"Code Blue"
By I am a good fighter
Powerpuff Girls created by Craig McCracken and all characters associated with the show are owned by Cartoon Network
Cable News Channel, the World's Source for News, had an office and staff in many larger cities around the world. Townsville was one of them, due largely to the unusually high rate of disasters, crimes and monster attacks which struck it. But they, like most of their local colleagues, had treated Bubbles' admission the night before as routine and were caught napping. When this had happened in the past, whichever station had gotten the scoop sent a heads-up to the local CNC office with an offer to provide their feed to the national network. Standard practice was to give only five minutes notice, to prevent the CNC locals from getting to the scene. It was great publicity for the station to have its call letters broadcast around the nation or around the world, if it was a big enough story. Since it was KZIX' scoop, basically, it would be their feed and Stanley Whitfield's face that CNC national picked up.
Anyone tuned into KZIX would see Whitfield, of course, and Santiago would appear on her station's simultaneous broadcast of the conference. Each of their crews were set up on opposite sides of the media room. Each had one camera trained on them, for their opening and closing remarks, and their second camera was aimed at the podium, where Dr. Johns would read his prepared statement. The focus on him would be tight, not showing the empty rows of tables in front of him. The only people in the room were Johns and the six media types.
At 1:39, CNC broke into its daily legal-issues program, 'Reasonable Doubt', with its familiar graphic and music for breaking stories. The daytime anchor, typically of that indeterminate age between 35 and 50, with perfect hair and teeth, began with, "This is Charles Wagner at the CNC newsdesk in New York…we are taking you live to Townsville, California, where we have just received word of a major tragedy involving one of the Powerpuff Girls…with us from our KZIX affiliate is Stanley Whitfield…Stanley, what can you tell us about this shocking news?"
At 1:40, the two local stations interrupted their programming with their standard 'Special Report' graphics, and Whitfield and Santiago gave a short intro and introduced Johns to the cameras.
"This statement will be very brief, as we are still trying to determine the full extent of the situation. I will not be answering questions at this time."
He cleared his throat and sipped from a glass of water on a small stand next to the podium, then adjusted the microphone.
"Bubbles was admitted last evening with flu-like symptoms. After further tests, it was determined this morning that she has a life-threatening condition that is affecting her brain, the nature and cause of which we are still trying to ascertain. The damage to her brain is severe and the outlook at this time for her recovery is negative. The hospital and her family ask that any members of the public who wish to gather quietly outside our facility to offer their prayers and support may do so. We ask that you please respect the privacy and wellbeing of our other patients and that you follow the directives of city officials who will be available to assist you. That is all at this time."
Though the statement didn't take up half a page, Johns shuffled a stack of pages and stepped back, and turned toward the door. Millions of viewers world-wide heard and saw Whitfield turn things back over to Wagner with a promise of 'more as it becomes available', then the camera on Johns came back on.
Wagner's voice could be heard off-screen. "I'm talking to CNC's medical correspondent, Dr. David Bowerman. Doctor. What exactly were we just told?"
Bowerman's face, a youngish looking one with prematurely white hair, also perfect, replaced the shot from the hospital. "Charles, they are, for obvious reasons, reluctant to admit that they are losing someone as impor-"
The shot switched back to the media room. The camera was on a startled Johns, and Lebeau, who had suddenly entered.
Wagner broke in. "Excuse me, David, something's happening… Stanley, what's going on out there?"
The viewers heard and saw LeBeau pointing at Johns. "Matt LeBeau, KZIX News. Doctor, will there be an autopsy done, and if so, do you think the findings might help in the treatment of her sisters, who are also affected by this same rare form of cancer?"
They saw Johns' jaw drop, his face turn red, and saw him rushing at the newcomer, trying to shove him out the door. They heard him shouting for security. They also heard angry shouts from an unseen man and woman, and LeBeau's protests. What they didn't know was that Whitfield and Santiago were the ones outraged and yelling, and they didn't see Whitfield giving the 'slash across the throat' signal to his crew. Trained to get the picture, they didn't notice it until the third try, and the signal wasn't cut until millions heard, "Turn that damned thing off!" Santiago's crew did the same. The two local channels went 'dead air' for a few seconds until their respective directors got the regular programming back on. CNC lost its connection, but the response was immediate.
