St. Thomas Hospital, in the heart of London, had never been a quiet place, especially the paediatric section, the Evelina London Children's Hospital.
The security guards, modestly obese looking chaps, but having recently been upgraded with augments (some of the bulk was battery fat for said augments, the rest, you can lay the blame on the cheap and cheerful chippie down the road), had become accustomed to a revolving door spinning itself nearly off the hinges as a torrent of harried doctors entered and left, let alone the kids and their parents; though these days, with the visiting Class 2 Healer available, the guards felt their moods slightly uplifted on seeing more kids than usual skipping out the door, not that the place's reputation had been undeserved even before the recent installation of multiple autodocs and the odd metahuman or two.
The other wards were busier, the line to get urgent boosters for a newly resurgent strain of Madagascar Flu were lengthy indeed, but nobody particularly complained as a tall doctor wearing a respirator cut right through, though his unusual red doctor's coat drew a few eyes and comments. Some held their noses, he seemed to stink more of formaldehyde than was usual, though to be fair he'd emerged from a discreet door on the other side of the emergency vehicle parking lot, one that lead to the morgue. One of the guards had received a low priority ping, London's panopticon had already noted his presence as anomalous, but the man dismissed it without a second thought, the newly installed Watchers were unusually glitchy and still on a hair trigger after the ecoterrorists had released an engineered prion disease into the water supply, one that made consumers intolerant of red meat. Not an issue, one chortled to the other, we're too fond of fish and chips.
The door complained a little as he approached. Something was off about his biosignatures, but the tall man, most of his figure hidden beneath the coat, only stopped for a moment to fish out an access card. A quick slide, and the beeping stopped, and he was in, waved through by another harried receptionist.
PRIORITY LOW: SYSTEM ERROR PROBABILITY >45%
He stalked through the halls, drawing curious glances from other doctors, especially since infection control had forbidden white coats for decades by that point. Did they let him go because he dyed his red? Worth a shot, they reckoned.
He was at the preoperative ward in a minute, where an actual busybody, an Infection Control Nurse herself, accosted him.
"Doctor! You know that's not allowed right? Just think of the children!"
"Madame, the children are all I think about anyway. Is there an issue?"
She peered at him, trying to spot a name tag, but he wasn't so kind as to offer.
"I apologize. I'm new here. Visiting, you could say, and I have a whole host of urgent procedures scheduled. If you have a problem with my outfit, I'm all ears, but only once the actual work is done." He strode past her, leaving her pursing her lips. Well, he did smell well sanitized, practically doused in the stuff, so she was inclined to let it slide, having just spotted a more junior doctor with a ring that she couldn't excuse as a marker of matrimony. Time to fuck with her instead.
The smart systems had resigned themselves to being accommodating, so he entered the actual ward and cast a practised eye over the kids.
The kids, they weren't doing alright. You'd think that with a Healer aboard, the nominally inoperable cancers would have been dealt with, but the way her powers worked only made them multiply.
"Doctor..." Another nurse asked him, perplexed as her AR glasses drew a blank, but she too was used to NHS systems being less than reliable.
"Sheena Ahmed. Six years old. Is the OT clear?" He asked.
"Let me check just a moment, uh, yes, but I was told she was going to be sent for palliative radiotherapy? I'm afraid that no procedures are planned." She shook the glasses to sleep and tapped at an old tablet, confused by the discrepancy.
"I had really hoped the NHS had cleaned up their act by now. Had to fly quite a distance, only to find that you lot are as tardy and lackadaisical as ever."
She would have bristled at the insult, but something about his voice was gentle, soothing even, though there was just a hint of sussuration underneath, which she attributed to the unfamiliar make of N100 mask. He did carry himself like a surgeon. Evidently a neurosurgeon, given that the poor girl had glioblastoma. His accent, she couldn't quite place it, but she supposed he was from across the pond.
"Give that to me please." A little more polite, but an order nonetheless. She handed it over reflexively.
The tablet spazzed out for a moment, but he kept staring at it, and it spun back into action. OT 7, reserved. Doctor Red. Multiple cases, high priority.
