Disclaimer: I don't own Trauma Center/Trauma Team or any of the characters mentioned forthwith. I'm just a lowly fanfiction writer.
So this is my first Trauma Center/Trauma Team fic. Sorry if it's a bit corny, but I had fun writing it. :)
There might be spoilers in here if you haven't played through Trauma Center: Under the Knife & Trauma Team. This is your warning.
Ah, the roof. One of the places in the main building of Resurgam First Care that CR-S01 had taken to during his breaks. The cool breezes that frequently waltzed across the concrete and vacant helipad possessed a rejuvenating effect, easing away the stress of the day if only for a few minutes. He was grateful that Agent Holden had allowed him to retire up there, though of course the orange-haired man wouldn't let him out of sight.
Said agent stood by the roof's door a few feet behind CR, currently boring holes into the doctor's back with an icy glare obscured by omnipresent sunglasses.
Quick footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell leading up to the roof: they were heavy, but didn't linger on the individual stairs.
CR half-turned toward the door, enough to see it from the corner of his eye, as the dark-haired Gabriel Cunningham strode through it, sporting his usual bent-up cigarette and a clipboarded chart in his hand. "Hey, kid. Was kinda worried when I didn't find you in your room," he commented, a small smile upturning the corners of his mouth as he crossed the roof to stand beside CR.
CR turned back toward the low lip of the roof, gazing out across the rooftops of nearby businesses. "Sorry about that. Agent Holden started allowing me to take my breaks on the roof, so you'll most likely find me up here when I'm not in surgery." He noticed the clipboard and added, "And speaking of surgery... do I have a patient?"
Gabe nodded, handing over the chart. His tone dropped, his words sounding more official and much more serious now, the light humour gone in his voice. "Yeah, her name's Cameron Kelso. I diagnosed her this morning, but her diagnosis was... a little unsettling."
CR quirked a brow, crimson eyes now on the patient's record in his hands. His eyes bulged as soon as he saw the two words printed in the diagnosis box. "The Rosalia Virus...? I thought that we had that taken care of six months ago..."
"Yeah. I thought that too," Gabe murmured, his jaw clenching thoughtfully.
"She's stable for the time being, right?" CR questioned, turning fully toward Gabe now as he tucked the chart under his arm.
"Of course she's stable... for now. The virus has caused tumours to appear in her large intestine, which is where I believe the focus lies." Gabe started toward the door, with CR matching his stride beside him. "The goal will be to remove all of the tumours in her intestine, and any mucus that might show up as well. That should knock out the virus."
CR nodded once as he yanked the roof's door open. "That sounds simple enough. I'll be ready in the OR in ten minutes. I'm assuming that you'll be my support?"
"Right-o, kid," Gabe replied, flashing the other a grin; the sound of his voice had turned echoey as they entered the stairwell, with Agent Holden trailing silently behind. "OR number four. Meet ya there."
At the end of the tenth minute to pass from disembarking from the roof, Gabe joined CR at the operating table. He shot the surgeon a meaningful look before clearing his throat to speak. "Remember, remove all tumours and any excess mucus. Be prepared for anything... it troubles me that this virus seems to be resurfacing. Ready, Doctor?"
CR nodded once before his gaze lowered to the sedated patient on the table in front of them. He leaned over and took up the bottle of antibiotic gel, smearing a good amount over the middle of the rectangle of flesh isolated by green medical tarp. "Yes. Beginning operation. Scalpel, please."
He couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved as he made the first incision, clean and precise, to expose the large intestine. Small, pink inflammation spots were the first abnormalities to stand out; the second came in the form of two minor lacerations alongside a larger one that required closure by forceps. His brows knitted together as he returned the scalpel to Gabe. "What are these lacerations from? Tumours don't usually cause lacerations like this... I'll treat them, as well as excise the hidden humours and mucus. Ready the forceps, sutures, drain, blue inflammation medicine, and the ultrasound. I'll have to utilise them all."
Gabe worked silently, which came as a surprise to CR: usually Gabe would talk his ear off during operations. Taking the drain and tending to the excess blood around the gaping laceration, CR asked, "You're rather quiet... is something on your mind?"
