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Eldritch Horror? No, I'm A Doctor
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Klaus Werner had been human for exactly one year, three months, and seventeen days.
He remembered the count precisely because it was the day he'd stopped being an Abyssal Mimic and started being a person. Or at least, started pretending to be one so convincingly that even he sometimes forgot which was real.
The routine was simple. Wake up at six. Make coffee, though he didn't need it. Feed Noodle, the orange tabby that had come with the apartment. Get dressed in the factory worker's clothes that fit perfectly because they'd originally belonged to the man whose identity he'd consumed. Go to work at the textile factory. Come home. Watch television. Sleep, or at least lie still for eight hours pretending to sleep.
It was a good life. Boring, maybe. Safe, definitely.
Nobody suspected. Nobody questioned. Nobody looked at him and saw anything other than Klaus Werner, thirty two year old factory worker with a fondness for cheap beer and an apartment that smelled faintly of machine oil.
The transformation had been perfect. When he'd consumed the factory worker a year ago, near the docks where the man had been walking home late at night, he'd absorbed everything. Memories. Mannerisms. The way the man had walked with a slight slouch from years of standing at assembly lines. The name he'd chosen for himself, trying to sound Azareth because he thought it made him sound more sophisticated, though he'd kept it simple enough that people could still pronounce it easily.
Even the calluses on his hands from operating heavy machinery. Even the habitual way he'd crack his knuckles when thinking. Even the preference for black coffee with exactly two sugars.
Sometimes, late at night, Klaus would look in the mirror and wonder if he was still pretending or if he'd actually become human somehow. If consuming a person's entire existence could transform a monster into something else.
Then Noodle would meow for food, and Klaus would feed him, and the existential crisis would pass.
Until the letter arrived.
It came on a Tuesday, mixed in with the usual junk mail and bills. Official Azareth Empire government envelope with the imperial seal stamped in blue ink. Klaus had opened it while eating breakfast, Noodle purring on the counter beside him.
AZARETH EMPIRE DRIVER'S LICENSE RENEWAL NOTICE
Your license expires in 30 days. To renew, please submit:
Two passport photosProof of residencePhysical examination certificate from a licensed physician
Klaus had stopped chewing his toast.
Physical examination certificate.
From a licensed physician.
His brain, the part that was still monster and always would be, immediately began cataloging all the ways this would go wrong.
X-rays would show his bones weren't quite right. Dense With patterns that looked more like coral formations than human skeletal structure. If they thought he'd swallowed a coral reef, that's what his skeleton would look like to a radiologist.
Blood tests would be a disaster. His blood wasn't red. It was closer to seawater with extra minerals. The needle would probably corrode on contact, and if by some miracle it didn't, the lab technician would have a very confusing day when they tried to identify his blood type and found dissolved calcium carbonate instead.
Heart rate? His heart didn't beat like a human's. It beat. Like a jellyfish. With an irregular rhythm that sometimes synced with ocean tides even though he was hundreds of miles inland in the Azareth Empire's industrial heartland. The last time he'd checked his pulse out of curiosity, it had been thirty seven beats per minute. Humans were supposed to be around sixty to one hundred. A doctor would think he was dying.
Body temperature? Always cold. He'd learned to wear layers to hide it, but a thermometer wouldn't lie. 12 degrees celsius on a good day. Humans ran at 29-36 Another red flag.
Which mean that the Azareth Empire's Hunter Bureau would kill him on sight if they discovered what he was.
"Fuck," Klaus said out loud.
Noodle looked at him with that expression cats have when they think their owner is being stupid. The cat's tail swished once, dismissive.
"I'm screwed," Klaus told the cat.
"If I go to a hospital, they'll figure it out in the first five minutes. Hunter Bureau shows up. I'm dead. You'll be an orphan. Is that what you want?"
Noodle yawned, showing all his tiny teeth, and started cleaning his paw.
"You're no help."