"How'd you do that?" She asked, a little flustered.
"I'm trying out a new neural implant. Put it in myself. I wouldn't trust anyone else with the task." He replied blandly, handing it back.
Neurosurgeon confirmed, the ego matched. She sighed and began calling ahead.
He paced through the ward, and the odd child who wasn't moribund looked curiously at him, but he did have a calming air about him, their eyes glazed over, and besides, the new Peppa Pig episode was far more important than another nameless, faceless doctor. For all their youth, they'd seen far too many.
Another junior doctor rushed into the ward, concerned they'd been slow with the clerking, but Dr. Red merely waved them away. They fled, merely thankful that he didn't need their help, they had enough on their plate in the first place.
PRIORITY LOW: PROBABILITY OF SYSTEM ERROR >25%
"Wait. Right now?" The nurse asked, bemused.
"She's not getting better while I wait. I know the place, called ahead. The autodoc has yet to be installed, and Mr. Khan, he's preoccupied. I believe he thinks this is beyond his abilities."
She blinked, but decided that a catfight between neurosurgeons, while always interesting to watch, wasn't the highest priority. Besides, this Dr. Red, he was correct, that OR was still fully furnished for human operation, though that was getting ever more rare.
"The notes say to contact the MDT before making surgical decisions, doctor-"
"The decision is made. Wheel the patient out, now."
She was shocked, but the autonomous unit rolled itself out, accepting his orders. The ego, this was ridiculous. Words would be had later, she swore.
Dr. Red followed the stretcher, whistling a jaunty tune. For all his previous commentary, he was impressed by the efficiency of the OT staff, though he still frowned at the excessive use of automation. Ah, to wield the saw and drill himself, use a scalpel, it had been days since he had the pleasure.
The neurosurgery resident was summarily dismissed, though even he was flabbergasted at Dr. Red's claim that he was perfectly fine operating alone. Well, at least he wouldn't be to blame if the surgery went poorly, he'd gulped as he'd first reviewed little Ms. Ahmed, they weren't kidding about unresectable. And he could use a quick nap, his own Neuralink would jolt him awake should this smug cunt come to regret it.
PRIORITY MEDIUM: SYSTEM ERROR PROBABILITY <10%
THIS AUTOMATED SYSTEM REQUESTS HUMAN INTERVENTION
"Bloody hell, what's gotten into this thing?" Steve asked, standing up with a sigh.
"Dunno, he seemed like an alright bloke to me, but bit of a stinker ain't he?" Andrew replied, shaking his head as he swiped on his end of the console, a medium priority request needed both of them to dismiss.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Somewhere far away, a bored officer in the Met looked at the case, frowned a little, but resumed his previous task of finding the culprits behind a female genital mutilation ring. He shouldn't have married a lady from out of the country, he thought with a sigh, if he'd been less on the ball, she'd have snuck their daughter out with her, thank god the other guy that day had raised hell about the sudden trip to Nigeria while she had the visitation rights.
About an hour later, Ms. Ahmed was wheeled out. Still heavily sedated, but her parents, who had rushed over the moment they'd heard about the surgery, only to be delayed by London traffic, were shocked to see the improvement reported by the automated systems. They stood by her bedside, clutching her hands, weeping again. Unresectable my arse, they thought, the post-op scans had been re-reported by three AI systems, and then another human radiologist, who had let his sheer amazement leak through in his review. They couldn't find Dr. Red's name anywhere on Google, but they resolved to stay put by her side in the hopes that he'd pay her a visit again, they were so thankful they could weep.
Three more cases rolled in, the nurses confused as to how the dumb systems were suddenly so obedient. They were wheeled out very quickly, none of them had been quite as bad as Ms. Ahmed.
The Healer, a modestly successful skincare influencer before she found her true calling, paid a visit. She was shocked herself. Then a few consultants began calling, askance that someone had dared operate on their cases, and pleading ignorance when asked if they'd been the ones to request Dr. Red.