CR dared not to look away from the patient, though he heard the distinct shift of fabric in Gabe's direction, most likely a shrug to precede his banter. "Yeah... something doesn't seem right about those lacerations. Something powerful, or at least something with a good amount of force behind it, must've caused them. And there's this nagging feeling in the back of my head that I can't shake... like I should recognise that wound pattern..."
"Wait, so you're saying that you've seen these cuts before? Can you recall if they were in a previous Rosalia patient?" CR had just finished suturing the odd cuts and injecting all visible inflammation spots with blue medicine. "Also, I'm beginning the tumour removal. Ultrasound please."
Gabe complied, and set to work readying the drain, scalpel, forceps, synthetic membranes, and, perhaps most importantly, antibiotic gel. "Gotcha. And I can say for sure that they weren't in any Rosalia patient that I diagnosed. Continue the operation, kid, just be prepared for anything to happen, okay?"
"Of course. Scalpel."
It took CR all of four minutes to locate and remove all eight tumours, as well as drain any mucus that he happened across. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Gabe announced that there were no more tumour markers, but it caught in his throat. "Something's wrong. There aren't any more tumour markers, but her vitals aren't stabilising. And didn't you diagnose her with—"
A long, thin cut split the surface of the large intestine, spanning halfway across CR's field of observation.
The first order came from Gabe, as soon as the initial shock of the phenomena ebbed away. "No, don't tell me... it can't be... dammit! Kid, use the ultrasound! Look for what caused that laceration!"
CR took the tool and scanned— it didn't take long until he locked on to a rather small, almost reptilian organism slithering under the surface of the intestine. "What is—"
"Don't ask questions!" Gabe interrupted, "Just cut that shadow out like you're excising a tumour. Do you know anything about GUILT?"
CR's eyes bulged, and it took all of what he had not to look away from the patient. "So that's what this is... yes, I've heard of GUILT and I know how to treat it, but I've never operated on it before." He took the scalpel and slashed over the shadow of the creature.
As soon as it was exposed and drew across the surface of the intestine, lacerating it on its way, the characteristic bruise of the Rosalia Virus darkened the edges of the organ.
Gabe piped up again. "Kid, I have a plan. I think that the Kyriaki bodies are acting as the focus of the Rosalia Virus, not the tumours. Wipe out all of the Kyriaki, and the Virus should go with it. Do you remember how to deal with Kyriaki?"
CR hesitated but for a moment before nodding. "Yes. Expose it, then burn it away with the laser. Do we have the patient monitored for Chiral Reactions?"
"I'll hook her up to the monitor," Gabe replied, "you worry about the Kyriaki."
CR nodded once. He was quick to seize the laser and burn away the first Kyriaki body, which wriggled about before dying. Two more cuts, almost identical in length to the first, sliced into view not even half a second after.
"She's hooked up to the monitor. Chiral Reactions are decreasing, but don't get happy just yet: they elevate near the end of the Kyriaki excision," Gabe reminded the surgeon, who replied with a determined nod. "The big boy's on his way. Watch her vitals closely, they may plummet here in a minute."
Sweat beaded against CR's forehead, catching in his messy bangs, though he held fast o his composure. Suturing came as easy to him as writing did, and in the middle of a stressful operation such as this, he found solace in the rhythmic motions of the metallic instruments and thread in his hands. This was the moment in which he rediscovered Zen, its comforting engulfing him like a tidal wave, though the sensation was much more gentle.
Just as he tugged the last thin laceration shut and trimmed the suturing string, he noticed the gleaming tip of the syringe protruding from Gabe's hand, its barrel full of green stabiliser liquid. "Do you think I'm going to need—"
CR's unnaturally cocky question died in the tense air of the OR as three sizeable cuts— two crossing diagonally, one slashed above where the other two intersect— tore across the surface of the large intestine. His eyebrows raised, then almost automatically furrowed as he took the offered stabiliser syringe and shot it into the intestine, before scoping the organ out with the ultrasound. He could hear his own heartbeat, the blood pounding in his ears from a rush of adrenaline released into his bloodstream, yet somehow Gabe's slightly strained voice cut through the deafening sound. "Hang in there, kid. The procedure hasn't changed: even though this one's a little bigger than the others, find the Kyriaki and cut it out, then laser it until it's done for. Suture the lacerations as you go— we don't want Miss Kelso to lose any more blood than is necessary. You can do this."
