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Eldritch Horror? No, I'm A Doctor
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The lobby hadn't been designed for the kind of conversation happening in it. Soft lighting, motivational posters about teamwork, a water cooler that nobody had touched in three hours because everyone was too traumatized to remember they had throats.
After all those thing and Nox bolt out form the facility to go to the bathroom to Vomited.
the situation was completely chaotic.
Axel sat in one of those uncomfortable waiting room chairs that seemed specifically engineered to make you regret every life choice that led you to sitting in it. Ralph occupied the chair next to him, still finding small flecks of dried blood behind his ears. Between them, Nox sat in Volker's body, looking significantly less comfortable than usual. He was fidgeting. Actually fidgeting. His hands kept moving to his lap, then back to the armrests, then to his lap again.
Axel had been holding it in for three hours. Three hours of being held at gunpoint by his own men who thought there'd been a containment breach. Three hours of trying to explain to increasingly hysterical military personnel that no, everything was fine, yes, the screaming was normal, no, please don't call the General
He couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Fuck, please, Dr. Nox, at least, please, at least be normal." The words came out in a rush, his composure cracking like ice under pressure.
"No, at least warn us before doing something like this."
Ralph nodded so hard his neck cracked.
"Yup, what he said is correct, Dr. Nox. It almost became a state emergency, you know. We had three Lieutenant General on the phone asking if we needed to evacuate the city."
"I, uh." He rubbed the back of his neck with Volker's hand.
"Yeah. My bad. Really bad. I should've... I should've said something first."
The hollow laugh was gone. He just looked uncomfortable now, like a kid who'd been called to the principal's office and was realizing maybe the prank hadn't been as funny as he'd thought.
"I got caught up in the technical aspects," Nox continued, his voice quieter than usual.
"The procedure itself, making sure the transfer went smoothly. Didn't really think about how it would look from the outside. Or sound. Mostly the sound, actually. That was pretty bad."
Ralph and Axel exchanged glances. This was new. Nox being... apologetic? Genuinely apologetic?
"The guards had guns pointed at us for three hours," Axel said, some of the heat leaving his voice.
"At all three of us. Your little demonstration almost got us shot by our own men."
"I know." Nox slumped in his chair.
"I know. I'm sorry. I just..." He paused, searching for words.
"I wanted to see if the reaction would be interest or not. But I should've explained it first. Should've walked you through what was going to happen. That was stupid of me."
Ralph's expression softened slightly. "You think?"
Neither of them said anything out loud, but somehow the communication was crystal clear. The kind of understanding that only came from shared trauma and the realization that you'd both made the same terrible mistake.
This guy is a psychopath, isn't he?
Yeah, probably right.
"Yeah." Nox managed a weak smile. "Really stupid. I panicked half your facility and traumatized the other half. That's not great."
"It's really not great," Axel agreed.
"Now We have to do all the paperwork."
"So much paperwork," Ralph said with a groan.
"Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is going to generate?"
"So much paperwork," Axel agreed, his voice taking on a distant quality.
"We're going to have to file incident reports. Multiple incident reports. With witnesses. So many witnesses."
"Equipment damage reports."
"Psychological evaluation requests."
"Ammunition expenditure forms because Jenkins fired six rounds into the ceiling."
"Medical evaluation forms for everyone who vomited."
"That's everyone."
"I know."
Nox sank lower in his chair. "I can help with the reports? Write up the technical documentation? It's the least I can do."
Both Major Generals turned to look at him.
"You'd do that?" Ralph asked.
"Yeah. I mean, I caused this mess. Should probably help clean it up." Nox shrugged. "Besides, I'm the only one who can actually explain what happened in medical terms that won't make people think we're all insane."
"We might be insane," Axel muttered.
"Probably," Nox agreed. "But at least the paperwork will look professional."
They sat in silence for a moment, the three of them processing everything that had happened. The screaming. The blood. The mask crawling across concrete. The fact that they'd all had guns pointed at them by people who were supposed to be on their side.
"I really am sorry," Nox said again. "For all of it. The scare, the mess, the... everything."
Ralph waved a hand. "What's done is done. Just... next time? Maybe a heads up?"
"Next time I'll write a full briefing document with diagrams and a risk assessment."
"That would be nice."
Nox stood up, stretching Volker's muscles, working out the kinks. The mask had fully integrated now, sunk beneath the skin until there was no visible difference between the stolen face and a normal one. He looked exactly like Heinrich Volker, serial killer, death row inmate, scheduled for execution next month.
"I should probably head home," Nox said.
"Got a clinic to run tomorrow. And you guys have..." He gestured vaguely. "All that paperwork."
"Thanks for reminding us," Axel said dryly.
"Want a ride?" Ralph offered. "We can drop you off."
"Nah, I'll grab a taxi. You guys have been through enough today."
They exchanged less awkward than before goodbyes, the kind that happened between people who had been through something terrible together but had managed to come out the other side still talking. Ralph's handshake was firmer. Axel even managed a small smile.
