




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