Bowerman broke in, "Charles, I don't believe what I just heard…"
Exactly what the two veteran reporters and Johns had tried to avoid was about to happen.
While the rest of the world began to react, tempers flared inside Townsville General Hospital.
"What the hell, Stanley?" Johns raged. "I thought we had a deal!"
"We did!" Whitfield shot back. He advanced on LeBeau. "Just what did you think you were going to accomplish with this little stunt? I thought I told you to clear out!"
"Doing my job, Stan, getting the facts, which this place doesn't seem capable of giving out."
Johns grabbed him by the collar with his bad hand, ready to pop him with the good one. "Why, you…!"
Whitfield stepped between them and Johns backed off. "If you'd give us a chance to digest what we're getting! This is a hospital, not a damned sleazy corporation for you to dig up dirt on!"
The four camera crewmen, a brotherhood of sorts though they worked for rival stations, were enjoying this. They'd moved together and two of them were surreptitiously taping it.
Santiago said something for the first time, stepping right up to Lebeau. "Do you know what is going to happen out there?" She waved her hand in the general direction of where she thought the front of the hospital was. "The people are going to panic! You have them believing that all of the girls will die when we do not know that! You idiot!"
Whitfield poked Lebeau in the chest. "Listen, Matt, this isn't a game we're playing here. We want the story, yeah, but not at the expense of hurting innocent bystanders. What you just did is the equivalent of shouting 'Fire!' in a crowded theater. Let us get the facts and see what they mean before we spit them out!"
"Hey, Stan, I hate to tell you this, but that's the old way of doing things. The people are smart enough to sort things out if we give it to them straight. They don't like having the truth kept from them."
"And what IS the truth, muchacho? What YOU decide it is?" Maria barked with a challenging stare.
Just then two tall security guards came through the door.
"Look, Stan, finish this discussion outside." Johns broke in. "I want him out of here, now!"
The men each gripped Lebeau by an arm and he shook them off. "Hey, all right, I'm going!"
"You're officially off this story!" Whitfield told him.
"Sure, Stan. See you later."
He disappeared through the doorway, the two guards right behind.
Whitfield turned to his crew. "Follow 'em out and get set up. We'd better get our spots now before every Tom, Dick and Geraldo show up." Santiago nodded for her crew to do the same, and the four walked out together.
Stanley looked at Johns. "Look, Tim, I had no idea he was still running around in here…"
Johns waved it off. "Forget it. Do what you can to keep things under control out there. Right now I'm more concerned with those three kids. Damn! This is the last damn thing they need!"
Maria laid a hand on his shoulder. "We will do what we can, Timothy. We are not ALL jackals, you know."
Outside the hospital, things happened quickly. All of the remaining press outlets, print, radio and TV, were in the process of getting staffers out to cover the story. The steps and sidewalk in front of the hospital would soon be filled with reporters angrily demanding they be allowed inside while security kept them out. The street would be full of their cars, and trucks containing video equipment, satellite dishes on top. Filming crews would jostle for position, their cameras aimed toward the main door and their respective news outlets' on-air personalities, who also jostled with each other to get the most advantageous spot. Of course, Whitfield and Santiago had already claimed prime real estate. Security had been told to protect them, and this angered their colleagues. They were assailed with shouts of, "Hey, Whitfield, what gives?", and worse.
CNC went into standard 'crisis' mode, bringing in one 'expert' after another to speculate on hearsay. Without exception, Townsville General's practices, both in their competence in treating patients and in dealing with the dissemination of the 'facts', were called into question. Of course, nobody knew what they were talking about, they were just filling airtime and generating big numbers to impress their advertisers, until such time as real information started coming in. Already, a montage of file photos of Bubbles had been put together, featuring a large one of just her smiling face. Superimposed over the top was 'Deathwatch' in black block letters, and this hastily assembled graphic, accompanied by somber music, was being used after commercial breaks.