PRIORITY HIGH: PROBABILITY OF SYSTEM ERROR NEGLIGIBLE
HUMAN INTERVENTION IS NON-NEGOTIABLE.
"Steve? What in the blazes? Can you take a gander, like a good bloke?" Andrew sighed.
"Fuck's sake. Alright."
Steve jogged over, to find a horde of angry doctors practically banging on the OT door, concerns about sterility dispelled by justified anger at this upstart's meddling.
"Oi. Get him to open up. My card isn't working. What the hell is this?" Mr. Khan demanded, taking out his ire on Steve, who was sweating a little at the unaccustomed exertion.
"On it Mr. Khan, I'm sure he must be busy, are you sure this isn't a bad time, he might be like, deep in the guts or something maybe?" Steve asked in a conciliatory tone, his own systems pinging him to inform him that multiple members of the administration were rushing over themselves.
"I'm not going to stand for this. Open the fucking door, you little shit, I'm going to drag your license into the dirt, if you don't let me in right now, I don't care how good you think you are, they won't let you use a knife outside Somalia." Khan yelled into the intercom.
A marked buzzing note began. Followed by a somber, yet staticky voice.
"I fully admit you know your craft, Mr. Khan. Please, do step inside. I can use your assistance. No, not your junior. We can talk inside. Alone."
Khan barged right ahead as the airlock opened, grabbing the gown with hands that could operate in his sleep.
Steve sighed with relief, hoping he didn't have to get involved. But the OT, while soundproofed, wasn't nearly enough to contain the screaming. And it was much louder over the intercom. He could tell it was Khan's voice, the man did love to scream, but this time, it was sheer terror, a sound that nearly made the 6'5" former bouncer piss himself.
"Code White! What the absolute fuck! Andie, now!"
He didn't wait. He didn't let the scanner rejecting his card stop him, he used that heft of his, concealing some barely legal augments, to cave the door in and hauled ass right through.
The inner door, while fire-proofed, was far more flimsy. He ripped it off the hinges, but stopped, jaw nearly hitting the floor.
Which was coated red. As were the walls. And the ceiling. Only the small child and the surgeon that dwarfed him remained untouched, though one was already crimson.
"What.. What the fuck?" He reached for his stun baton, shakily taking a step back, only to feel his broad back hit something stuck to the wall behind him.
"You seem decent enough. I'll count to five. You ought to know better than to interrupt me when I'm operating, but don't make the same mistake Mr. Khan did. Delicious, however, I might wear that skin till it's tattered."
There was enough distance between him and Dr. Red that he turned to see what he'd bumped into, and then indeed pissed himself for real, as he realized it was the skinless face of a certain famous paediatric neurosurgeon, embedded at eye level, thanks to a scalpel long enough to be called a knife. He needed the lift, Khan had been a meagre 5'8", it was only the blade stuck through his throat that let them see eye to eye. Or he would have, if the sockets weren't empty and oozing.
Don't blame him. He'd snuck a beer in on duty, and his bladder wasn't as taut as it used to be after too much ket in Glasgow.
Still, he was a brave man. Braver than he ought to have been, because he raised his baton and rushed in, his boots almost skidding on the sodden floor. Andrew had his back, he'd be here in seconds.
The baton smacked into Red's face, smashing the mask, but leaving the man unfazed even as it dug into his flesh and discharged all its voltage.
"I didn't even finish counting. Your loss." His breath stank of ozone, and he languidly drew the far smaller scalpel as if it were a toy, stepping daintily aside as a gush of blood leapt from the severed carotid.
Steve staggered back, clutching his neck. Press, press harder you bastard. He was built different, he let his augments take the wheel even as his vision dimmed, raising the baton again and bringing it crashing down with all the force his enhanced musculature could bear.
Red caught it. One handed. The residual charge charred his gloves.
"I'm bored."