"Right," was all CR could manage, before he began his offensive: scanning, cutting, incinerating.
Scan. Cut. Incinerate.
Scan. Cut. Incinerate.
Bit by bit.
Just before the mother Kyriaki toppled over like the smaller bodies before it, it went completely haywire, its circuit around the large intestine tripled.
A syringe was already prepared, but this time it contained a powerful vasoconstrictor. "Okay, kid, this is it: watch the Kyriaki's movements and inject it with the vasoconstrictor. Then inject the sodium hypoclorite, which I will have prepared for you. Then finish it off with the laser, patch up any remaining injuries, and we're done. Think you can handle it?"
"I don't really have a choice at this point. I have to save this patient," CR responded, taking up the full syringe.
The Kyriaki made a figure-eight pattern across the large intestine, trailing its tail across the malleable surface of the organ with each lap it completed. CR's eyes locked onto the spot at which the Kyriaki lowered its tail— the middle of the figure— waited for it to get close to that point, and just before it lapped again he pushed the syringe into the organ...
...and straight into the heart of the mother Kyriaki.
"Sodium hypoclorite! Then the laser!"
CR could've sworn that his heart had begun figure-eighting itself, as he took the new syringe and completely stopped the still wriggling Kyriaki near the middle of the observation field. He grabbed the laser and pointed it directly on top of the suspended Kyriaki.
Gabe's resounding "Yes!" of victory sounded far off to CR, though at this point he knew why: he allowed his instincts and reflexes to take over, injecting a syringe full of stabiliser as he watched the Kyriaki squirm before finally falling completely still. He felt as if he were physically beside himself, watching a pair of skilled hands sew up the dozen remaining lacerations tingeing the intestine. Those hands worked faster than before, all the way up to suturing the surgical incision closed and taping a bandage over the handiwork. His handiwork.
He regained his bearings then, his senses having rushed back to him as his voice broke ultimately over the silence.
"Operation complete. Let this disease pass from this world..."
After escorting CR-S01 back to his private office-slash-holding-cell, Gabe dragged himself back to his own quarters. He hadn't felt so drained from supporting an operation like he did now in a good couple of months, and though he didn't want to admit it, he relished the feeling. Success.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Cunningham. Welcome back." The ethereal, mechanically female voice of his 'diagnostic partner in crime' greeted him as soon as his office door swung shut behind him.
Gabe collapsed onto his office couch and propped his feet up on the nearby mahogany coffee table, head lolling back against the top of the couch cushions. "Hey RONI. Man, that operation wore me out..."
"I take it that everything went well?" The sound of a surveillance camera's lens adjusting met his ears.
Gabe nodded. "Of course it did, but what we found after we opened the patient up was definitely a surprise. It seems that the Rosalia Virus is capable of combining with GUILT, which... frankly, it's unprecedented."
"When you mention GUILT, you are referring to the Gangliated Utrophin Immuno Latency Toxin, correct?"
"Of course I am. I don't know of any other GUILT out there, RONI," Gabe chided, sighing heavily; the stress of the operation weighed on him, but there was something he had to do before passing out for a catnap. "Speaking of GUILT, I need a favour. RONI, can you contact Doctor Derek Stiles for me? I need to talk to him immediately."
RONI fell silent for a moment before her voice resounded over the intercom. "Yes. One moment please." The sound of a buzzy dial tone replaced her voice.
It didn't take long for the doctor on the other end to pick up. "Derek Stiles speaking."
"Hey, Derek! It's me, Gabe," Gabe started, sitting up and cupping his head in his hands, elbows jabbing his thighs. "I found something in a diagnosis I preformed earlier today, as well as in the surgery that I supported just a few minutes ago. I think you might wanna come down to Resurgam when you get the chance."
Genuine concern ornamented Derek's reply. "Why? What's going on?"
"GUILT might be making a comeback. In the form of the foci of the Rosalia Virus."
To be continued.