The Mayor, shocked by the news about the girls, took immediate action. He called the chief of police and ordered him to send every man he had to the hospital, and the rest onto the streets to protect against looting. Fortunately, the chief had learned Mayorese some years earlier and already had things rolling.
All over Townsville, stunned and saddened citizens dropped whatever they were doing and tried to get to the hospital, resulting in massively snarled traffic. Frustrated motorists left their cars where they were and walked the rest of the way. Florists quickly sold out of whatever they had in stock. Businesses were closed down. Parents jammed school driveways and parking lots demanding to take their kids out of school. By 2:10, 30 minutes after the story broke, Jennifer Keane would be in her car, trying to get to Townsville General.
One 'citizen' in particular had watched the newscast in disbelief. Mojo Jojo, the prime nemesis of the girls, had spent the morning in his underground armory, fine-tuning the newest laser cannon in his often-rebuilt Robo-Jojo. Satisfied, he climbed the long staircase to his lair at the top of Volcano Mountain to have his lunch and watch his favorite soap opera on his favorite channel, KZIX. That was his channel of preferred viewing because it was the one that mentioned his name most often during its news programs.
When the interruption came, he was furious.
"Powerpuff Girls! Always they must interfere with my favorite television shows!"
Like everyone else in Townsville, he had grown accustomed to news reports of one or another of them being nicked up in a fight. Most of the time he didn't mind hearing about it because HE had been the one who had inflicted the damage, however trivial. But he was angry this time because he had nothing to do with it. The serious tone of the opening annoyed him, too.
"Oh, please. What is it now? 'Day six of our exclusive coverage of Buttercup's hangnail.' Wait a minute! That WOULD be news."
As he watched, though, his bemused annoyance turned to shock. Dr. Johns' somewhat indirect manner of communicating made perfect sense to him.
"What? Powerpuff Girl Bubbles' brain is being destroyed? Hmmm. That should not affect her ability to beat me senseless, as she seldom uses her brain when doing that. Oh! She is not expected to survive? That is different! That, I could tolerate. It would be better if I was the cause of her not recovering sufficiently to continue pestering me, but one must learn to appreciate the small things. Perhaps I can take advantage of this situation. The other two Powerpuffs will be in quite a state and unable to take their minds off of their sister's unfortunate demise, and I will be able to smash them! Hmmm. Maybe not. They may take their grief out on me and it is I who will be smashed instead. Oh, well, two Powerpuffs instead of three is still a good thing…I can worry about destroying the other two tomorrow."
LeBeau's ill-timed entrance shed a whole new light on the matter for him.
"Huh?! Autopsy? She is really going to perish and perhaps her accursed sisters, too?"
He leaped from his chair. "If I strike now, Blossom and Buttercup will be unable to withstand the force of my new, improved weaponry while they are dealing with the end of their blasted sister and their own suffering! They will be out of my hair for good and the world will at last be mine! Mohohohohohohahahahaa!"
Outside the hospital, the situation was nearing disaster. Thousands of people had already filled the street and more were arriving by the second. The police line was struggling to keep them all back from the sidewalk, but the sense of anger and frustration coming from the media was contagious. The crowd wanted information, too, and no one was being told anything.
With nothing to say and nothing to film, the other crews could only aim their equipment at the two reporters who had been inside. They were the only ones who had spoken to a doctor. It was still the KZIX feed that millions were seeing. CNC's own crew had turned their cameras off in disgust. At the moment, Whitfield was interviewing a police captain, who was pleading with anyone who might still be in front of a TV in Townsville to please stay home. Santiago was talking to the chief of security, who had stepped out briefly to say that things were under control inside.
But what everyone wanted was medical information. Whitfield, in spite of his promise to try to keep things under control, had said all he could and needed new information himself. Nobody wanted to hear it relayed from a doctor to him. Before leaving, Stanley had wisely asked Johns for his cell phone number, and he pulled out his own cell phone.