Klaus paced around his small apartment for the next hour. Back and forth past the couch, past the kitchen counter, past the window that looked out onto the street below. His work boots left faint tracks on the cheap carpet. Noodle watched from his perch on the cat tree, yellow eyes tracking the movement like Klaus was the most entertaining show on television.
Think. Think. There has to be a solution.
He needed the certificate. Without it, his license would expire. Without a license, questions would be asked. How did he get to work at the factory that is 20 minute away from the nearest train station? Why didn't he renew? What was he hiding? Was he even a legal resident of the Azareth Empire? Questions led to investigations. Investigations led to exposure. Exposure led to hunters. Hunters led to death.
But going to a real hospital meant certain exposure.
He needed someone who would sign the certificate without actually examining him. Someone shady. Someone who didn't ask questions. Someone who valued money more than medical ethics.
A corrupt doctor, basically. There had to be at least one in a city this size. The Azareth Empire had strict medical regulations, but that just meant the corrupt ones charged more.
Klaus pulled out his phone and started searching.
"Cheap physical exam Azareth"
Nothing useful. Just legitimate clinics with good reviews and phrases like
"Thorough examination" and "State of the art equipment." Exactly what he was trying to avoid.
"Fast physical exam no questions"
More legitimate places, now with added emphasis on
"Comprehensive health screening." Great. Wonderful. Not helpful.
"Physical exam certificate fake"
That search returned some interesting forums, but they were all scams or traps set by the Hunter Bureau to catch Irregulars. He knew the tactics. He'd studied Azareth law enforcement extensively when he'd decided to live as one of them. The forums would have "helpful" advice that led directly to undercover agents.
He tried a few more searches, each one more desperate than the last.
"Under the table medical certificate."
"No exam physical."
"Bribe doctor Azareth." The results were always the same. Legitimate medical facilities with proper procedures and actual examinations.
Or scams. Lots of scams.
Finally, he gave up on the internet and decided to just walk around until he found something. Somewhere in this city, there had to be a sketchy clinic willing to take a bribe. Medical professionals were human. Humans could be corrupted. It was just a matter of finding the right one.
There had to be someone desperate enough, greedy enough, or apathetic enough to sign a form without looking too closely.
Three days later, Klaus was walking home from a long shift at the textile factory. His back ached from standing at the assembly line for ten hours straight, and his hands smelled like industrial detergent no matter how many times he'd washed them. The factory had switched to a new cleaning solution for the machinery, and it had a chemical smell that clung to everything.
The sun had set an hour ago, and the streets of the Empire's industrial district were mostly empty. A few other factory workers trudged past him, heading to their own apartments. Nobody spoke. Everyone was too tired.
He took his usual route through the narrow alleys. Faster than the main streets and fewer people to interact with. Less chance of awkward small talk with neighbors. The buildings on either side were a mix of warehouses and small businesses, all closed for the night.
Streetlights flickered overhead, some working, some not. The city had been meaning to fix them for months, but the industrial district was low priority. The air was damp and cold, carrying the smell of rain and industrial waste. His footsteps echoed off the brick walls, lonely in the evening quiet.
Klaus walked past a row of dark storefronts. A closed bakery with a "For Lease" sign in the window. A shuttered mechanic shop with an old car parked out front that hadn't moved in weeks. A boarded up restaurant that had been out of business for months, graffiti covering the plywood.
And then, at one side , one building with lights still on.
He almost walked past it. Almost. His body was on autopilot, his mind already thinking about feeding Noodle and maybe watching some television before fake sleeping. But something made him stop and look.
It was a clinic. Small, wedged between two store. The sign above the door was lightened in neon light.
HECTOR CLINIC
Below it, someone had added a handwritten slogan:
"As long as you're not dead, we can cure anything."
Klaus stared at the sign. The grammar wasn't even correct. It should be
"As long as you're not dead, we can cure everything."