Nox walked out of the facility into the cool night air, breathing deep, enjoying the sensation of a new body that still had all its original parts. He flagged down a taxi at the corner, slid into the back seat, and gave the driver his address.
The driver was middle-aged, tired-looking, the kind of person who'd seen enough late-night fares to not ask questions. He pulled into traffic smoothly, the radio playing soft jazz that filled the comfortable silence.
"Long day?" the driver asked after a few minutes.
"You could say that," Nox replied. "Work stuff. Medical procedures. The usual."
"You a doctor?"
"Something like that."
"My back's been killing me lately," the driver said conversationally, one hand on the wheel, the other rubbing his lower spine.
"You got any advice for that? Doctor to regular person?"
"Stop slouching. Get a better chair. Stretch more."
"That's it?"
"That's it. Most back pain is just posture and weak core muscles. People expect complicated answers but usually it's simple stuff."
"Huh." The driver considered this. "Makes sense, I guess. Cheaper than a chiropractor too."
"Way cheaper."
They drove in silence for another few blocks. The city rolled past the windows, late-night stragglers heading home from bars, convenience stores still lit up like small beacons of civilization.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. Frowned slightly. Looked again.
"You..." he said slowly, his eyes narrowing as they met Nox's in the reflection. "Have we met? I feel like I know you."
"Don't think so," Nox said casually. "Just got one of those faces."
"No, I swear I've seen you before. Recently too. It's on the tip of my tongue."
Come on, buddy, the driver thought, his brain working overtime. Where do I know this face from? TV? News? Did he owe me money? Was he in a commercial?
Then it clicked.
The news report from last month. The special segment on death row inmates. The face they'd shown while discussing the upcoming executions. Heinrich Volker. Seventeen counts of murder. Scheduled to die next month.
The same face currently sitting in his back seat, very much not in a maximum security prison.
"Shit!" The driver slammed on the brakes hard enough that the tires squealed against asphalt.
Nox's face smashed into the front seat, his nose crunching against the headrest. "What the fuck was that?"
The driver was already scrambling out of the car, phone in hand, nearly tripping over his own feet in his panic. He backed away from the taxi like it was radioactive, fingers shaking as he dialed.
"What's going on?" Nox called out, rubbing his nose as he climbed out of the vehicle. Then it hit him. Oh. Oh no.
"VOLKER HAS ESCAPED!" the driver screamed into his phone, his voice cracking with terror. "THE MURDERER HAS ESCAPED!"
Pedestrians on the sidewalk heard the yelling. Turned. Saw Nox's face. Saw Heinrich Volker, serial killer, standing on a public street like it was the most normal thing in the world.
The screaming started immediately.
People scattered like roaches when the lights came on, running in every direction, some dropping their bags, one woman leaving her shoes behind as she sprinted barefoot down the sidewalk. A man threw his coffee at Nox and missed by three feet, the cup exploding against a storefront window.
"Fuck," Nox said, slapping his forehead. "I forgot I'm wearing a serial killer's face."
Sirens started wailing in the distance. Multiple sirens, getting closer fast.
"Not again," Nox groaned. "Come on."
.
.
.
Five hours later, Nox found himself kneeling on cold pavement with his hands behind his head, seventeen different laser sights painting red dots across his chest. His knees hurt. The asphalt was cold and rough, grinding against his kneecaps in a way that promised bruises tomorrow.
The city police had set up a full perimeter with riot shields and SWAT team backup. They'd closed down three blocks. News helicopters circled overhead, their searchlights sweeping across the street. Someone had called in the ABI. Someone else had apparently called the National Guard, though they hadn't shown up yet.
It was, objectively speaking, massive overkill for one unarmed man.
Nox had been in this position for forty five minutes now. His legs were starting to cramp. Blood flow was getting restricted. He'd tried explaining the situation three times already, but every time he opened his mouth, someone yelled at him to shut up and keep his hands visible.
So he knelt there, alone, surrounded by enough firepower to take down a small army, and waited.
A car screeched to a halt at the edge of the police line. Then another. Doors flew open and two familiar figures stumbled out, both looking like they wanted to die.
Axel and Ralph.
Axel's face was the color of old newspaper, his eyes bloodshot, his tie completely gone. He had a cigarette in his mouth that he'd apparently forgotten he was smoking.
Ralph looked worse, if that was possible. His uniform was disheveled, his hair was sticking up at odd angles, and he had the expression of a man who had gazed into the abyss and found the abyss staring back while filling out paperwork.
They both spotted Nox kneeling on the pavement and their expressions somehow got worse.
"No," Ralph said quietly. "No, no, no, no."
"We just left him," Axel said, his voice hollow. "We just left the facility. That was an hour ago. One hour."
"How?" Ralph asked the universe at large. "How does this keep happening?"
They walked toward the command post like men heading to their own executions. The officer in charge turned to greet them, started to say something official-sounding, and was immediately cut off.
"That's not Volker," Axel said, his voice flat and dead. "That's Dr. Nox. He's cleared. Let him go."