"Hold on, Charles, I'm getting something from inside, I believe." he told the CNC anchor and the huge audience. He turned briefly away from the camera, pretending that he couldn't hear, so that he could speak to Johns. A small hand signal to his crew, unseen on-screen, had gotten them to dampen the audio briefly.
"Come on, answer the damn thing…come on…"
"Johns."
"Tim! Stanley. We're not having any luck out here and it's getting worse by the second. We've got to have something."
"Stan, there isn't a heck of a lot more that I can tell you. Blossom's-"
"Wait, Tim, no one wants to hear it from me. They want something official. I think it's not a good idea to try and get everyone inside, the way it is out here now. If you only just let me in, there'll be a riot." He meant amongst his colleagues. "You better come out and say something, anything, just to cool things down."
Johns sighed. "All right. Ten minutes."
He hung up and Whitfield turned to face his camera. The audio level went back up.
"What have you learned, Stan?" Wagner broke in.
"Charles, I've just been informed that the hospital spokesman, Dr. Timothy Johns, will be out here shortly, in about fifteen to twenty minutes, to update us on the girls' status."
Now, at least, the people would hear something. And by getting Johns to come out, that would placate the frustrated media. They all got busy making sure they were ready. The effect on the crowd was immediate and the police could relax a bit. Stanley's fib had bought Johns a few extra minutes so that the crowd wouldn't grow restless again if it took longer than the ten minutes. And if the doctor was on time, it would look to the crowd like the hospital WAS trying to be more cooperative. He breathed a small smile of relief, knowing the worst was still to come.
Matt Lebeau, after being shown the door by the security men, had quickly gotten lost in the crowd of several hundred that had already shown up. Unobserved, he made his way toward the west parking lot where his car was. When he got there, he reached into the back seat for his gym bag, quickly stripped off his tie and dress shirt and pulled on a plain gray T-shirt. He took off his black dress shoes and put on his running shoes. Then he pulled his briefcase from behind the passenger seat. He opened it up, flipped through some papers and found what he wanted. He pulled out a sheet, looked at it briefly, made a wry smile, then folded it and put it in his pants pocket. He closed the briefcase, put it back and locked the car. Then he made his way down the west side of the building, past the emergency entrance and to the rear wing.
During his morning rounds, he'd found two ground-level exit doors, the type with alarms that went off when opened from the inside, that were being worked on by an electrician. One was actually being worked on; the other, no one was there but wires were hanging from where the alarm box should have been on the wall near the ceiling, and LeBeau had given the door a quick test. There was no sign of a key mechanism anywhere and he figured that the electronics probably controlled the lock. When the alarm was disabled, the door was unlocked. He'd quickly confirmed that, too, by going outside and letting the door close behind him.
There was a good chance that door hadn't been fixed yet, and it was at the back side of the rear wing. He'd never be seen by anyone from the street. If the alarm did go off, he'd be lost in the sea of cars in the lot before anyone from security could get there. He walked up to the door and gently pulled on the handle, ready to run. Nothing. Inside, he saw the wires still dangling. He immediately went to the nearest elevator and pushed the button for the top floor. Security throughout the hospital may have been given his general description, but they'd be checking the areas where the girls were if they were checking at all. No one would look for him on the fifteenth floor.
He used the ride to look over his notes. The pediatric surgical staff consisted of five surgeons and twenty-four nurses. Of those nurses, six were male. He'd studied their facial features on the display, and while it didn't give any information on height and weight, it did list their ages. Three of the men had hair color fairly close to his own. None were over 31. He was sure he could pass for older than his 25. With the names and faces burned into his brain and his plan coming together, he left the elevator when it stopped. He looked both ways down the corridor. The nurses at the nearby station at the center of the wing paid him no mind, and he walked toward the other station in the interior, where the corridor met the main building. The elevator there would come out not far from the nurse's lounge on the third floor and a nearby janitor's closet. It would be the last time for that disguise.