Using "Anything" made it sound vaguely threatening. Or maybe the writer's first language wasn't the Empire's standard dialect.
His first thought was immediate and certain: This looks illegal.
His second thought followed quickly: Perfect.
His third thought was more cautious: Please don't have real doctors inside.
The clinic's window was fogged, condensation covering the glass so he couldn't see inside clearly. The light coming through was yellow and flickering, like candles even though it was probably just old electrical wiring that needed replacing. The door was slightly ajar, just a crack, like it was inviting him to push it open and walk in.
Or like someone had forgotten to close it properly. That was more likely.
The smell hit him even from the street. Antiseptic, sharp and chemical, the kind hospitals used to cover up the smell of illness and death. But underneath it, something else. Something that reminded him of the ocean. Salt and brine and something organic, like seaweed left to dry on hot rocks.
It smelled like home, and that made him immediately suspicious.
Klaus took a step closer, his work boots crunching on broken glass someone had left on the sidewalk.
Thump.
He froze.
Thump.
The sound came from inside the clinic. Like something heavy being moved. Or dropped. Or dragged across the floor. The rhythm was irregular. Something alive was making that noise.
He couldn't quite identify it.
His monster instincts, the ones he'd been suppressing for over a year, suddenly woke up like someone had dumped cold water on them. Every sense he had was screaming that something was wrong with this place. That whatever was inside wasn't normal. Wasn't safe.
That something in there was looking back at him, even though he couldn't see through the fogged window.
Klaus's hand moved to the letter in his pocket, the renewal notice from the Azareth Empire Department of Transportation that had started all of this. He thought about hospitals. About X-rays that would show coral bones and blood tests that would come back as seawater and stethoscopes that would hear whale song instead of a heartbeat.
He thought about the Hunter Bureau finding him. About being killed. About everything he'd built in the last year disappearing. The apartment. The job. Noodle the cat, who would end up in a shelter somewhere, confused about why his owner never came home.
Fear of exposure was stronger than fear of sketchy clinics.
It's probably fine, he told himself, taking another step toward the door.
Worst case, I pay extra. Best case, the doctor is blind or doesn't care. Maybe they're desperate for money. Broke people do shady things. Even in the Empire.
Klaus stood at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He could still walk away. Could try to find another solution. Could risk going to a real hospital and hope they didn't notice anything weird during a routine physical.
He took a deep breath. Not because he needed air, but because it was what humans did when they were nervous. The habit had become so ingrained he barely noticed doing it anymore. His lungs filled with cold night air, and he held it for a moment before exhaling slowly.
Then he pushed the door open.
It creaked. Loud and long, like doors in horror movies. The sound echoed in the empty street behind him, announcing his presence to whatever waited inside.
Klaus stepped inside, and the door swung shut behind him with a soft click that sounded very final.
The reception area was small. A desk sat against one wall with a computer that looked like it was from ten years ago, the monitor thick and bulky. A few chairs lined the opposite wall, the kind of seats you'd find in any waiting room, scuffed and faded. A water cooler in the corner, the bottle half empty.
Everything looked normal. Mundane. Exactly what you'd expect from a run down clinic in a bad part of the Empire's capital that barely made enough money to stay open.
Except for the person behind the reception desk.
He sat with his feet propped up casually, boots resting on the desktop next to a stack of papers. His arms were crossed over his chest in a posture of complete relaxation. And he was wearing a full plague doctor mask.
Not a modern medical mask. Not a surgical mask. A genuine, medieval style plague doctor mask with a long curved beak and round glass eyepieces. The kind that looked like it belonged in a museum display about the Black Death or a very specific type of costume party.
Black coat. Black gloves. Black boots. Black everything.
The figure didn't look up when Klaus entered. Just sat there, reading through papers, occasionally making a note with a pen. The scratch of pen on paper was the only sound in the room besides Klaus's breathing.
Klaus's brain stalled completely.
What the fuck.
Why is the receptionist dressed like a fucking freak?