The officer blinked. "Sir, that's Heinrich Volker's. We have positive ID from facial recognition and three eyewitnesses who—"
"I know what he looks like," Axel interrupted. "I was there when he got that face. Six hours ago. It's a long story. Just let him go."
"Sir, I can't just—"
Ralph pulled out his credentials, slapped them on the officer's clipboard hard enough to make it rattle.
"Major General Ralph Chen, Military Intelligence Division. That man is Dr. Nox, consultant to the Azareth military, Phenomenon-08 classification. He is authorized to be here. He is not Heinrich Volker. Heinrich Volker is still in prison. This is a case of mistaken identity due to... complications."
"What kind of complications?" the officer asked.
Both Major Generals looked at each other. The kind of look that said they'd been through hell together and hell was starting to feel like a regular commute.
"The classified kind," Axel said finally.
"The kind where if I explain it, you'll need six months of therapy and I'll need to do three months of paperwork. So please, for the love of God and everything holy, just let him go."
The officer looked between the two haggard Major Generals, the news helicopters overhead, the kneeling man who looked exactly like a wanted serial killer, and his own career prospects if this went sideways.
"I'm going to need to make some calls," he said.
"Make them fast," Ralph said. He looked like he might cry.
Twenty minutes of phone calls later, during which Nox's legs went completely numb and Axel smoked three more cigarettes in rapid succession, the guns finally lowered.
"He's clear," the officer said, sounding like he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. "You can release him."
Two officers approached Nox cautiously, like he might explode. "You can stand up now, sir."
Nox tried. His legs had other ideas. They'd been locked in the kneeling position for over an hour and had apparently decided to just stop working entirely. He made it halfway up before his knees buckled and he caught himself with his hands.
"Shit," Nox muttered, trying again. This time he made it to a standing position, though his legs were shaking and pins-and-needles sensation was shooting up from his feet.
He limped over to where Axel and Ralph were waiting at the edge of the police line. Both Major Generals looked like they'd aged a decade in the last hour.
"I'm so sorry," Nox said immediately.
"It's okay" Axel said quietly. He wasn't angry. He was too exhausted to be angry. He'd gone past angry about three crises ago and landed somewhere in the realm of transcendent acceptance.
Ralph walked over to a nearby concrete wall and leaned his forehead against it. Just stood there, forehead to concrete, breathing slowly.
Axel pulled out another cigarette, lit it with shaking hands, and took a long drag. Then he walked over to the same wall and kicked it. Not hard. Just a tired kick that said he'd used up all his energy being frustrated and had nothing left.
They stood there for a moment, three men who'd been through entirely too much in the span of twelve hours. The police were packing up their equipment. The helicopters were leaving. The crowd of onlookers was dispersing now that the excitement was over.
Ralph finally lifted his head from the wall. "I want to go home."
"Me too," Axel agreed.
"I want to sleep for three days."
"Same."
"I want to forget this entire day happened."
"Not possible, but I appreciate the sentiment."
Nox pressed his fingers against his face, pushing, and the white mask emerged from beneath the skin like something surfacing from deep water. It took about ten seconds of careful manipulation, the porcelain sliding out through flesh that sealed itself behind it.
"Thank you for coming to get me," Nox said quietly. "Again. I know you didn't have to."
"We did have to," Ralph said, his voice muffled against the concrete.
"Still. Thank you."
Axel took another drag from his cigarette.
"Please just go home. On foot. Keep that mask on. Don't talk to anyone. Don't do anything. Just walk straight home and stay there."
"I can do that."
"Can you though?" Ralph asked the wall.
"I really can. I promise. No more incidents tonight."
"That's what you said hours ago," Axel pointed out.
"This time I mean it."
Both Major Generals turned to look at him with matching expressions of deep skepticism and even deeper exhaustion.
"I'm going now," Nox said, backing away slowly. "Going home. On foot. Being normal."
"Please do," Ralph said.
Nox started walking. The clinic was seventeen blocks away. His legs still felt like static and his knees were definitely going to bruise and his nose ached from hitting the taxi seat and he was pretty sure he'd pulled something in his shoulder from holding his hands behind his head for over an hour.
But at least nobody was screaming at him anymore.
Behind him, still standing at the police line, Axel and Ralph remained leaning against the wall.
"You know what?" Axel said after a long silence.
"What?"
"I think I actually like him."
Ralph lifted his head to stare at Axel. "Are you having a stroke?"
"No, hear me out." Axel took a final drag from his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. "He's a disaster. An absolute disaster. But he owned it. Apologized. Meant it. How many people in our line of work do that?"
"Not many," Ralph admitted.
"And he offered to help with the paperwork."
"True."
"And despite being a horror entity, he seems genuinely upset about inconveniencing us."
"Also true."
They both stared at the spot where Nox had disappeared around the corner.
"He's more human than I expected," Axel said finally.
"Yeah," Ralph agreed. "Yeah, he is."
They pushed off from the wall and headed back to their car, walking like men who'd survived something they didn't have words for yet.
"Still gonna have nightmares though," Ralph said.
"Oh absolutely," Axel agreed. "But at least he apologized."
"Yeah. At least there's that."