Experiment 45 Part 003

One of the nicest things about working the night shift of this job is the near complete lack of human interaction. Don’t get me wrong, some humans are perfectly fine. It’s just extremely unnerving when they know exactly what I’m thinking as they’re talking at me, or how they stare during an episode of the shakes. Even worse is when they try to help after I get run over by a bus or something that would be extremely traumatic for one of them, and I have to try and explain about how I’m perfectly fine, that the fact that I’m not bleeding shows that nothing permanent was done, try to lie about the arm having been fake. They always know that it’s not though.


Then there’s the reaction when I try and reassure. Something about my smile, the way nothing small and buzzing is around, the low growls of dogs, one of them almost always tips them off about how I’m not of their natural world, and their pity turns to disgust. Without a doubt, that’s the worst part of pretty much anything I can think of, every single time. How am I supposed to help when I can’t even get random strangers to not hate me?

Fortunately, I get interrupted out of that thought by the emergency room area making noise. Usually that’s not good for whomever is in there, which means I’m at my most useful. Someone once mentioned how my series is at its best when everything else is at its worst. As such, I snake my way in that direction, using the stick as both camouflage and movement assistance.


It looks like there’s been another bout of gang violence. Humans, not affiliated with either side of the conflict, have been shot in various places, some of which seem to be more serious than others. I’ve not exactly studied medical science, but I am under the impression that most of the red fluids should remain within the skin. I release a burst of my power, then skulk off into the corner of the surgery department. Most of the vegetation around the area has already died, so letting myself be in the proximity of that territory would be relatively safe while my power lingered away from my body. I take the time to swing my stick around a bit, perhaps looking like I am meant to be doing so. Vagaries of human acknowledgement of when I’m doing my job as opposed to when I’m simply loitering have thus far been difficult for me to decypher.


Hopefully, exposure to my power will assist the doctors in allowing the humans to remain both conscious and active. While not certain, I can reasonably conclude that the lowering rate of patient loss from this establishment since their commencement of payment is a product of my potential pulse.


Perhaps I should have mentally hyphenated those last two words. Potential-pulse. Potential pulse. The first, wait, no, it’s the second. I likely should not have reversed the order of how I pronounced the words. That is even more confusing that the original. The first one could be interpreted to mean that I had the ability to pulse, which, while accurate, does not fully describe the effect. The hyphenated version makes it more clear that it’s a pulse of potential. Whichever.

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