Steve was flung twenty feet, taking the other half of the doors off their hinges, smashing into Andrew and sending him flying too. The last image seared by the sheer actinic light of his baton's discharge as he lay there exsanguinating, was Mr. Khan's eyes now placed in a far too unfamiliar face. His last thoughts were that he should really have married Lucy, his favorite at the strip club, when he had a chance. Oh, and called his mom more. She picked up the call as he died, but only to scream herself hoarse as she heard his gurgled goodbyes.
It didn't take a degree in medicine for the other doctors to take the hint that their presence was unwelcome. Klaxons, unused in years, began blaring, and emergency evacuation protocols that they'd slept through when taught began to be enacted.
Red didn't emerge from the OT even as the hospital emptied, and the first of many RRT SUVs showed up, sirens drowning out those of the ambulances.
They disgorged a score of hard men. Members of the Tactical Firearms Group, looking good in black, visors on and exoskeletons ready. One of them was even a Class 1 Bruiser, his exo was meant mostly for carrying firearms and heavy ordinance to solve what his fists couldn't.
"We have a hostage. A child. Last seen in an operating room, number seven, second floor, last feed image before the system crashed was that this mad bastard was wheeling them out to a ward." A sergeant grunted out, over their comms. They were dead silent outside barring the sharp whine of exos.
The breach was uneventful. There had been a jam as too many stretchers flooded the lobbies, but the patients had been carried out in arms, and these men at arms simply crushed the flimsy things as they swept through the foyer, guns sweeping the building.
"Entrance clear. Do we have bot support?" The man barked again, his IR laser visible only through the inbuilt night vision. They'd killed the lights, it was entirely possible this rogue metahuman lacked enhanced night vision.
"Negative. ETA 16 minutes till we can get you a big boy, but be advised, wrap this up quick, Hereford woke up, take too long and the SAS-sy lads will steal your thunder. Remember enhanced strength, potential low level reality warping. Stick to your training." His boss ordered, eyes glued to the feed.
The team, one of four sweeping at once, moved like panthers in the dark. Only the odd ancient life support unit that wasn't hooked up to the smart systems still bleeped and lit up the odd ward or ICU. The odd cellphone, lost in the mad rush to evacuate. An iPad, with Peppa Pig playing but thankfully on earphones left on the floor.
"Movement. On sensors. Second floor. Did it take her to the ward?"
"Got a feed. Leftover cellphone, we hooked in. Wait, she's alone, she's waking up from the sedation, I don't see-"
"Hello officers. I'm just here to do my job."
Sergeant Lewis hadn't made his rank for no reason, his carbine was up and firing before the first syllables had left Red's mouth, now freshly masked. His team was almost as quick, shooting depleted uranium slugs from shotguns, hitting the monster in the face with the grandfather of all tasers, the ultracaps dropping almost a thousand joules of energy into the eye where the dart had embedded itself, blowing it up.
"I can't operate like this. And you've emptied the place, very well, you'll have to do."
Lewis had dumped his mag and the mere seconds it took informed him the effect was less than could be desired. He swung, a serrated monoblade whispering out of its sheath and into the man's guts, and was heartened to see that unlike the bullets, it sank in. Deep.
He was disheartened, quite literally, when the yawning man struck like a cobra, breaking ribs coated with bleeding edge subdermal titanium plating, and pulled out his still beating heart.
The visors tinted over, even harder, as someone fired a flashbang from an underbarrel grenade launcher. It lit up the corridor, but not the doctor. Who had vanished without a trace.
"Motherfucker! We need backup, Lewis is down-" The new pointman yelled, before he found himself wrenched off his feet and then embedded in a wall.
Wallace, the supe, was third, and threw away the shotgun he wielded, almost verging on a cannon, when the Doctor appeared behind him. The scattershot was too risky, it would have taken out the other members of the team struggling not to flag each other with their muzzles. Instead, he swung, not seemingly faster than a normal man, but with the force of a semitruck behind it.
It smashed into the wall, Red had sidestepped again, and the man sighed deeply as the hidden load bearing column broke apart, caving in the roof.
This was going to be fun. He loved surgery in the dark. Speakers only accustomed to bored public service announcements began playing Mozart. He'd missed this so bloody much.